Showering With My Fear

I cried at work today.

The last month has been exceptionally stressful at work. Insanely busy, short-staffed (by that I mean, no staff), looooong hours and a lot of other BS. Even though I come home exhausted and tense and vowing never to go back, each morning I wake up and drag myself in for another 12 hour day. I hate it, but I also love it. I feel a sense of accomplishment because all this responsibility means simply, I'm responsible. I worked hard for these moments and I won't spend my time wishing it were different. Still...the stress does get to me.

But that's not why I cried.

Today was a promotional "Hot Dog Day." I remembered last night around 923pm and at 930pm found myself walking around a 24 hours Wal-Mart in my pj's stocking up on hot dogs, buns, soda and chips. It was now 308pm and I had yet to eat anything-busy as I was. My cell rang. A number I didn't recognize, so I answered. It was the lawyer working on my dad's case. She wanted to update my address (it only took 7 months) and then told me the insurance company may be ready to settle as soon as next week. I thanked her and got off the phone. Then the tears came.

I couldn't stop it. I sniffled. I wiped my eyes. I willed myself to stop and the harder I tried, the faster they fell. We were closing in less than an hour and the day was winding down. Still, I was embarrassed. I went to the bathroom and cleaned up, but I couldn't face myself in the mirror. Ashamed I was being weak and someone might catch me in this precarious situation. I stood in the middle of the bathroom and, avoiding the mirror, stared at the toilet. The same toilet seat I left down and some stupid boy peed on yesterday instead of lifting up and that was the final straw so I forced my borrowed help to clean the restrooms today. The first time in 5 weeks they had been cleaned. Why did I care what some stupid bad-aim boy cared about me? So what if I was crying at work? At least I know not to pee on the frigging toilet seat or would clean it up if I did!

And now I was crying more. I couldn't stay in the bathroom, hiding, for the next 40 minutes, so I emerged to face whatever criticism would come. But no one was in the showroom. My employee was in the warehouse. The phone didn't ring. I sat down at my desk and just stared at the computer screen daring someone to interrupt. Nobody did. I left the blinds up and my door wide open and my eyes red and wet. I almost wished someone would come by. Notice me. Ask me.

My CSR locked up and left for the day. I planned on staying late, but I couldn't. Call me petty, selfish, lazy. But I just didn't care-I needed out of there.

I drove to a bookstore-the one farthest away from me-to buy a book that I already purchased and was being shipped to me. On the long drive I thought about calling my dad. I always called him after a long, stressful day. Or when I was stuck in the car, in traffic. Today it was both, but his phone wouldn't be answered. I called a friend instead. When she had to go, I spoke to another.

I got to the bookstore, bought my book, sat in the car and read. I only meant to read for a while to clear my head. Four hours later it was dark and I finished the book. With nothing more to do, I drove home.

Another long, empty drive. Alone. I could have turned on the radio or drove faster, instead I called through my phone book. Dialed until I got hold of someone. And talked. I wanted to spill all my secrets, but the words wouldn't come. Afterward, I could only think about what a horrible friend I was.

When I got home, a package was waiting for me. My friend's daughter drew me a picture and sent me a care package. My brother and my husband called me thinking I was still out and they were worried. It struck me odd that people should care about me when I am incapable of connecting to others. I shut them out and push them away and I don't trust or get too close. I never get hurt. I thought about my dad's memorial and who would be there when I died. Then I showered.

As the filth of the day washed down the drain, I stared off wearily; distant. In the corner of the shower I noticed what appeared to be a ratted strand of hair and I flicked water at it to rinse it away. When it didn't budge, I bent down for a closer inspection. Through blurry eyes and grief and sorrow and stress and the weight of the world, I recognized the tangled mess as only someone with my severe phobia could: a spider occupied the shower with me. Was it dead or alive? I let the water stream over my shoulders and down my fingers and poked at it in waves. Normally paralyzed by my fear, today I towered over the beast, curious.

My enormous cat Bond sat right outside the shower doors. He guarded me. Protected me. But the very thing he defended against was inside. It taunted me when I was most vulnerable. Naked. Bare and weaponless my fear laid before me. The cat leaned across the bathmat blocking the shower door. At that moment I realized he was my warden. My savior unwittingly kept me locked in my prison.



I showered. With the spider in its corner and me in mine, I showered. Not in fear, but with my fear. Because I was Strong and Empowered.

Because in that moment there were more important things that terrified me.