The soft electric hum from the florescent lights that hung from above may have lulled me into a daydream, or perhaps the temporary escape to a waking-sleep was my mind’s way of protecting itself from the horrors that filled this tiny room.
I sat awkwardly on the only seat, a small corner chair, that was mounted to the wall. With my knees to my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, I pondered how I found myself in the place again.
The three dingy white walls had mysterious stains and smudges that I tried not to think about too intently, and there were random spots of graffiti left by women who came before me in this place.
The fourth wall seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary piece of reflective glass. Ah, that was the real danger though, for if you gazed upon this mirror your wildest fears would be realized and laid out before you. Once you looked into the glass there were things there which could never be unseen.
Escape was nearly impossible, or at least there would be no immediate flight to safety. The door to this small room full of large scale truth and pain was latched securely, held firmly closed by a sturdy lock.
Though I felt confined, I could here people freely moving just outside. Who they were, where they were going, or what I was doing here, in this place, again, I did not know.
And I do know this place…
I shut my eyes tight and open them abruptly to find I’m still curled in triangle shaped seat a couple feet above the faded carpet.
As I ease off the chair, knowing what must be done, my feet carefully find my shoes where I had abandoned them before retreating to a far off place inside my mind’s eye away from all this…truth.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment I feel as though this space might swallow me whole.
I tell myself to be brave. Truthfully, there is no other choice.
I am reaping what I have sowed.
Standing tall, bare shoulders back, I open my eyes to face my truths…
Some define insanity as the act of doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
And if that is true, I am insane.
For here I stand…
After another cold winter’s slumber…
Pale and yearning for the sun’s darkening kiss…
Skin stretched and muscles soft from childbirth and defeat, elasticity robbed and never found…
Here I stand …
…in the swimwear department’s dressing room.
Somehow I always expect it won’t look just like this.
Do you hate bathing suit shopping? What’s your strategy? I bring a flask, a best friend, and a bag of cookies with me when I make the hellish shopping expedition once a year. Got a better idea? Leave me a comment, I’d love to hear it!