Writing note 02/20

She sat with her head in her hands. The spray from the shower pelted her back. Gooseflesh covered her pale and overweight body. She felt the dry skin on her forehead, and the lumpy remains of old mascara on her eyelashes. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears she had hoped to cry in the shower. But they were not leaving. The tears were stuck in her aching head. When had everything started to be complicated? She rubbed her face and began coughing. Long wet strands of her hair got plastered against her face. The cold she had carried around for weeks was slowly leaving her body; she felt it. Her nose was not as stuffed anymore, and she felt the energy return; only the dry and irritating cough remained. At least one thing that was working in her favour, if only unhurriedly. She sat back against the cold tiles, shivered, and pulled her knees to her chest. She had not intended to take her shower sitting, but her moral had dropped, and with it, every strength that had kept her upright had slipped her body too. In her mind, a sentence she had said in therapy kept repeating: if I take care of them, they will love me. But he was pushing her away, trying to protect her from his demons. He did not allow her to love him. Maybe he didn’t want her to love him. She made a frustrated sound, turned off the water, and grabbed her towel. She dared to look at her phone. Still no blue ticks. Did it matter? Most times, it didn’t; sometimes, it did. Everything was not the way it appeared to be. Strong, smiling, and open hid frail, pensive, and secretive. She coughed again, took her medicine from the bathroom cabinet, and turned the phone into airplane mode. She winced when she swallowed two pills at once. She went to her bedroom and, still wet and naked, she laid down on the mattress. No work for the entire week. Finally, she was allowed to hide from the word, if only for a few hours daily. She started by pulling the duvet over her naked body. For now, she was not there. Lost to the world. Alone as always.

Author: Catherine

37. Unquiet mind. Writer with a deeply rooted love for music. Likes reading in the bathtub. Heartbreaker. Perfectly imperfect mother of 3. Published poet.

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