crying in front of a donut ad
my therapist once told me that every monday, he disappears without any trace, without any internet-connected device on him, without even the trackers he usually have on his belt and in his shoes1. his driver drops him somewhere and leave him to walk further alone. he only has his radio panic button with him, which upon becoming static sends a signal to his driver to finally pick him up.
the point of this is to tell me that even (heavily experienced) psychotherapists need some alone time off too. the problem is this: i live in a one bedroom apartment with my mom, sharing a triple decker bed. we both have our privacy shutters, but it’s not exactly easy to cry my lungs out when i could hear the angry [redacted religion] preachers she listens to under my pillow.
a common occurrence in our sessions, i nodded at my therapist and said, “sure, i will do that.”
narrator: she did not, in fact, do that.
it had been months since we talked about that, and only this week did i finally venture out alone2.
the night was both an amalgamation of my recent woes and a single strike of an axe that served as my last straw. i couldn’t go home to my mom and be my talkative self3 when i knew i am one conversation away from breaking down into ugly crying.
that’s how i found myself in the dark, grassy patch next to a recently opened mall in our city. i knew they haven’t touched the undeveloped outskirts of that borderline dystopian area they’re trying to build. the grassy area was so vast that despite having lamp posts around, people sitting and walking in the middle were silhouettes against the mall’s bright, flashing ads.
in a weird way, it’s a place lit enough to be considered safe from pickpockets or other dangers, but also dim enough for people’s private businesses — like couples making out or individuals breaking down.
i sat on the grass in the dark and cried. it took me some time, despite being already on the verge of crying on my way there, because my body was so used to “keeping it together”. always be happy! always be palatable! crying could upset observers! except in this dark, i am safe and people could barely see me.
i was breaking down while watching the bright and colorful advertisement flashing in the mall’s led screen in front of me. through my tears, i watched donut commercials and learned that an annex building was opening soon. i cried about being sorry for wanting to hurt myself again. i cried about my mom, my dad, my sister, my best friend, and everyone else that i was hurting, and could hurt more if i did what i wanted to do. i cried about the things i cannot do because of this goddamn condition. i cried about my lost potential, my medication that is not working, the money that i keep wasting in search for something that could make me feel happy, or at least satisfied, or even angry, or sad — anything really, other than the void.
a couple group of people passed by me, scanning for their own patch to settle on. i couldn’t properly look at them through the dark and through my tears. one couple deliberated a spot a couple of feet away from me, probably saw me, then walked further. i think that’s when i started feeling conscious (in a funny way).
i went through my (ordered) call list, and ended up talking to my friend M, who just woke up. later he clarified that my voice was garbled which was why he started laughing, and in turn also made me laugh. he asked if i was crying. i said yes. he asked if i was running away, to which i answered, “do you seriously think i’d survive running away? i don’t even know how to commute. i booked a taxi to go here.”
the call was my slow ascent from whatever batshit reality i was in back to earth. i hung up. crying, for some reasons, made me crave soft serve ice cream. i walked around and checked nearby convenience stores for one but both 7-eleven and lawsons didn’t have them. i ended up entering the mall which had been watching me cry the whole time, and got gelato instead4.
somehow, it wasn’t enough. i was tired but still a little bit restless at the same time. i walked around the block for a few more minutes while finishing the ice cream. by then, it was my turn to observe.
the mall was closing for the day. the barricades were being set up and the security guards were gently pointing mall-goers to the exit. outside the building was a little bit livelier, but not in a bright and obnoxious way. there are people running. a few were left in the grassy patch i was crying on just barely an hour ago. the night lives on and so did people.
originally written 27 october, 2026.
this is just the tip of the iceberg of my therapist’s borderline concerning lore↩
i do like doing things on my own. no, i often go out and do my errands and entertain myself (e.g. going to the cinema) alone. i just didn’t have the energy to find a third place for the purpose of crying. i mean, where exactly is crying in maslow’s pyramid, right?↩
another thing i’d write about in the future — how i’ve mastered the performance of always-acting-happy-in-order-not-to-upset-everybody’s-feelings production↩
it is important to note that i was looking for soft serve specifically. it was 8:30 pm and the mall closes in 30 minutes. i settled for cara mia’s turtle pie. just as i exited the store holding my not-soft-serve ice cream, i went face to face with the matcha tokyo’s soft serve ad↩