I used to hit the bathtub in those dead moments of depression only to find the stillness brought on more anxiety. Keep moving, keep moving my brain would signal. Standing up, I would turn the knob to the shower position, bow my head, and listen to thoughts that I felt were not my own.
Hot water pours over my face, across my bent shoulders, and down my aching back until the moment brings the same result. Tears, tears running down my face, dripping from my chin to be caught up in the drops of hot water pouring from above. I keep listening to those thoughts unable to picture a tangible form, sinking lower in the fluidity of emotions flooding over me like the hot water to be swallowed up by the drain and taken to the recycling center.
The emptiness of my being, my numb flesh, and my shallow breath these are the things I knew for certain. And under the weight of the water, in the darkness that I could not abate, I would surrender one more time, thinking…I’ve gotta get out of here!