The water gradually cooled and as it did the rosy hue that had possessed my skin in the previous heat of the water gave way to the pallid tint I wore every day. My foot twitched as if indicating it was time for me to stand, time for me to move, but the rest of my body refused to budge. The rigidity in my muscles took on a new hold, more stubborn than the first. My head slumped to the side and I noticed that my fingers and toes, desolately strewn about the shower floor, had taken on deep grooves and wrinkles; how long had I been laying there in my stupor?
I searched the shower with my dull, lifeless eyes, searching for something to lean against as I stood, something to use as support. My mind played with that word, rolling it about..."support". A shudder overtook my body as I realized that the cold plastic interior of the shower was the only support I felt I had at the moment. I couldn't let myself dwell.
I thankfully leaned into the freezing cold water and watched if fall around me as though it was a spring rain. The coldness of the water did not disturb my limbs, they felt nearly numb; however, it did serve to distract me enough from my thoughts. I had come so close...
When I had woken up that morning, I had felt a deep despair overtake my senses almost immediately. I had remained in bed, twisted amongst the sheets, fighting the day. If I did not leave my bed then maybe it would all blur together and I would not have to face the day. Rolling out of bed, had glanced around the darkened room at the pallet spread out on the floor next to the side of the bed. He always slept on the floor, next to the side of the bed that I did not sleep on unless some nightmare flung me across the massive king sized bed. The chocolate satin sheets were flung over and the pallet was empty.
Good, I was alone.
I dashed to the open bathroom and bolted myself in. Splashing water against my face, I gave a quick glance to the mirror and shuddered.
By the time he was back upstairs to bang on the bathroom door, demanding entry, I was clothed in cloth shorts and a ratty t-shirt. I grabbed a pair of anklets out of the top drawer of my dresser and then dashed to the other room to fish around at the bottom of my closet for my tennis shoes. He was standing in the door way when I turned around, a pained expression creased his facial features. His left had slid across his chest as he prepared to speak. With a quick glance to the floor he mumbled, "I could not go to the gym and we could sit and talk if you'd like."
I glanced at the beige carpet and picked at a random piece of white fluff. "No, I need to stick to some kind of routine; besides, jogging is one of the highlights of my day."
A quick glance to his face told me that he had bought it. I thought I saw relief there as well, as though he had dodged a difficult conversation concerning my well-being. Maybe he was simply hopeful that my determination to maintain my daily routines was a sign that I was going to get better, that everything was going to get better.
I could not help but to smirk at that notion. I knew better.
It was after my attempt at a jog that I had returned home to find him already gone to work. I blew a sign of relief out of my dried lips. It was a heavy sigh. I trudged up the stairs to shower, my mind was rushing with usual thoughts.
Upon entering the shower, I proceeded to turn the water up so that steam rose from the mouth of the shower, making the air in that tiny space heavy with moisture. Then I slumped against the cream toned plastic and drew my legs into my chest. My head rested against the glass door of the shower, tears stinging at the backs of my eyes as I thought of the day ahead of me. It looked bleak. Utterly alone. There was no point in being positive about any of it. Even if I got the job, even if my friends decided to call a truce, even if the whole world cared, I wasn't sure that it would cause the ache that possessed my heart to subside.
With a shaky hand, I flipped the damp hair out of my face. Tears were now running down my cheeks. The shower slowly began to take on the imagery of the prison that was in my head. I could see faces glaring contemptuously at me through the glass. They shook their heads in disapproval and I could hear them whispering to each other.
"Disappointment" "squandered potential" "She just is not trying hard enough" "Such a horrid little thing should be happy with whatever she gets"
The voices persisted, some of them raising above a whisper.
I let another sigh move past my slightly parted lips, my gaze was directed at the drain. It felt dull, dead as though no light or life was there. My eyes felt useless, numb. The scalding water was beginning to turn my skin an alarming shade of rose. The freckles on my arms were starting to blend in; a subtle brown lost in the sea of red. I let my deadened stare trace the confines of the shower until it rested upon the object on which I had been dwelling all day.
Resting on its own shelf above the bath soap was a pink razor. In the heat of the shower, it was emitting a floral scent. I wanted to reach for it. I was unsure of how it would work, but if I could at least hold the tiny object in my hand maybe I could think clearer about what I was about to do. If I was going to do it, I was going to need to do it. I could not stand the constant stares and questions, "where did that cut come from?" My hand, still shaky, reached out for the shelf. My wandering fingers slowly curled around the handle; the pink handle blended in with my fingers. I held the razor in front of my face and examined it, trying to determine what exactly it was capable of.
My index finger flicked the cap off of the actual razor before I realized what I was doing. Then it hit me, what I was choosing to do.
My mind was a blur, analyzing the consequences. I am not a deeply religious person..it was not that. There was so much uncertainty. I thought of what people would say. Would it be a lessening of a burden? That was my first inclination. Then I thought of how they would scorn my name...nevermind that it was the constant pressure to perform for others that had played a part in my daily torture since my sophomore year in high school.
Without warning, my trembling and collided with the shower floor. As it crashed into the floor, the razor slipped between my dumb fingers and followed the flow of the water, perching itself on the lip of the drain.
I didn't dare more, instead I cried. A flow of tears unlike any before overcame my eyes before I could hinder the flow. My hands found my face and cringed about the edges. I could feel every muscle tightening, straining. I felt weak...and one way or the other I was. It was there that I remained until the water became cold enough to wake me out of that horrid stupor.
I was still in shock as I left the shower, my eyes still seemed to be bracing themselves for another epic overflow. I rested my head against the mirror; my reflection obscured by the moisture clinging to the mirror's surface. My hands gripped the cold, wet marble counter. I steadied myself and let my mind wander, let my mind search for something, anything to relieve the fog shrouding me in depression.
Sighing, I reached for my phone and dialed a now familiar number.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
"I need to come in and speak to the doctor....," my voice trailed off. "I need to maybe check-in to a room as well."
"Okay," the nurse's voice hesitated.
"My paperwork should still be on file. I will be driving myself. I should be there in an hour." I let out another sigh.
The nurse, regaining composer, said in a sweet voice, "We will be expecting you dear, safe drive."
- Title: Hanging On
- Artist: Maegan Lali
- Description: This is just something random I wrote. I would love feedback. I feel like it just ends..and the story line is lacking if I am honest. Advice? Oh, and fair warning, it is rather bleak.
- Date: 06/11/2009
- Tags: depression