Self-indulgence

I thought I was finished. I thought I was completely free. I was wrong.

Choosing a background picture, I stumbled across an old picture of her. I felt the same old electric jolt, the same hot rush. No! "No," I say.

I had hoped to rinse it all away, standing disconsolate beneath the shower head. Water streaming against my body, head hanging, I hoped to cleans myself. I hoped to rinse away every last petty insult, every last little barb. I hoped to forget as easily as I was forgotten. I hoped to lose those poignant good moments right there with the stinging remarks, right there with all of the rage. Let it all wash away. Force it out. Let it all swirl down the drain. That same old cleansing ritual: breathe in pure white light, force out bad black air. I submerged myself, a baptism. Hot water streaming, pooling in my mouth, covering my face, warming me, cleansing me. Water gently pounding at my eyes, water trickling across my lips, wrapped in the sensation alone, all thoughts forced away.

Stepping away from the stream, the cold strikes me, pin-pricks my skin, tears away my comfort. It's the same old game. Nothing feels as good as that water, that hot, beautiful flow. Nothing feels as horrible as being forced out, out into the cold, out to face the emotion the waters numbed.

I want to sit you down, I want to ask you "why?" Why do you hate me?

The pleasant moments still grasp at me. They pull at my skin, my hair. They taunt me, dancing their path inside my head. They leave a filthy dark residue, a permanent stain. They break my resolve. I want to feel nothing when I look at you. Stop TAUNTING me.