i fell on the bus this morning. it was a silly kind of thing, something that could have happened to anyone. i've seen it happen to anyone. it's a rainy, humid morning and i guess the wet soles of my new fit flops (which i'm in the process of breaking in) combined with the slick floors of the bus did me in. i tried to grab the pole when i felt myself slipping but i couldn't save myself and down i went.
it didn't hurt at all, actually. i don't know if it was all my fellow commuters trying to cushion the blow or just the lucky way i fell, but i was in no physical pain. all i could think about as i went down was how huge i must have looked and what a scene this was going to be. it's probably the one time i wished new yorkers weren't so nice and ready to jump in to help. as everyone tried to help me up and make sure i was okay, all i wanted was to be invisible and for them to stop helping me, since really, they couldn't help me. i had to hoist myself up - on the wet floor, with wet hands, in my wet shoes...
there are few things worse than feeling fully exposed and embarassed, and having to take further actions that create more of those feelings...as in, i had to get myself up. with all those people watching. it wasn't graceful.
luckily, i'm in no physical pain but my heart hurts a little, the way it did the other day when a teenage girl on the street yelled "you're fat, lose some weight." sounds horrible, right? but i didn't think things like that bothered me until i started sharing them with other people as a part of this new part of my journey (i hate that word when it comes to this, but it really is pretty fitting). it's like if no one else knows about these little injuries to my soul, maybe they don't exist. but they do.
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