In between her broken speech, she alternates between vicious hauls on a cigarette and low, guttural moans. Like an animal caught in a trap that has given up wailing.
Her head is throbbing, pulsing like an oversized cyst, ready to burst.
Lighting another cigarette off the last, this is not the time for laughter, or even tears.
This is 'freaking out', or 'trippin'.
I call this 'being in the tub'.
For a moment, she is me, years ago. Before the burn-out. Before the numbness set in. Watching her is like watching myself. I want to grab my mid-twenties-self and scream, "look at yourself!" I want to tell myself to stop this before the shut down begins, before the illness takes hold.
But I don't.
I don't because of two things.
One, she is not me, and this is only a reflection.
Two, I would not be who I am today had I not gone through what I did.
So I shove this painful reminder to the back burner and refocus.
'creak-creak-creak'
"I just don't get it." She holds her head like holding back a sob that is on the edge of breaking the dam.
I don't get it either, but I don't say this.
Truth is, I know what she doesn't get. That's not the same as what I don't get.
I don't get why we do this to ourselves. We fight against our very nature to do the one thing we have no right to do.
It's so easy to tell ourselves that WE can't make our hearts do something. We can't force ourselves to love, or love in "that way". Yet we convince ourselves that someone else can or should.
If we are good enough, perfect enough, give in, give out, put up with...THEN, we will be worthy of THEIR love. And it has to be THEM. It HAS to be. Because WE love THEM so much, can't they see that........?
"You need to breathe." I remind her. It sounds stupid as I say it, but it's true.
Her 'trippin' is reaching a peak of anxiety proportions. She is muttering herself sick and in circles.
Some time ago, I lay naked in a bathtub. Eyes blurry from a throbbing head and day three of no sleep. Chewing the inside of my mouth, while muttering "I just want to sleep", over and over. HE had been out with HER. I knew this. I felt this.
I reached out and turned on the cold water, flicking the knob to shower. Emptying the bottle that sat beside me, I threw them back one at a time, gulping the icy sprinkle after each one.
"Seven, eight, nine, I'm fine, I'm fine."
Not because of that. Not that at all.
Just to stop the feeling. Just to stop the pain. Just to fall asleep and forget.
'creak-creak-creak'
On the porch with no rocking chair.
"Maybe it'll be okay." I tell her. I really mean this too. She fiddles with her phone and the creaks slow.
"It's not." She states matter-of-factly, "I just have a feeling."
Fair enough.
Deep breath.
"Fast forward to later." I suggest.
"I'm not gonna sleep tonight." She retorts.
"Okay then, fast forward to two or three days from now. You've always gotten through this!" I am adamant. In the tub, the future always seems so bleak. There is no solution, and there is no hope.
The reality is, however, that we get through it. Whatever "it" is, passes. We live to fight another day. We reach down and find what we need to make it. We survive, even if only as shells of ourselves.
In my mind I am walking, alone, it's three in the morning. I have been walking in the pouring rain for two hours. For some reason, in the freezing cold darkness, this was the only solution. If I had stayed I would have snapped, I was back in the tub. The rain has soaked through my jeans and hoodie and I have the only plastic on me wrapped firmly around my cell in hopes of its' survival. I can't take it out to call for help, or get someone, or it will be destroyed by the rain in seconds. By now, the freak-out has passed and all I can focus on is getting home. The tub makes the most illogical things the only option.
'creak-creak-creak'
As a shadow moves in the darkness, the creaking stops.
She straightens her back and the air becomes calm. Only our mutual shivering remains. This is my signal that the freak-out-time is over. I lean forward to finish my smoke. A yawn stretches out of me. As I rise, I say good-night. It doesn't matter to me that nothing was resolved. I will get up and do this again and again and again. Whatever it takes. For her, for anyone I love. No matter how tired I am. No matter what the reason.
I want those I love to know that I am there for them. Partly because that is what love means to me. Partly because a piece of me never left a Mississauga-cold-shower.
The night I went numb with no one to call was the night I let go.
Others are not there yet, and that's okay. There are places I haven't gone yet either.
They are still curled up, believing they can make themselves good enough or perfect enough to be loved.
But you can't Baby-doll.
You're already good enough.
You're already loved.
You just can't see that when you're in the tub.
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