Tales of tubs

Let me be honest, I have struggled for years to not be hyper critical of my actions, I am often tortured with second hand embarrassment for silly things I did when I was like four. I have the memory of a damn elephant so I am perpetually bothered and over my own nonsense. For instance, I have always dealt with depression I just didn’t know it, and around 21 I developed panic attack, one of which happened while I was on a bike… Now with a little more kindness on my part, for my self I can remember with a little less ire that during the height of my depression spirals I can be found doing some pretty ridiculous shit. The crescendo of one which were based upon some post break up blues. It was odd honestly cause I broke up with him, watched him cry on me for about three hours, then packed my shit and made him drive me home. Only later did I get sad, after acknowledging that my reasons for the break up where pretty serious and the depression that followed was due to a realization that I had again sunk myself into another human, who frankly saw my value and then took advantage of it. It was about January and during winter break, which I only ever briefly visit home for holidays. Mostly ceremonial and to comfort my family and I see no value in arbitrary celebration days, that follow a religion that I don’t practice.

Now back to the fun depression part. You see I had no where to be no work to do, a zero desire to chase any kind of tail. Men had disappointed me again, and I like in a small town so looking for other queer women is disappointing to say the least. Which is unusual as I am a deplorable flirt. I had tried even a few dates only to be severely underwhelmed, and frankly I have never actually managed to develop any sort of decorum, especially when hurt or depressed. So I would tell them “We aren’t going to have sex, you can come crash if you’d like, but it ain’t happening,” and then literally walk the fuck out. Surprisingly enough I did have quite a few more awkward sleepovers than you would imagine, many college kids don’t own cars, hedge their bets on getting laid and end up stranded several miles from home. Already having spent their uber money on my margaritas, and living in the snow belt, I decided to not be too cruel…but anyways.

It was Saturday, I decided to for go a tinder date, most people I know where out of town and if I am going to die young it’s gonna be mine choice, not being murdered.  I was filling the the bathtub and opening bottle of red wine. The primary difference between this sad lush’s bath and any I had taken previously, is that I had decided to indulge in my very worst and slovenly fantasy. There was of coarse an ended list of things I had for saw of my pending doom, but I decided to get out of my head and indulge.

I wanted to watch tv in the tub.

My at the time roommate (who is actually a real life saint) was gone in Chicago to spend the New Year with her sister. I don’t actually care about privacy, but she does so I had amended my usual behaviors of being naked or mostly naked all the time, and always leaving the bathroom door open. I grew up in a 5-9 person household, with one bathroom, we didn’t do privacy… So anyways, I turned our tv around (it had chrome-cast) pointed it to the bathroom, grabbed the remote, and so there I did stay for a good 4 hours. Which I know because I love historical dramas, and they are super long, and I watched at least two. Reading this back to myself this honestly sounds like a scene straight out of what my most perfect suicide, and eventual discovery of my body should look like. The headline would be “Young girl found dead, drown in her own wine and bubbles, next to a plate of pizza rolls, smiling while watching Downton Abbey,” seriously it wouldn’t even have to say my name and I know about six motherfuckers who would laugh, then sigh, cause they knew exactly who did that shit.

It had been cathartic to indulge in such overwhelming self pity. Even as a child whenever I was in pain or upset, I had learned to keep it shoved so far down that at least 80% of my life has felt like a video game. As an adult my first tattoo was based on Roman Stoicism and I currently practice Zen Buddhism, so I am not a feeler ya’ll I am a detacher, and a rationalizer. In that moment I had allowed myself to be overwhelmingly human. Not the pretty parts of humanity, mind you but all of the self serving self loathing degrading part, sprinkled with enough impracticality to honestly make clear headed me cringe. Later, i could admit to myself, that this indulgence was exactly what I needed. The very next day I left the house for the first time in four days, and actually felt happy. Which was new, I ride on a fair about of emotion ambiguity and frankly just ignoring most things that make me feel things. But you gotta let yourself feel sad I suppose, if you want to ever truly enjoy being happy. I don’t know shit though.

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