Solo Strength

Last night, when all the friend saving was said and done, I took a desperately long bath. Car accidents and drunkenness aside. The water is where I calm myself. I like to sink beneath the surface and listen to the world from underneath. Everything always sounds echoed and hollowed. Warped and wavy. The dripping spout sounds like a tuning fork. The African cd sounds more like muffled birds than joyous voices. I like the warmth of the water, cradling me. Steam rising from the surface. Last night I stayed silent and unmoving letting the water become as calm as can be. I wanted to become just as still, just as calm. With only my nose above water I willed myself to be slow and easy. A ladybug crawled over the spout and paused to investigate the drip before making its way along the rim of the tub. Every time it stopped I thought about its journey and wondered if it would join me in the water. A solo ladybug going somewhere. When it finally disappeared from view I thought about Aaron, about alcohol, about aborted engagements and mourned one and all. Not my lives, nothing to do with me, but I will miss them just the same.
While my muscles were still warm from the bath I practiced sun salutations for half an hour. There is something about moving from pose to pose as slowly and silently as possible that makes me feel whole. Strong. Centered. Solitude is my saving grace. My breath was just as quiet as in the bath. If I thought I could communicate with you through mental telepathy I would have said I’m finished with the anger. Silently I would have said I’m done being raving mad. Because while I didn’t want to talk to you at such a late hour I wanted you to know I’m fine. But, thanks for being there.

Here’s the thing. I’m finding I’m learning to let go of anger and hurt more easily. I have found my solo strength.