The Girl from the Bathroom

The Alarm is too Loud

   My alarm clock rings at 10:00 am. It's too loud. Like every morning, i snooze it. I didn't want to deal with the lingering feeling of emptiness today, and the thoughts that come along with it. I roll over to grab my phone and see the unanswered calls, and the texts i haven't replied to in weeks. I lock the phone, and reach over on my nightstand to grab the lexapro and buspar. I wanted to fall back asleep but i remember i had lunch plans with a friend today, plans i completely regretted signing up for in the first place. I was tired. And not the sleepy-tired, the tired-of-living type of tired. Tired of wallowing in my head and in my emptiness type of tired. I guess that's what depression does. Depression is killing me.

  I muster the energy to get out of bed, and drag myself to the bathroom. As i look in the mirror all i see behind the dream like fog is my greasy hair and my sunken eyes and the acne that covers my skin. The smell of my B-O and uncleaned bathroom makes me want to vomit. I go back to my room and lay in bed for just a little bit longer, and my thoughts remind me of every reason why i'm not good enough for this world.

"I haven't done laundry in months, i live in filth."

"I can't even clean the 3 day old food on my nightstand."

"My bed hasn't been made in weeks."

"How the fuck am i supposed to do anything when i feel like this?"

"I wish my last attempt worked"

20 minutes had passed.

  I rub my eyes and get up again despite having no energy. I manage to go into my closet, smelling every pair of sweatpants and t-shirts, and pick the ones that smell the best. My panties were all dirty, so commando it was for me. I go back to my bathroom and put on some deodorant and douse myself in body-spray to mask the fact i haven't showered in days. I'm not even going to attempt my makeup today. I open my unkept drawer full of old floss sticks and q-tips and find a hair tie, and throw my knotted hair up in a bun.  I grab my keys, throw on some sandals, and i'm out the door.
    
As i'm waiting in the parking lot for my friend, i open my visor mirror to check how i look.

"No one could ever love a girl who looks like me."

"i look like a boy."

"I should go back home now, my friend doesn't even want to see me, she just wants to hangout with me because she feels bad for me."

"Today would be a perfect day to kill myself"

20 minutes had passed.

My friend shows up. We go into the restaurant, sit down and have nice conversation with small talk. It was going good. As i finished my meal, I walk in the bathroom of the restaurant and see a girl washing her hands.
The steam from the water is rising off of her fingertips, and there's droplets trickled onto the floor and the mirror.
She gazed at me through the mirror, and i give her a smile back.

She was beautiful. Her makeup was done perfectly, not a blemish to be found on her face. Her red lipstick and black eyeliner made her light up a room. She had on tight jeans and a long sleeved flannel shirt, with boots to match.
I go into the stall & lock the door. As i shut the stall behind me, i hear the sink cut off and the hand towels being pulled from the dispenser.
Shortly, the sound of her shoes on the granite floor gets further away and the door creeks open, and then a soft click when it shuts.

"Why can't I just be like the girl from the bathroom?"

My alarm clock rings at 8:00 am. It's too loud. My hands were hurting from the night before. I get out of bed and into the kitchen to go feed my dog. I had plans to go to lunch with a friend today, but the anxiety was making it hard to look forward to that. I can never sleep in. As soon as i wake up, my brain goes into overdrive. I guess that's what OCD does. OCD is killing me.

After feeding my dog, i go into my bathroom, and begin doing my makeup to get ready for my lunch date. I open my makeup bag and grab my eyeliner, seeming to fuck it up over and over again. My red lipstick is nowhere to be found.

"If I don't wear this red lipstick my dog will die"

"If my eyeliner isn't perfect, i will go crazy"

"I just want my brain to fucking shut up"

20 minutes had passed.

  I begin to feel my body vibrate with warmth and my heart race. My eyeliner is fucked up. So that means i'm going to go crazy. I can't find my lipstick, so my dog is going to die. I can't handle this. I start pacing around, and get filled with so much adrenaline i could run a mile. I have to calm myself down. I have to find my lipstick, and fix my eyeliner, or these things will come true.

  The adrenaline subsided, but the thoughts were still there. I went back into my bathroom, and rubbed the makeup off of my face. My skin was red by the time it was off. I managed to finally fix the black eyeliner, and found my lipstick nestled in the back of my makeup bag. The thoughts stopped. I go into my closet, find a pair of black jeans and a flannel shirt, and boots to match. I then left and headed to the restaurant.

On the car ride over, i realized i forgot to take my fucking medicine.

    I open the door to the restaurant, figuring there would be hand sanitizer waiting for me on the other side. There was nothing. I begin to panic. The door is contaminated and god knows how many people has touched it. I bolted to the bathroom.

  I opened the door with my shirt around my hands, as i had forgotten to take my medicine, and i knew the thoughts would be too loud.
I didn't want to ruin my dinner. With my shirt still around my hand i turn the hot water on as high as it will go, panicking as i can't seem to get the soap out of the dispenser fast enough. Thoughts in my head are too rapid for me to keep up.

"The shirt won't protect me from the germs, i need to go home and wash my clothes now."

"This water isn't hot enough, scrub harder!"

"That door had so many germs on it, the germs touched your shirt, and the shirt touched your hand, there's no way i can get this all off"

"These thoughts will stop when i'm clean enough"

20 minutes had passed.

An endless loop in my mind, shouting, screaming, my head hurts. My head hurts so much. But my hands were clean, right?

That was until someone called me. The sound of my phone ringing was deafening. I answer, and i have a quick chat with a coworker, and then we hang up. I gently slams the phone on the counter, and reply with a sigh of tiredness. My heart is racing and I begin to panic. I put my shirt around my hand, and twists the handle of the hot water as high as it will go. I pump what's left of the soap into my hands, some of it getting onto my shirt.

It starts again.

"Why couldn't i of just remembered to take my medicine"

"What if someone comes in and i can't get clean?"

"Going out was a mistake."

"Let me just do it for five more minutes and the thoughts will stop, and the anxiety will go away."

20 minutes had passed.

  My hands are bright red from the hot water, and they're cracked and bleeding a bit.
I hear the bathroom door creak open, and a woman walks in. The woman gives me a smile, and i smiled back through the mirror.

She was beautiful. She had her hair up in a messy bun, she was wearing loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, and some sandals. She had no makeup on and a glowing natural beauty.

I manage to finish my last wash, as she was entering the stall. The water is still running and i reach for the paper towels, drying my hands, using the paper towel to cut off the sink. With the paper towel in my hand, i open the door, and discard the cloth into the trash bin on the corner.

"Why can't i be like the girl from the bathroom?