I'd rather be Laughing than Crying

The Friday night lights shone down upon a rural football stadium, the place for everyone to be in small-town South Dakota. Packed within the stands was 5th-grade me, drinking my second cup of hot chocolate to wash down the hot ham and cheese I had just polished off. As my cousin’s football game approached halftime, so did my urge to use the restroom. Hustling my way down the bleachers, I weaved my way through the concessions line I had stood in earlier, reminding myself to not look at the bottles of water along the way.  

What people failed to tell me was that small towns equal small budgets. My sugar high made me neglect common sense of the doors in the outdoor bathroom: shower curtains. Floor-to-ceiling, maroon fruit leather, probably shouldn’t have even been used in the nastiest gym locker room, curtains. Crossing my legs in pain must have cut circulation to my brain as without giving a second thought, I ripped open the first curtain I saw. Surely a closed curtain meant the stall was unoccupied. 

What urge to urinate I had was replaced with the sight of an elderly lady witnessing the third dimension during a bowel movement. I swear she was staring through me as if I were blocking the light at the end of the tunnel. The image of her scrunched-up face, focused in the zone, still haunts me whenever I need to use public park bathrooms. I yelled a quick apology before noticing the handicapped stall at the end of the room, the only stall that had a normal door, was free. I ran to the stall, eager to relieve myself. As I was about to flush, some shoes that I’d recently noticed lingered outside the stall door. The woman who’d seen God through the toilet.  

You’d think I wouldn’t have noticed as the interaction only lasted a few seconds, but time slowed down, burning the image into my mind. I shrank back into the corner of the once-a-week cleaned stall that reeked of nature and old knock-off Clorox. My heart beat wildly, thinking that I had so much life left to live. However, it would be cut short due to my demise of barging in on a woman taking a shit. Honestly speaking, nobody wants to visit a grave with “bludgeoned to death by a handbag” on the headstone. The shoes disappeared after a minute, leaving me to flush and peek through the crack in the door to see if she still lingered by the sinks, maybe to asphyxiate me with perfume. She wasn’t, so I quickly washed my hands to scurry back to the stands, hoping that she wouldn’t notice me, or even worse, sit by me.  

And that was the moment I realized my already anxious mind likes to take the reins and go down unnecessary paths that cause me more anxiety. Out of moments of fear, embarrassment, or the simple act of not having a rational thought in my head. For someone who worries more often than not about little things, there are some moments and thoughts that you just can’t seem to get out of your head.  

For example, countdowns have given me trust issues. Having your older cousin tell you, “I’ll rip the gauze off the length of your back on the count of three” should have put me at ease. She’s a family nurse, so she treats her patients with the best care. She went “One” and in one of the loudest sounds of my life, ripped everything off in one swipe. She decided to treat me like I was getting a wax rather than someone seven days out of surgery.  

If you thought that was uncomfortable, imagine having your mom help you shower in her swimsuit because you couldn’t even lift your arms past the starting stage of the macarena. In the most unpleasant eye contact I’ve ever had to make, she’d wash my hair for me and then turn around to let me handle the rest. Being fourteen years old and remembering the last time your mom saw you that nude was when you were five and taking baths is something that cements in your mind. It didn’t help that she tried to make conversation such as “What do you think of Bruno Mars ‘24K Magic’ album?” One time it was “This isn’t bad. Remember when your crush came over the other day and you had the nervous shits beforehand?” I was already physically vulnerable and now she wanted to bring up my shortcomings? I’m still trying to forget. 

It doesn’t have to be some major life event that can give me anxiety. The most ridiculous thought could pop into my head at any given moment. On one of my many road trips back home, I was lost in my world of staring ahead at the clouds and breathing in Champagne Toast air freshener when I saw a semi-truck about to cross a median. Approaching the intersection, I was threatened by the thought of getting t-boned. Having spent the first two days of driver’s ed being told “if you even think about a semi, you will die,” I sped up. Pushing my luck with going over the speed limit and thinking who I’d leave all my books to, I saw the truck go into the other lane in my rearview mirror.  

Heart racing, adrenaline pumping, one odd thought lingered in my head. “If I died, would I be okay with the first responders hearing my playlist on shuffle?” A chill went up my back thinking about having EMTs approach a wrecked Toyota to find a mutilated body while my throwback playlist chose to transition from “Staying Alive” to “Living on a Prayer” on my busted AUX cord.  

Anxieties aren’t fun. They aren’t pretty. While you could go back and curl into a ball about those moments, view them as comic relief in your life. Looking back, I’d much rather be laughing uncomfortably than crying . However, if you do feel the urge to cry, might I suggest you do it in a curtainless bathroom stall?