I Hate Crying in Public

Yesterday in my last class of the day, I got a little upset. I'm reading a book called "The Bell Jar". A passage described the process of her cutting herself. In detail. Something snapped inside of me.

Instead of feeling the urge to cut myself, like I usually do, I was filled with disgust and horror. Why would someone ever do that? Why did I do that?! "The Bell Jar" is a nonfiction piece, and from experience, I can say that everything she said was true.

I almost puked.

I put an arm around my stomach and a hand over my mouth. My eyes threatened to spill tears, so I leaned forward, resting my face on the cold desk.

Lucky for me, no one noticed my silent reaction, or if they did, they didn't say anything.

Sitting in the locker room ten minutes later, I tried not to think about it anymore, with little success.

Ten minutes after that, I was standing in a sea of pink.

Pink streamers, pink posters, and a crowd of pink-shirted people surrounded me. The only other time I had seen so much pink was in "Legally Blonde".

The Junior High gym had been transformed into a bustling place of breast cancer awareness. The Junior High volleyball team (with their shirts that said "Ladycats serving up a cure) stopped warming up and stood in a line resembling the breast cancer ribbon. My team joined it, and soon I found myself linking arms with two complete strangers.

Then the tear-fest began.

A family friend of mine (who was also my third grade teacher) stepped inside the gym, which then erupted with applause. Applause for the strong breast cancer survivor.

Tears streamed down her face as she approached the crowd of people on the court waiting for her. Her daughter ran up and hugged her, bursting into tears herself. Somehow I managed not to cry.

She was inside the circle of people now. A poem was read. It was about hope and strength, and overall a very nice poem.

The next girl who talked didn't have half as much self-control. A few lines in, and she was bawling into the microphone.

Anyone who wasn't crying before was crying now, and all I could think was, "I have to get out of here, I have to getout of here..." I wanted to run and find a secluded place where I could let it out in peace, but my feet wouldn't move.

When it finally ended, I told a friend that I was going to run back to the gym instead of waiting for a ride.

Then I was off.

I pushed myself as hard as I could go. People stared as I sprinted away, but for once in my life I didn't care.

When I reached the locker room (which was locked. Ironic?), I sat with my back against the wall, staring up into the blue sky. I knew I only had a few minutes to let it out and pull myself back together before the others drove up, but the tears wouldn't come. And that was fine with me.

I tried to call a friend of mine when I got home, but when the phone was answered his grandfather informed me that he wasn't home. I asked him to tell his grandson that Anne had called, and then I hung up. Maybe it was a good thing. I didn't want to cry to someone over the phone. I felt so soft and weak already.

I'd had enough emotional turmoil for one day.