Healing the Wounds of Lost Trust

Bathing in Darkness

"They tell you, Lull, that a revival is only temporary; so is a bath, but it still does you good." Sorrow's words echoed in my mind as I stepped into the sanctuary of the bathroom.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last golden hues across a sky that promised only the cold comfort of twilight, I found myself in the sanctuary of the bathroom. A heavy sigh escaped my lips, more felt than heard, as I began the almost ritualistic process of filling the bathtub. The faucet released a steady stream of hot water, which swirled into the tub with a comforting, familiar sound. I poured in the bubble bath, watching the suds multiply and froth over the surface, a tiny, contained sea of escape within the ceramic confines of my bath.

The light from the overhead bulb was too harsh, and too clinical, so I turned it off and set about lighting candles. One by one, their flames took hold, casting flickering shadows across the walls and ceiling, their warm glow a stark contrast to the chill that had settled deep in my bones. With each spark and wisp of smoke, the room transformed from a mere bathroom to a dimly lit oasis, the shadows dancing like the whispered beginnings of a darker thought.

I would rather watch my skin melt away in this water than endure the burning stares of pseudo-comrades in the harsh light of day. The thought flitted through my mind unbidden, like a moth drawn to the flame of my growing despondency. In the bubbling cauldron of my bath, I could dissolve, unseen and unremarkable, the heat soothing the aching coldness of isolation rather than delivering the scalding burn of mockery and disdain. The hot water, though it reminded me of my most embarrassing memories, at least kept me warm, while the cold water was simply...cold.

Settling into the water, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The heat enveloped me, not just physically but mentally, seeping into the crevices of my mind where cold, jagged thoughts had taken root. The steam rose in soft tendrils, blurring the lines of reality just enough that the edges of my anxiety seemed to soften and melt away with each passing moment.

Here, in this self-made sanctuary, there was no need for the masks I wore daily—the fake smiles that didn't quite reach my eyes, the laughter that rang hollow in my own ears. Here, I was unwatchably myself, stripped of pretense and the exhausting burden of perpetual performance.

But as the water began to cool, the soothing fantasy started to dissipate with the steam. Reality seeped back in, the chill of the air a harsh reminder of the world waiting beyond the bathroom door. A world where isolation cloaked itself in the guise of connection, where every interaction felt like walking through a minefield of judgment and expectation.

I thought of my classmates, their easy laughter and seamless interactions that seemed as natural as breathing. To them, the give and take of friendship was effortless, a dance they had all been born knowing the steps to. For me, every step was a misstep, every word a potential misfire. They moved in a world that obeyed rules I couldn't seem to decipher, leaving me perpetually on the outside, nose pressed against the glass of their easy camaraderie.

The more I observed, the more I understood that their world wasn't meant for someone like me. I was an actor who had stumbled onto the wrong stage, fumbling through a script written in a language I couldn't understand. My presence was tolerated, perhaps occasionally welcomed, but never essential—never vital.

I drained the bathtub, watching the water spiral away, taking with it the last remnants of my temporary refuge. The candles were blown out, one by one, their smoke curling into the air like the final, dying breaths of my brief respite. The darkness that settled was a physical thing, heavy and absolute, a shroud that draped over my shoulders and pressed down upon my chest.

Dressed and alone, I faced my reflection in the fogged mirror. The person staring back was a stranger, features blurred and indistinct, as if even my own reflection had grown weary of trying to understand the enigma of my existence. What did it mean to be so profoundly disconnected from

the world around me? Was there a place for someone whose very being seemed antithetical to the notion of belonging?

These questions haunted me as I turned off the bathroom light and headed back to the world outside. A world that didn't stop, didn't pause for anyone, least of all for a solitary figure drifting through its days like a ghost, unseen and unseeing. I was adrift, caught in the ebb and flow of a life that felt both too much and not enough, a contradiction as complex and convoluted as the thoughts that filled my mind.

But tomorrow, perhaps, I would try again. Maybe there would be a moment, however fleeting, where the mask fit just right, where the script made sense, where the stage felt like somewhere I could belong. Until then, I would carry on, one foot in front of the other, walking a path marked by shadow and light, ever searching for a place to call my own in a world that seemed both vast and incredibly, impossibly small.