I sit in the bottom of my shower.

I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I watch the water run down the shower curtain like giant tears. I sit and I wonder how I let myself get so bad? How did I stop caring about my physical health? How did I stop caring about emotional connections, goals, and overall, how did I let myself become someone I can’t stand to look at in the mirror?

I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I think about all the other times I’ve sat there. It used to be a place of comfort and now that’s not even the case. Now, I sit there, and I think about all the reasons I don’t like myself. And I think about the fact that the way I feel now, and what I allow myself to do in order to forget, is just creating this ever-revolving cycle. Like a spiral. And I feel I’m at the tail end, about to get choked out by the small space I have left to get out of the mess I’ve created for myself.

I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I let the hot water cascade over me in some weird hope it will wash away whatever I’m feeling and in turn I realize it just gives me more time to realize my situation. I also realize I’m great at lying to myself. I have days where I can actually forget, days where I can obliterate the memory of why I am how I am. Then, like a ton of bricks falling from a demolition site, I have days where I remember it all and all the things in between I’ve wanted and tried to forget. But, I have the memory of a fucking elephant apparently; it won’t be until I’m brain dead that some thoughts will never go away.

I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I look at the tiniest details of the walls, corners, drain, and spout. I analyze the smallest details of craftmanship, trying to drown out the thoughts in my head causing me to be on the edge of a nuclear meltdown. I imagine the construction, the crew installing the shower and building the home and the music that might have played during the final days of construction. I close my eyes and try to picture the days before this house felt pain. I wonder if it’s possible for inanimate objects to absorb feelings.

I also sometimes wonder if I’m slowly going crazy.

I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I take comfort in the solace, the warmth, and the isolation. I try to wash away whatever I’m feeling and try to motivate myself to be better, do better, live again.

I’ve sat in the bottom of my shower for a decade and even though it used to be my place of comfort it’s now become the mirror I don’t want to see. I’m not proud of myself, and there are days where I’m ashamed of myself. I can scream, and I can cry, and I can even beat holes into walls and light objects on fire just to watch them burn and none of it helps anymore. Who the fuck am I? Who WAS I?

I sat in the bottom of the shower one day and told myself that if I was going to have the strength and courage not to kill myself, then I was going to mentally check-out for a while. I guess I just forgot how to check back in.

Now I sit in the bottom of my shower, and I think about all the times in the past that I did want to do something drastic and how I grew up one day and realized how much I would be hurting other people and now I have no fucking clue how to deal some days. I honestly grew up not expecting to live past a certain age and now I’m over a decade past my own self diagnosed expiration date and I feel so lost some days.

I sat in the bottom of the shower today and thought about how lucky I am, how I have people who love me and care about me and want to include me in their lives and I couldn’t help but realize how I bring most of this on myself. I have no reason to do the things I do 99% of the time and yet, I will find the smallest reasons to torture myself. Like an emotional masochist. I sat in the bottom of the shower today, and thought about how I wanted to write all of this down and get it out in the hopes it would help. It doesn’t. To be honest