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Die, molds die (or why I hate crying in public).

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Jul. 16th, 2001 | 06:20 pm
mood: tiredtired

"My allergies are acting up," I said to a friend, walking down a sidewalk on Avenue C yesterday afternoon. "My eyes are all itchy and it's making me miserable."

"But the pollen count is low right now," she replied.

"I don't have pollen allergies. I have mold allergies."

Ironically, the thing that bothers me about having these allergies is not the runny nose that bothers most people. It's a nuisance, but can easily be corrected with Sudafed, NasalCrom, Afrin, or any other generic nose spray, decongestant pill, allergy pill, et cetera. Instead, what bothers me is the effect on my eyes. They are stinging and burning and itching as if I'm about to start bawling any second.

This feeling that I could, and indeed might cry, in public, out in the open, at the slightest provocation irks me tremendously. And unnerves me a bit. I do not like the idea that due to completely outside influences, I could suddenly be standing on a street corner with tears dribbling down my cheeks for no reason other than the fact that my eyes want to cry.

I've always hated crying in public. Any time it's happened I've looked for ways to hide my face, to turn my back or to run for cover, simply so that others will not see me. I fear that others seeing me crying will wonder why some silly little thing set me to tears or look at me as a weak-minded individual who can't manage something so simple as her own emotions. The latter of these is the greater fear. I am an intellectual person before I am an emotional person -- not in a sense of lacking emotions, but in a sense of tempering emotion with rationality and thinking. My intellectual nature insists that I understand why it is that I am feeling a certain way, just as much as it demands to know why I think a certain way or believe a certain idea. To cry, in the presence of others, for little reason or none at all flies in the face of the way in which I have come to define and understand myself, the presence of others being significant because the feedback is immediate. The inevitable question of "why are you crying" will arise, and my intellectual self, being unable to answer, to give an accurate description of all the reasons for the feeling will feel weak and a failure.

I used to think that I hated to cry in the presence of others because it made me appear vulnerable when I work so hard to appear a pillar of strength (and fancy that I am one). Which, I suppose is still part of it, but in a different way than I once thought. The feeling of vulnerability in reality bothers me less than the feeling of failure, the recognition that I am not as strong as I would like to believe I am.

And so all of the molds in the air can just go ahead and die now because they are causing difficulties to my existance.

It is too early in the day to be writing the reflective sort of journal entry I had hoped to write. So I will write later and write something better and more interesting.

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from: zzjamiezz
date: Jul. 16th, 2001 07:21 pm (UTC)
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fellow nyu student- what's up! i'm also a sophmore with junior status. write in the community journal damn it! ;) alright, just tryin to get things moving! -jaMie-

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