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TIFU by losing my cellphone at the grocery store

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TIFU by trying to offer emotional support

So I’ve been in exam season for about 3 weeks now, on a diet of instant ramen, caffeine, nicotine and alcohol. While this may be keeping me going, it also keeps going through me. Which led to yesterday.

It was meant to be another regular revision day on campus, but as I was getting ready to start the day, I felt something sinister. It snuck up on me without warning, and I was running out of time. I ran into my safe space, a toilet that’s been historically empty and as I sat down, ready to let go of the torrent of shit and paint the porcelain, someone barged in. I immediately clenched, not wanting to subject an innocent soul to the relentless and indiscriminate napalm I was about to release.

I was prepared to sit my trial in silence, suffering until I heard the person start crying. Half of me felt sorry for the poor bastard who probably just watched their degree crumble in front of their eyes and needed a safe space, and half of me wished he’d hurry the fuck up. As he was having a full scale menty b, so was I. Sweat dripped down my face, my nails dug into my hands and I nearly started crying with him, but I tried to soldier on. I couldn’t let this person who needed some space to be alone as they came to terms with their reality be interrupted by the sounds of divine retribution that was coming out of my arsehole. Every minute felt like an eternity, I was trapped in a self imposed hell until eventually, I just couldn’t take it.

I managed to mutter the words, “I’m so sorry” as I released what can only be described as a terrorist attack. Booms echoed, walls shook as a merciless and encompassing shit fired out, leaving no prisoners. It continued for a minute and a half and then the battlefield went silent as everything had been levelled. Faced with the gravity of what I’ve done, I sat contemplating what to do. Do I stay silent? Do I say something? I tried to salvage the shreds of his mental health, trying to reinforce that the gas chamber I had just created was still a safe space so, gingerly, I simply asked “Do you want to talk about it?”.

I immediately realised this was the worst possible thing I could’ve said. Did I think that we now bonded over the mutual degradation we were subjected to? As if the voice behind the cubicle, the oppressor was now qualified to be a source of comfort. I offered him to sit with me in the hell I had just created, as if this was now some sort of demented confessional booth, where the priest had no fucking clue what to say if he said yes.

He muttered an apology and ran out, as I sat disgusted with myself, physically and mentally.

TL;DR: I gassed a man out of his safe space and then offered emotional support

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