1st Place Winner

Author: Onyx

Showers:

The song starts,

“Healing process begins with a shower.”

My hand rests on the faucet. I turn the water on and I step in.

I take two showers a day. I have since I was young. One in the morning, one in the evening.

Some things have changed. The temperature, the soap, the emotions of the moment.

But one thing has stayed completely constant. The why of it all. Why do I shower so often?

I was sexually abused at age 10.

I felt gross. My body didn’t feel like mine.

I learned how to clean myself. How to feel OK in my body momentarily.

Showers were a necessity. They started hot, as if I had to sterilize myself.

And every time I would step out, I would stare at the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet, a plain place for my eyes to wander to.

I barely saw myself in the reflection. Just my head and shoulders. I was a pretty small kid.

Slowly the showers got colder. No longer scalding. I maintained the ritual, but it changed as I forgot. Or tried to forget. I told myself that I just like being clean.

And then freshman year. I was unable to repress the memories of my assault any longer.

I told my mom. I was forced to relive the abuse and the depression.

So I stopped in the showers. It went from twice a day to once. It went from once a day to once a week. At points I could barely get myself to shower once a month.

And I festered.

I felt... wrong again. I regretted saying anything at all. As if those events should’ve stayed in my head.

‘Why?’

I was asked for details. More than I was comfortable sharing. Both for legal reporting and for some peoples’ personal curiosity.

‘Who did it?’

‘Is he in jail now?’

Legal action, this and that.

It was my brother. And no, my parents did not want to press charges against him.

I still live with him while I write this.

But no one asked me how I was healing. And to be honest I wasn’t for the longest time.

I was now taller. Broader. I wasn’t 10 anymore. I could see more of myself in the reflection. And I hated it.

Seeing myself became painful. It had always been, ever since the assault. But as I festered I saw myself in him, and I saw his face on my own.

And so I avoided looking at myself. I avoided the showers, the mirrors, and my own perception of myself.

It took two years for me to start healing. It took time to cope with my PTSD. I needed to leave my own head.

So the showers became cold, grounding. I used peppermint soap, reinforcing. And I put on music, soothing. The present was more concrete. I was there in the shower, not in the bed where my abuse took place.

And that day, I step out of the shower.

I look at that medicine cabinet, same as it's always been, and I squint at the mirror.

And I see myself. Finally, I see me. I’m 17. I haven’t changed much. But finally I’m not him. Same as I’ve always been.

It still isn’t over though. I still live with him. And so the song playing is quickly disrupted by his voice. Asking when I’d be out of the bathroom. And I cringe. But it’s not nearly as bad as before. I go to turn off my music. But before I can hit the pause button, the song comes to an end:

“Maybe it’s not beneficial to draw parallels

But repeating the ritual helps

To a certain extent.” - Healing Ritual by Whatever Dad