An Avoidant Attachment

It’s that time again. Time to venture into the darkness beyond my sturdy steel walls to the place that has such vivid, awful colours and sounds that feel like a burning in my brain.

“Ugh.” The first word, or sound I should say, that I have uttered in days. My throat feels ragged and the sound in my ears sounds foreign, I feel the urge to look over my shoulder to see if it was in fact me that had made that noise.

It was, that was my voice. It’s been so long I don’t recognise it.

The minutes count down far too quickly and I can’t avoid it any longer, after a week I must shower. The hair on my head is practically sticking together, not quite a matted mess but not far off. My face is unkept and the bags under my eyes are heavy.

The sunlight hasn’t touched my skin in 168 hours at least, the translucent whiteness of my complexion isn’t a shock to me but others would disagree.

When did I last eat? I can’t even remember that.

The inside is where I belong, the world outside is cruel. This is torture.

The sound of the rushing water hitting the bathtub floor makes my blood run cold, I want to vomit at the thought of it touching me as if the shower head is spitting out pure venom.

I practically peel my clothes off my skin and throw them into a pile of other dirty clothes that have been piling up for longer than I can actually remember now. When it gets disturbed I can smell the odour but only for a moment before my nose goes blind again.

I just don’t care. I don’t have the energy to care. All of my spoons have been used and now I am running on empty. I’ve lived like this for three decades and I can’t pull myself out of this dark, dark hole I find myself in.

I take a deep breath which isn’t far off from a sigh and step into the flowing stream of steaming hot water from the shower head. As soon as the water touches my skin I almost shrivel up and die as I watch a week's worth of grime be rinsed from my body. I look at the drain and almost wish I could follow it down into the pipes.

Anything to get out of the brutal task of a day at work.

The shower lasts a mere moment, just enough time for the water to wash away the bubbles from my wet, red skin before I bundle myself in several towels to rot away for as long as I can. And yet, all too soon my skin is dry and I need to move.

My short hair takes a moment to dry with a hairdryer and still I refuse to use it with excuses of “it’s too loud” or “it’s too hot.” I’ll leave the house with wet hair because I just don’t care enough to think about my appearance.

I pull my itchy work clothes onto my body and shrink under the weight of them.

In just a few moments I need to leave my dark enclosure and put on my mask, or else I won’t survive the day.

I practically run to my car and lock the doors behind me, I spend every second out of the house like this. Constantly in fear that I am being chased.

People always comment on how quickly I move around and laugh when I reply to this with a shy, “I just really want to get home soon.” In my mind I live in a constant state of panic.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

I really really really want to go home.