When Sea Urchins Attack

I don’t want to. I don’t want to, I don’t want to. I don’t want to I don’t want to. Idon’twanttoIdon’twantto. I.don’t.want.to.

My brain is like a child in the middle of a temper tantrum. I can feel it flailing its metaphorical arms and stomping its feet. My hair is greasy and my skin is breaking out but the thought of that poison on my skin stops me.

I’ve been thinking about this for days, working myself up. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were no big deal. Then Monday came. I’ll do it tomorrow. Tuesday came. I still have one more day. Wednesday came. My appointment isn’t until 4 tomorrow, I can do it before that. Thursday is here. Fuck.

I’m reminded of a child feeling a calloused hand connecting with her face. Of yelling to get in and then yelling to get out. Of bathing suits and flabby stomachs and pubic hair in all the wrong places.

*  *  *  *  *

The water is heavy. Heavy like a cinderblock. And hot. Heavy and hot like a cinderblock of radiation penetrating my shield.

When I turn it down it’s constricting and cold. Like my lungs are ice skating themselves into a knot.

There is no happy medium. If I do manage to find it for a split second, the water still pricks me. It doesn’t glide down my body like it’s supposed to — it attaches and attacks my pores as if it were a thousand tiny sea urchins instead of the sustenance that surrounds them.

I wash my face and this invader climbs up my nostrils, obviously chopping away at my septum. I wash my hair and it decides to simply float over the shampoo and conditioner — the one time it doesn’t permeate is when it’s supposed to.

My hair mocks me. The sounds of ripping and tearing are really its way of laughing at my struggle to cease its orgy amongst itself. When I finally break it free, it comes tumbling down and grasps at my skin like a child reaching for its mother. It holds tight. The sea urchins barely make a dent in the hairy, orgy-conceived children clinging to my skin.

I think I’m done and then remember something important I didn’t do. Sometimes I don’t even bother.

*  *  *  *  *

The drips pierce my eardrums as they hit the floor. Drip, drip, drip; bam, bam, bam. I try to smooth the sea urchins off my skin but my arms flake and the tiny critters remain.

I want a cigarette.

I swirl my hair and smooth some more but it never ends. I give up and go outside, my body half showing and still dripping; bamming.

It feels like there are new invaders in my nose now. I keep trying to get them out but they must be invisible. My hair is damp and frizzy and my skin feels raw and itchy.

I think about going back inside but my flailing brain reminds me that I have to paste fabric over the sea urchins and onto the flakes and it just seems like too much so I remain seated on the concrete.

*  *  *  *  *

By the time I’m finally finished with everything, it’s been hours. Hours of my life I’ll never get back. I realize I only have one week until I start the whole process over. How can people do this every day?

*  *  *  *  *

This is my process of taking a shower. If that was too serious for you, here it is in cat-picture-storytelling:


via Bjorn Hermans "What?! It's time to shower?!"

via Bjorn Hermans (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
“What?! It’s time to shower?!”

via Luca (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) "I told you I'll do it tomorrow."

via Luca (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
“I told you I’ll do it tomorrow.”

via Neil H (CC BY 2.0) "I will destroy all the water in the world!"

via Neil H (CC BY 2.0)
“I will destroy all the water in the world!”

*  *  *  *  *


via Amanda (CC BY 2.0) "FUCK"

via Amanda (CC BY 2.0)

via Brian Costello (CC BY-NC 2.0) "I hate this."

via Brian Costelloe (CC BY-NC 2.0)
“I hate this.”

via Julie Falk (CC BY-NC 2.0) "Please, make it stop."

via Julie Falk (CC BY-NC 2.0)
“Please, make it stop.”

*  *  *  *  *


via Belal Khan (CC BY 2.0) "I am not pleased."

via Belal Khan (CC BY 2.0)
“I am not pleased.”

via MiuMiuKitty (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) "Get it off!"

via MiuMiuKitty (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
“Get it off!”

via Niklas Pivic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) "I'm never doing this again."

via Niklas Pivic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
“I’m never doing this again.”

Do you absolutely hate anything that others consider ‘normal’? Is there something you don’t do that’s expected of most people? Does anyone else hate getting wet as much as I do? Let me know!

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10 thoughts on “When Sea Urchins Attack

    • That’s how I explain this to people: “I’m like a cat.” Haha.
      My therapist and I have figured out that I don’t mind BEING wet — like if I get in the bath or in a pool, I don’t mind once I’m IN the water. I just hate being wet (showering, after showering, etc.). Have you looked into your hatred?


  1. Thank you so much for writing this about showering.
    I have chronic pain in many parts of my body and bathing is one of the most loathed activities for myself and I know for so many with pain conditions. You are not alone! You do have fabulous hair, however :-)
    love your blog! <3

    Liked by 1 person

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