My Mourning Shower

Sometimes I climb in the shower, and stand, bathing myself in glorious water, waking up my senses, realising the day is about to start... And I cry. That's as far as my strength goes, if the morning is good. Now I have to push, push through the mental pain, the wall, the block, that barbed wire fence. Now I fight. I cry because I am mourning. Why have I lost my strength? Why does anxiety riddle me at the thought of washing my hair? Something so simple, a form of self-care. I grieve the person I was. The water hides my tears, as I stand with no clothes on my back, stop no armour for my war. This is when I am at my weakest, when the true me is exposed. No one knows, no one sees, because I need to survive. But now, I've said it out loud - my Achilles. My kryptonite. As I turn the shower off, I hold my breath, gather what pieces I have, and make myself look whole.