Stripped Bare: The weight of being seen

I step into the bathroom with the intention of taking a very long shower. I am feeling nothing but disgust. I strip out of my clothes I wore to work and begin to think how much of a functional human being I look like in this corporate outfit. How fitting they were for a deranged mind. As I peel the fabric of my skin I start to feel ashamed of my nakedness. I feel vulnerable. Here I stand before you naked and vulnerable dear reader. I am offering pieces of myself. Read between the lines and keep finding me. I look at the scattered clothes on the floor. I step on them imagining they have life. Why? I will ask myself later. I am feeling very cold but I make sure the water is even colder. I want it to dig into my skin until I start to feel numb. I often compare being naked to writing because I am putting myself out there, I am letting you get to know me, get inside my head and see. And I must admit I have always been afraid of your judgment dear reader. But at the same time I want you to see me for what I am. I want you to really get acquainted with the parts I hide from everyone. But all of this is frightening so there it goes once again the fear being known greater than the need to be loved. 

The water hits my skin and all of the sudden I have the urge to take a look under. I want to observe what’s underneath it. But that is just crazy so I roll my eyes and scoff at myself. There are days where I can not stand the silence. I just need any kind of noise in the background. And there are most days where I want the silence to be so loud it is deafening but it can never be like that with endless noise. Endless people and end less hopelessness where everyone has a lot to say. But I choose to be apathetic because I know very well I am just one life choice away from being utterly pathetic. What a life. Living in hopes of it getting better as you get with the trend of loving yourself and amidst all the chaos there is a God, right?

Dear God, Have you forsaken me? I have had a bitter sweet relationship over the years. Like every relationship it is complicated and it has its ups and downs but, this time there is no sweetness in it. There is no hope remaining in me for it to think it will get better. It was not supposed to be this way. Maybe you are irrelevant after all. Where do you stand in my life? I am not sure I want to know right now. In the meantime cleanliness is next to godliness so I apply soap to my wash cloth and start to clean.

Now I know the cleanliness of the soul is also what is meant by “next to Godliness” but never mind my decaying soul all I can do right now is scrub,exfoliate and scrub once again. Part of the self care journey folks or is this revenge to erase the traces of fingerprints that are left behind from past time romantic delights that ended in tragedy? Once again I will ask myself later. And so that final splash of water. Clean at last. 

I step out of my bathroom feeling ice cold. I love it. The tower wrapped around my body offering a sense of security and approval. I start to dry myself. Maybe this way I get to really know myself and the parts of me I deliberately avoid. I often find getting to know something similar to slowly undressing a woman. It's the way you take your time to help her step out of whatever she is wearing.It’s in the slow guide of your fingertips over her skin, the reverence in each touch, as though the curves of her body were secrets waiting to be learned. You acquaint yourself with them studying them until you know where her birthmarks are hidden and how many moles she has on her back. It is slow and erotic. But whatever, I dress myself once again in layers of fabric and distance. I get into bed, Sleep will come, an imperfect escape. But for now I am clean or at least I have scrubbed away what I can.