Waterworld

A year and a half ago, I tried to drown myself in the shower. I can remember--all too clearly--the moments that led up to my failed attempt and the murky, dazed aftermath that followed.

It was late May, and I was close to finishing my junior year in high school. It was dark, and my mother was driving for once instead of me (because you see, it had been an especially stress-filled Saturday, and I was tired.) We started off talking about what happened in school that week, and inevitably, we wound up discussing what I could have done better: i.e., participated in more extracurricular activities, signed up for more contests/competitions, applied for more scholarships, blah blah blah. This topic had been beaten to death over the past several months, but since she was the one driving, I let her talk until she was finished. However, I wasn't prepared for her closing statements, which were markedly different from what she had always said before.

"Look, Esa, I'll be honest. This year has been a huge disappointment. You have been a huge disappointment."

At first, my mind didn't register. Couldn't register. A few minutes dragged by before the meaning of her words actually sank in. I didn't know how to reply. Was I supposed to reply? And what could I have said, anyway, to make her feel better? In the end, all I could manage was a feeble "I'm sorry" that sounded more like a question if anything. My mother simply shook her head and shifted to third gear as we exited the interstate. We were silent for the rest of the ride home.

When we finally arrived back at the house, I helped her carry the groceries into the kitchen, where I then unpacked them, stored them in the fridge, and retied the plastic bags for later use. She glanced at me one more time, full of emotions I couldn't name, and quietly shuffled to her bedroom. I went upstairs to take a shower.

As I stood underneath the showerhead, I mulled over her last comment and turned the shower knob to increase both the heat and water pressure. The more I thought about it, the hotter I wanted the water to be until it was all but stripping the skin off of my red, raw body. Eventually, I started to cry. Eventually, it turned into sobbing. I had never sobbed before. I've cried plenty of times, but that night was different. It wasn't supposed to feel so intense, was it?

I've thought about this for a while, and have gone through many words in my head, but the only one that still--to this day--accurately describes how I cried in the shower is this: Racked. I was racking with sobs. Shaking, twisting, writhing on the tiled floor. I felt light-headed, dizzy, disoriented, and completely out of touch with reality. I can honestly say that not one single, coherent thought crossed my mind the whole time I laid there, naked and pathetic, as the water kept on burning me. For the longest time, I couldn't stop. The sobs would subside after a few minutes, but just as quickly flare up again; and had the episodes gone on indefinitely, I think I could have gone legally, clinically insane. It was hard to breathe, what with the snot and the tears and all that water (so much water.) It was my own little waterworld.

And that's when I tried to kill myself. To this day, I still can't find it in me to write out the actual experience.

I don't know how long I stayed in the shower, but everyone had gone to sleep by the time I stepped out. I felt so tired then.

~~

I'm not sure what made me post this. I still haven't told my mother yet. But I feel slightly more at peace. Better than nothing, right?