Under My Skin

As It Was

I scrubbed harder at the base of the faucet, nearly snapping the flimsy plastic toothbrush.
I can only imagine the bacterial growth there; I went for three days without cleaning it. I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know why I've been so distracted lately. It's hard to think. Well, about most things, that is. Some things, I can't stop thinking about.
I can't get him out of my head. I'm absolutely crazy about him.
Nobody's ever made me smile like he does. Nobody's made me feel as loved as he does since I lost my mother and father.
Nobody's ever made me feel the way he makes me feel.

If you told me a year ago that I'd have a boyfriend, coming over daily, touching me and kissing me, I'd have said you were crazy. And I'd have every reason to do so. Something like that was unthinkable, even a year ago. And now, all at once, it's real. And it's beautiful. But that doesn't necessarily make it easy. It's hard to acclimate yourself from no touch or contact for four years, to a boyfriend. And while that acclimation is well worth it, it's sill hard. And to give myself the permission is even harder. The permission to love again, permission to move on, to start to live again.
And to try to even begin to understand what I'm feeling.

I find myself releasing that anxiety elsewhere, particularly in my cleaning. I can't control what's going on around me, I can't control what's happening to me, what I'm feeling. But I can control my surroundings. I can control this.
And while I'll take my lack of control, with Connor, any day, it's still frightening. And I need to release that somehow. Good things and fear aren't mutually exclusive. In fact, most good things scare me. Most truly good things scare everyone. And we all need a way to work that off enough to make decisions with our hearts and our heads, not with our fears.
The best things aren't supposed to come easily.

I scrubbed the faucet with so much force that my wrist was cramping. That tiny space between the faucet in the counter is a breeding ground for mold, mildew and bacteria. One single bacteria can multiply to more than thirty-thousand in five hours and to more than sixteen million in eight hours. I don't even want to imagine what it can do in seventy two hours, uninterrupted.

I essentially ignored the knock on my door, only acknowledging it with a 'come in!'

"Kevin, hi.. Oh boy, it smells like bleach in here" Adelaide entered, immediately taken aback by the wafting scent

"Yes, well, I'm cleaning." I replied, not looking up from the sink

"There's no way this is healthy, Kevin, you're using too much; my eyes are burning.."

I didn't reply. I just kept scrubbing.

"Kevin, Honey, can I open some windows?" She asked in my silence, closing the front door behind her

"I don't care.."

Adelaide walked around the kitchen and living room, opening every window she could find.

"You shouldn't be using all that bleach, Kevin, it's not healthy."

"I don't care.."

"..what's the matter?" She drew in around the corner, concern apparent in her voice.

"Nothing," I said flatly, still staring at the forceful movement of the bristles "I'm busy"

"Yeah, I can see that... can you put down the brush?"

"No, I can't."