Behind the Locked Door

My husband and kids are in the kitchen. Lunch is served. Mouths are fed. I say nothing.

The bathroom door shuts behind me and I lock the door. Deep breath in...I turn the shower on and close my eyes for a second. I need this. I don't need to explain, I need a break. I need to be alone without interruption. My eyes open, and I see a girl in the mirror. I'm starting to recognize this girl - weak, bald, pale. I've seen her enough times before that I'm starting to forget what she used to look like. She takes off her shirt, pants, underwear...The rest of her body is just as ghostly, besides the constellation of freckles scattered all over her. The skin around her eyes are dark, making her look even more tired than she is. The hair that once covered her is no longer there like it used to be. There is a scar just below her collar bone, a new scar that reminds me of the truth. Stretch marks, goosebumps, tears watering her eyes. I used to see someone else staring back at me. I used to be more patient. I used to want to sit with my kids during lunch. I never locked the door. Now, I am torn. I want to soak up every moment, while also wanting to run as far away as possible. I want to smile more than ever, but scream just as much. Nothing is how it used to be, and I don't think it will ever go back.

I turn around and gently step over the tub and into the shower. The water is hot as it hits my body, running down my stomach and legs. I put my face in my hands and walk into the stream, trying to wipe away any fears and worries I had just moments before. The water hits my neck now as I turn and it slowly makes its way to the top of my head. My eyes are closed and I slowly circle my head around like someone not knowing which way to go. The muscles inside me are tight. I can hear them screaming as I massage them with soap, one by one. They need to stretch and move, but are too weak to even help me stand. I crouch my way down to the floor - much better.

My knees are now to my chin and my eyes are forced shut by the water rushing down my face. I sit there at peace, almost meditating to the echoing sound of the spout and the drain. Minutes pass by and the rain above me turns into a puddle. Water fills the tub around me as I lay back with paralyzed limbs and a cold head as it reaches the tile. I turn on my side ever so slightly until the buoyancy eases the pain of my tailbone sinking into the porcelain. The water slowly rises while my toes are left out in the cold. I should turn the water off, but that would require much more of me and I might hear the tantrum reality outside the locked door. I keep the water running a bit longer.

I now start to notice little dots. They are almost microscopic, on my arms and hands. Was this where hair used to sprout? These spots now show another reminder of the truth. I decide to turn off the water, then quickly return to the warm bath that I so needed. I lay there in solitude, just breathing in peace. I hear the faint murmur of life outside the curtain, but other than that, it is silent. I'm not moving. Can I move? My eyes focus on the spout in front of me. The hue changes from a green then slowly to an orange and back. Why? Part of me is concerned, the other part just doesn't even care. I take a deep breath and suddenly it's back to normal. My thoughts and questions are random and scattered. Though, life outside this bath is chaotic, too.

My fingers are now wrinkled. I hear a loud gargle as I release the drain, and the shock of the cold air reaches my arms and legs. It's time to get out. It's time to unlock the door and face my life outside. It's time to organize this chaos and get back to reality. My reality, my chaos, my life.