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Toothbrushes
09 February 2005 @ 11:01 p.m.
Stomach cramps sent me to the bathroom late at night for several days now. After 10:00 p.m., I�ll be sitting there feeling nauseous with the door closed. No matter what is running through my mind as I am there, I force myself to be silent. Tears form and I�m sobbing, silently on the floor of my bathroom in my own apartment� the door is closed.
My sanctuary has always been a small room with a door, preferably one with a lock. The closet in the bedroom I grew up in. The bathroom of most homes. Traveling for school or work I�ve been known to lock myself in hotel bathrooms for hours. It�s privacy, no one can find me, no one can bother me, and no one can see the tears. It�s always been this way. Even now in my own home. My own home where I live alone� technically.
Others thought (think?) I was crazy for never allowing a partner to keep things at my apartment or house through college. We�d share a bed, but I never even let them forget a sock. I saw it as my boundary � not until we live together are things left behind. One of my closer girlfriends chastised me for this no-toothbrush rule, called it crazy. I stuck by it� until recently.
Started with a toothbrush, then his own toothpaste. A week later a towel appeared in the bathroom. Soon after an extra shirt for work was left, a hat for days off, his brand of soda in the fridge. Today my bathroom looks as though two people lived here � with the razor, shave cream, shampoo, soap, towel, and toothbrush. Seeing that can of shave cream about sent me into a full-fledged panic attack.
It makes no sense to me as I contemplate our future together. We have communal property, though do not reside together. He sleeps over often. We eat our meals together. We want to live together� someday. And yet even after all this time I can�t have his razor next to my bathtub.
What is so wrong with me that I cannot allow the man I love to keep things in my home? I feel smothered, suffocated just by his presence at times. Yet when he�s away I miss him or feel utterly guilty for not missing him. Tonight I want to throw all his things into a bag, throw it at him, and tell him that he has to leave � that I cannot cry openly in my own home and that isn�t right and that it�s his fault. But I know it isn�t. There�s something wrong with me. There�s always been something wrong with me�.
Here I am happy � good job, good apartment, great relationship � and yet I still sit sobbing on my bathroom floor late at night staring at a can of shave cream.
currently listening: -
currently reading: Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner
