Saaf

Content Warning: Mental Illness

It's been almost a week since you've last showered. You managed to drag it out this long. But now your scalp has a layer of dry shampoo, your skin changing from deep brown to a disgusting grey and the crevices of your body waxy. There's a party tomorrow so you know you should shower. If you don't, you'll feel the eyes of everyone staring at your gunked-up face wondering why you even bothered to come. At least, that's what you think will happen. You have also begun to smell. No amount of body spray can cover it up.

You're tired, but you know you'll feel better afterwards— you always do. So you gather your clothes, still smelling of generic laundry detergent, and step in. You try not to look at the mirror; you know you'll feel disappointed if you do. You fold the clothes you brought in and place them on the countertop. You redo your bun, pulling the hair tight against your scalp, before reaching behind your neck and unclasping the two necklaces. You pull off your ring and place your bracelet around it as if it were an offering. Maybe this time your prayers for things to get better will finally be heard. You doubt it.

You undo your bun, looking at your hair. It's oily and matted, the black, blonde, and brown looking muted, like muddy water after a rainstorm. You methodically begin to section it, brushing out the tangles that have accumulated from days of being thrown up. This time you couldn't even manage to run your fingers through it each morning.

You peel off each layer of clothing. Some days you examine your body in the mirror, feeling bursts of love for the soft of your stomach, the smooth skin of your thighs, the way you still manage to stand. Other days, you can barely look up knowing all you'll see is the things you love twisted into something you hate. Today, however, is neither of those days. Today, you have to simply clean yourself.

You stand in the tub, the cool porcelain sending shivers up your spine. You feel covered in dirt, sweat, and despair. The water needs to be hot enough to cut through the piled-up days of neglect. Hot enough to feel it burn your skin. When it's hot enough that you can feel your skin drying out underneath the spray, you begin the process of cleaning yourself. 

You grab a washcloth, though sometimes you'll use a loofah, and grab whatever body wash you can find. It's a soft-scented floral. It's calming.

You run the washcloth over your body, scrubbing to get rid of every bit of filth you can. You stand under the spray, feeling your skin rubbed raw burn. But it's not enough. Your back feels as if the layer on it is still there, not letting any water seep through.

You feel repulsion at your body that refuses to let go of the oils that have built up. Taking a deep breath, you grab a brush. It's made of coarse bristles that you sometimes use to clean clothes. You run it over your back, pushing with force that you know will cause some pain afterwards. In that moment, however, you cannot bring yourself to care. Your skin is already drying and you wonder if you'll be able to moisturize it after. You decide not to worry about it, to take it one step at a time.

Next is your hair. You have been growing it out as of late and although seeing its progress makes you feel as if life is changing and moving, washing it after you've neglected to is a hurdle. You drop your head, eyes looking at the white ground. You grab your shampoo. You had bought it recently, on one of the days you were feeling good enough to go out alone. You remember standing in the drug store, lifting each $2 bottle up and smelling it, reading each label carefully. You had felt happy with your choice. Now, head bent down, you lather the shampoo in your hands, the smell of rain and lilies making your heart calm. It is a beautiful smell.

You run your hands through your hair, coating each strand in shampoo. You rub it in, feeling the layer of grime picked up. The shampoo doesn't lather, not yet. You rinse your hair, watching the water turn from clear to a dirty grey. Running your hands through your hair, you find patches of oil. Repeat.  

The second time it lathers near your ears. You can't help but smile. You find the patch where the oil seems to come from. It's about the center of your scalp and is full of grime. Running your fingernails on it, you feel almost nothing. Tilting your head down once more, you grab your shampoo. You remember in cosmetology, they taught you to never over shampoo. You wonder why you no longer care to heed that advice. You scrub, your fingernails scratching your scalp, the hot water burning and you feel elated because finally, you can feel your scalp.

After rinsing your hair, you move to your face. It's bumpy and your nose has dead skin all around it. You like to pick at your face, finding dead skin and pulling off scabs, but you haven't been able to feel anything for a few days now. Your face wash is almost finished. You pour it onto your cleansing pad. You know you should be gentle but instead, you rub the pad forcefully on your face, the skin underneath breathing for the first time in a while. You make sure to get your neck as well, lessening the force as you slowly let the pad go over your face. You stand under the spray, feeling your face sting. Your cheeks still feel heavy and so you go over them once more. 

You stand under the spray that's too hot. You lower the temperature to warm but even that's too hot. Lowering the temperature to cool, you feel yourself breathe slowly. You wash your hands three times, splash your face three times, rinse your mouth three times, wash your arms three times, and wash your feet. You feel clean. 

You dry yourself off, already seeing your skin turn ashy, your face tight, and your hair light. You grab your toner and moisturizer from the closet and put your hair up in a towel. The toner smells cool and is welcome on your dried-out skin. You've been using the same one since junior high school. You rub your moisturizer into your skin. It's a heavier one, but it's smooth.

You put on your necklaces, first the fruit one, then the constellation. You try to make them as centred as you can, knowing in a few minutes they'll be skewed as usual. You pull on your bracelet. You twist your earrings, applying ointment to your newest piercing. It still stings, but you think it's healing well.

Dressing yourself is a quick process. The clothes aren't the prettiest, but they're soft against your skin, and part of you thinks this could be a look. You take your hair out of the towel and tie it in a loose ponytail. Your glasses have gotten fogged up and you wipe them. You wear your ring and leave.

The world seems different now. It feels a little lighter and more soft. You sit on your bed, reaching for your now cool cup of tea. You've recently discovered you enjoy tea after your showers.

You wonder how long this will last. Whether you'll take care of yourself for a week before you fall again. You hope it's longer. You sip the cool tea, feeling it run down your throat and into your stomach. You feel lighter and you hope it lasts.