That moment when you've been holding yourself together for so long that suddenly, you're sitting in the lobby of a Mexican restaurant, waiting for your takeout after work, when the tears that you've been staving off since during morning rounds return with a vengeance. And then, you're texting your boyfriend to just leave you the hell alone because no one understands and you don't want to talk about it and you don't want to see him. Then, the waitress walks by and gives you that awkward half-smile of, "Oh no, that doctor looking person is legit melting down in front of me during the dinner rush. Should I do something?" You want to wipe the tears from your face and not look like the hot mess that you feel like, but your tissues and napkins are in your white coat in the car, so you just Purell your hands and use your fingers to dab your face. You avoid eye contact with the patrons walking out the door. Then finally, the manager walks over, hands you your food and says to be careful, it's hot. You smile, like you always do, take your food, and walk out thinking that you didn't tip these people nearly enough for the show.
(I needed a few more than 140 characters.)