I used to hate those people back in high school. The ones who made the bathroom smell like fruity berry blast and chemicals. I thought it was pathetic. I’d roll my eyes at the kids passing around their carts and vapes, smelling like fake mango and giggling at their bad decisions. I thought that I would genuinely never be like that.
And yet, here I am, sitting against the shaky bathroom stall door, watching the smoke dissipate beside me until it blends into the white tiles on the walls.
It’s about control. About taking one tiny piece of your life back when everything else feels like its slipping. Getting your body to actually relax for once, instead of being stressed nonstop.
When my professor keeps putting his hands on my shoulders it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else. It sits on my skin for hours. I try to brush it off, to pretend it doesn’t matter. Still every time i walk into that classroom, my chest tightens. I’m told “don’t skip,” like it’s that simple.
I used to hate the people who did this. Now I understand. It’s not about being cool or careless. it’s about needing a break from a world that doesn’t care if you’re uncomfortable, that keeps telling you to just deal with it.
I know it’s not a healthy way to cope. But it’s the only way that really feels like it works.