5 Minutes in the Bathroom

She cried in the bathroom today.

But not because she is weak. 

Contrary to popular belief, crying is sign of strength.  Not on some cliché shit, but crying really means you are strong enough to confront how you feel and deal with it appropriately.  It means dammit I feel like this is some bullshit and all I can think to do is cry.  I don’t know.  It really doesn’t matter.  Whatever justifications you have or don’t have, today she cried and it doesn’t make her less the person she is on the days that she is bubbling around, sending love darts and positivity. 

She went in the bathroom, realizing she could no longer contain herself or save face for her hallway desk, she got up, and almost breaking down along the way, she got in front of the picture mirror just in time to see the frustration laced expression that sat on her face like humpty dumpty.  But the only thing that fell were tears.  Once they started, she feared she would not be able to make them stop in time for her to get back to her desk.  But she didn’t worry about that.  She took up post in the handicap stall and sat on the toilet with three tissues pressed against her eyes.  The tears filled and collected on the tissue so fast, that it started to pull apart from its on fibers.  These tears were hot and heavy.  They spoke to the tissue.  Dared the tissue to stay together.  Challenged it to a pull apart, but the tissue outlasted the tears, mostly because there were three tissues together.  But as soon as the tears stopped.

She breathed.

And they started right back.  Once again they stopped.  She stood and went back to the mirror to make sure there was no remnants of fallen tissues pieces that clung to her already moistened face and cheeks.  There was no tissue, but there was pain.  It was all over her face, in her eyes and even on her lips, kissing those lips that were a mix between moistened from tears and dry from coughing.  She was getting sick as well.

She cried.  Again.  As she stared in the mirror, it hit her.  She was living two different lives and although most days she can handle it with pristine balance, today was different.  Today was show day.  Her favorite time.  But she had no ride, no car and no hard copy of the valid license that has because due to other circumstances.  So she couldn’t even rent a car to get there.  She felt like saying fuck the show.  She felt like saying fuck everybody, including her job, going home and covering her head until the sun started back warming more than sidewalks and carseats.  As she stood in what couldn’t have been more than 3 minutes, she noticed her eyes were bloodshot red.  The tears rolling down her cheeks made her cry even more because she could almost see life playing out in those small droplets and it scared her. 

It scares her. 

It scares her to be successful at what she knows she is  good at.  It scares her to let her ego go wild and lose good people because of some sudden God-like complex that she was scared of developing so when she says Thank You, she adds words like “soooooo” or “sincerely” or if spoken ,”Very Very Much”, in hopes that these additional words will make people know that she really means thank you, and is not just saying it cause its cordial. 

She’s scared she can’t do it again.  She’s scared the poems won’t continue.  The writings won’t always be good or people won’t always remember her.  She fears being forgotten.  Looked over.  Skipped. 

She’s definitely scared of being successful.   But with that, there is not enough fear to stop her.  So she keeps moving and pushing and stays determined that no matter what the fear, she won’t be stopped before her heart is.

She was still crying.  In front of the mirror.  Then a hard boo-hoo hit her and she lifted the broken and matted tissue, covered her face with it and sobbed.  The kind of sob that pushes shoulders up and down and causes your nose to run.  The one you cover your face from because you know you must look horrid with this type of cry.   She did all that really quick. 

She’s scared. 

Scared of being trapped in a temporary world of positions and jobs that mean nothing to her.  She’s scared of being caught in unemployment’s web of drama and she was just totally over people not speaking to her, acknowledging her or even helping her.  They are shut off here.  They don’t care about nothing but themselves.  Most don’t speak, they look the other way when approaching the hallway she sits in.  She is forgotten, not invited to the meetings, not given any real  tasks, yet she continues to attempt a lasting impression that will keep her employed for just a little bit longer.  God knows she was scared to step out on faith.  But she also didn’t want to be thrown out into it; she wanted the next try to be because she was ready to give it a  go.   She’s ignored.  Not spoken to.  People walk past her in the hallway and its almost as if she doesn’t exist.  They walk past her desk to the meeting room and she wonders the same thing again: “Am I real?” 

She dried eyes.  Wiped face.  Looked at face and felt anything but beautiful.  Her eyes still red, and now, so was her nose.  But there was no loose tissue on her face. 

She turned to the door.  Shut off the light and walked back to her hallway desk, secretly wondering in God’s direction how much longer she would have to be ignored before she can do what she loves forever.  Due time He says.  That’s all she has to go on.  And it must be enough.

She gets back to her desk and there is paper everywhere.  Just another day at work.  Only today…..

She cried.

In the bathroom.

But not because she is weak.

Because she is strong enough.

jY