Misty Bathrooms Teary Eyes

I find it impossible to lie back and luxuriate in a hot bath. I am more of a shower guy. For now it’s circumstantial baths. So mulling over the past few weeks, a surprise call last night, the ex, God, myself, work being a little slow and the fact that trying to quit smoking is so darn hard; suddenly as pain strikes a newly pierced nipple  I burst into tears.

You know that well of emotion that hits you like a tsunami….well there I was soap suds in the mists and “snot and trane”.  I guess it had to happen. As amazing as the love from others has been I have been so busy sprinting to pick up the pieces of a fragile sobriety that I have spared little time to process the disappointment. I feel like screaming and pulling the 4 hairs on my scalp I have left out. I am angry that I have to again be at the mercy of others. Angrier that making a plan is the only plan!


It”s time for work and throwing money away on Uber is so ridiculously frustrating….and I am a lucky one. Others have to risk their lives in unroadworthy mini-bus taxi’s and even worse drivers.

Am I being ungrateful? 

Am I being selfish by trying to avoid my consequences? 

Am I back to being a brat?

The 1st time I realised just how spoilt I was was in rehab in Mozambique. I mean seeing kids who should be in primary school pushing a wheelbarrow 7kms with a 25l container to fetch water at the nearest borehole makes it pretty obvious. And that is only 1 way. It’s still 7kms back and the container full. That is a VERY serious workout.

Although not wealthy as a kid I never had to fetch water or get food from a soup kitchen, daily, to survive.  I always had clothes even if I hated them, especially if my dad bought them.

Globally roughly 70-85% live in abject poverty. 

And there I was in a HOT bath, Hillsong playing in the background, 2 instant coffees in, however many ciggies and I am crying because I threw the potential for another car up my nose….I mean really.

The truth is I struggle to ask for and accept help unless in absolute desperation. Perhaps this is pride, perhaps it is the fear of rejection, perhaps it’s not wanting to give another the authority to place demands and expectations in return of a favour, perhaps it’s liking the freedom to choose too much.

As I wiped the mirror to shave sad bloodshot eyes stared through the tears past the misty bathroom mirror and sighed knowing there was no one to blame but himself. And no one to change it but himself. 

Like a neon eyelash once lost on a rave club dance floor all that can be done is rip the other off…..hold your head up high and let bygones be bygones and let Uber have it’s fare and smile….”well at least you did it your way lash or no lash, cash or no cash”

Dear God 

When I exhaust myself trying it my way please help me remember and submit to the fact that your way is always best.


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