There's No Crying in Baseball

I don't cry.

Well, that's not true of course; I cry. Everyone cries. But it takes a lot to get me going. Think of it as a combination of Yankee pride, a belief that grief is private and an general unwillingness to show perceived weakness. I seldom cry in private and I do not cry in public. Today I spoke to my mom and she said she didn't think she'd seem me cry since I was a baby. I just find other outlets for my pain and grief.

Which is what makes what happened today that much more meaningful: I was made to cry in a relatively public venue. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say in was in a location where tears are generally not a welcome addition to the flow of the day.

I was made to feel my best was not enough, I was accused of something I didn't do, and it was done in a confrontational manner. There was no other side to the story (ie, mine), I was wrong, I was a Bad Girl and I deserved to confronted aggressively and made to acquiesce.

Bull. Shit.

I am still dealing with the repercussions of being treated in this manner. I feel rotten, pure and simple. I am doing my best to take care of myself right now, but I am finding it very difficult to pull myself out of this. 

There is a loss of trust now, a loss of respect. Nothing that follows will be able to make up for this. 

I can't believe they made me f*cking cry.

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