A Shower Saved My Life

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Abstract

h is louder, my heart or my mind’s desperate pleas for silence. I imagine what the bottom of my tub would look like if I lay in it having let the water take me from this deafening hopelessness. I imagine who would lift me out if it would be anyone at all. As I stand before the shower, stabs of pain tickle my bare skin and I shiver at the reminder of coldness on my physical body. I make the decision to step forward. Stepping slowly into the shower, one short movement at a time, I feel it. I feel comfort begin to trickle down from the top of my head to the tip of my nose, dripping down to the crevice of my collarbone creating a small pool right above my heart. Streaming down to create another pool in my belly button before it finally falls to the tips of my toes. As I turn my body and feel the waterfall down my back, I tilt my head backward and close my eyes. I let the rhythm of the water massage my face. And suddenly, in the curtain of darkness behind my eyelids, my thoughts slow beat by beat in unison with each drop. I crouch down, hugging my knees in close. And suddenly, in the sweet cocoon made of my own arms, I feel my heart surrender to the safety they

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promise. I let myself drift out of my own body, and I imagine what I must look like, small and childlike at the bottom of a tub with tears indistinguishable from the water falling all around me. I want to hold this child, I want to hold this growing girl. I want to lift her to her feet. I want to look her in her eyes and tuck her hair behind her ears, just the way I know makes her feel loved. Oh, she is in so much pain. I feel it and I want to tell her it’s in me too and I love her anyway. I want to tell her she is not alone. That I will lift her out, I will save her. And even if the weight seems to be too much for just me right now, I will become strong enough with the help of all those that love us. Us. She and me. This child, this growing girl, this evolving woman. God, I love us.</p><p id="8681">My eyes open. Less foggy now, and all I can see is the steam of a long shower. I stand. I step out of the tub, one short movement at a time, cleansed and lighter now. I turn the dial, and as the last bit of water drops from above, I walk away from nothing more than just an empty tub and back into the warm embrace of a life worth fighting for.</p></article></body>

A Shower Saved My Life

Each step I take, heavy. Everywhere I look, blurry. My mind is weighted with the overwhelming burden of my tears. I move slowly towards my shower and stumble to pull back the curtain as if behind it lay the secret to some sense of peace. Will I find it in the streaming water holding the promise of removing the weight of my tears, as it would my air? Or will I find it in the water’s warm embrace holding me close, as it would if I surrendered completely to it?

I turn the shower dial and watch as it calmly comes to life. It isn’t lost on me that the soothing call of the water as it flows down from above, soars straight into my heart as it pounds loudly in chaos. I question which is louder, my heart or my mind’s desperate pleas for silence. I imagine what the bottom of my tub would look like if I lay in it having let the water take me from this deafening hopelessness. I imagine who would lift me out if it would be anyone at all. As I stand before the shower, stabs of pain tickle my bare skin and I shiver at the reminder of coldness on my physical body. I make the decision to step forward. Stepping slowly into the shower, one short movement at a time, I feel it. I feel comfort begin to trickle down from the top of my head to the tip of my nose, dripping down to the crevice of my collarbone creating a small pool right above my heart. Streaming down to create another pool in my belly button before it finally falls to the tips of my toes. As I turn my body and feel the waterfall down my back, I tilt my head backward and close my eyes. I let the rhythm of the water massage my face. And suddenly, in the curtain of darkness behind my eyelids, my thoughts slow beat by beat in unison with each drop. I crouch down, hugging my knees in close. And suddenly, in the sweet cocoon made of my own arms, I feel my heart surrender to the safety they promise. I let myself drift out of my own body, and I imagine what I must look like, small and childlike at the bottom of a tub with tears indistinguishable from the water falling all around me. I want to hold this child, I want to hold this growing girl. I want to lift her to her feet. I want to look her in her eyes and tuck her hair behind her ears, just the way I know makes her feel loved. Oh, she is in so much pain. I feel it and I want to tell her it’s in me too and I love her anyway. I want to tell her she is not alone. That I will lift her out, I will save her. And even if the weight seems to be too much for just me right now, I will become strong enough with the help of all those that love us. Us. She and me. This child, this growing girl, this evolving woman. God, I love us.

My eyes open. Less foggy now, and all I can see is the steam of a long shower. I stand. I step out of the tub, one short movement at a time, cleansed and lighter now. I turn the dial, and as the last bit of water drops from above, I walk away from nothing more than just an empty tub and back into the warm embrace of a life worth fighting for.