Golden Shower

CW: Depression

One day when I was in the shower, I started crying. I could barely stop myself from collapsing inside the stall. I thought I saw God. No, maybe not God, but heaven. It was a purity I didn’t know could even exist. And it made me cry harder, because there was not way in my current state that I would ever deserve to be in a place like that. I didn’t see my mom there; maybe she was hiding from me. I felt like she’d be ashamed of my actions. And that made me cry so hard that I didn’t know which had the stronger water pressure, the faucet or my eyes.

I couldn’t get up, all I wanted to do was pray, and I was pretty out of practice at that point. I could say the Lord’s Prayer, but that stopped meaning anything to me a long time ago. I tried being conversational with God, trying to strike the right balance of informal and reverent, even though I knew that the blasphemy I had committed for the past several years would definitely make Him close His omnipresent ears to me.

How cruel is that? There is a God who already knew that you would curse him out, and will just spend the rest of your life watching you suffer and break in moments like this, knowing that you are already doomed in ways that you couldn’t even imagine.

Maybe my illusion of heaven was God taunting me, since the so called heaven on earth I tried to find just didn’t seem to exist. But I figured, I might as well try to see what’s up. I closed my eyes and told Him that I was lost, that I was scared, and that I didn’t know what to do. Of course, all I could hear was cascading water and maybe the sound of someone taking a shit no more that 5 feet away from me.

If that’s how God wanted to talk to me, then I could try to play along, I guess.

I kept going, trying to express how lonely I felt, ho I felt so shitty every day, and how I just didn’t know how I was even alive. And I was fighting back tears that were flowing non-stop, and trying not to predict His responses, stuff like “You’re doomed, kid.” Or “Your dad was always right.” Things that would rub in my face the fact that I’m essentially cursed to be fucked up no matter where I go. At some point, it gets to be sort of calming, or maybe I just become numb, because at moments like that there’s a bizarre realization that either none of the things I was raised to believe were true and I can get though this and live a true life where I’m in charge of myself, or that I’ve been damned from the beginning and there’s no changing, so I might as well keep doing what I’m doing.

Either way, I’m still collapsing in the shower, letting the water beat me down so that I can feel as low as possible. It’s a masochistic humbling that never truly works but hey, maybe Nth times the charm? But when it just makes me feel like nothing, I turn off the water and go back to my room to go to bed.

I start therapy a week later, again.

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