Toilet
Isn't it funny how I always end up in the ladies' room?
I have spent so much time there, I can hardly imagine a time when there were
no ladies' rooms. How did girls manage to survive without the safety of this
very private place then? I couldn't have, for sure. I remember clearly that
none of those who hurt me were ever allowed to go there. Nor dared to. The white
shabby tiles, the cheap, frameless mirrors, the smell of disinfectant there
gave me a feeling of comfort and security equalled only by an isolation ward.
Later, there were green and orange tiles. Buying time. Later still, there were
windows showing a gorgeous view of the mountains, windows I could escape by,
escape from reality and deadly routine at the same time.
Yesterday
I visited the ladies' room again. It's been a long time, and much has changed
since then. No windows, clean tiles, a neverending supply of paper tissues.
No smell. The purpose of the visit has changed somewhat, though being alone
is still the primary motivation. But not being alone for fear of others. Being
alone because I don't want to share this moment, I don't want them to see that
I can fly, that there is no ground beneath my feet, that I am spinning in circles
and circles and circles and circles and endless circles... This is so beautiful
I can only take it to the ladies room.
I'm
spinning, rising up in small circles... Or am I spiralling downwards, so fast
that I can't discern the direction? I don't know, but it feels sooooo good!