The shower had become my sanctuary. The one place I could find clarity. The one place I could show my emotions. The one place I could let the tears fall. One cannot be strong all of the time. The shower had become my church.
Washington Irving once said “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love.”
However, I do not feel powerful at this particular moment. I feel more like a crumpled piece of paper, dirty, and tossed on the ground. One that, even if straightened, would never fully go back to its pristine condition. Indentions of wear would always be visible.
I suppose, in a way, it was grief I was feeling. In one night, I had become someone new…and the carefree girl I had once been had passed away.
I stand in the boiling water. It is not rational, I know this, but I want every speck of him off of my body. It had been weeks, but scrubbing my skin raw each night had become my routine. Hoping that one day, I would finally be rid of him.
In the shower, I baptize myself. Cleanse myself. I have to be my own savior now.
No comments:
Post a Comment