Bizarre Bathroom Behavior
My mom reminded me the other day that I have always loved the shower and that I steal tweezers.
I knew she knew about my crazy long and introspective showers because growing up the bathroom was the only room with a lock on it. With a dad like mine, you wanted to be in the room that locked.
I didn’t know she knew about my tendency to steal tweezers. I thought I was the sneakiest kid.
I have always pulled out my body hair with tweezers. I read somewhere that it is either a nervous, anxious thing or it has something to do with obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m too lazy to find out what it is called at 3:00 am when I’m trying to empty my mind and go to sleep.
It makes sense.
Growing up I had no control over anything and everything was always up in the air. What mood was dad going to be in? Are my parents drunk or high? Will I do or say something wrong?
I would spend 10, 15, 20 minutes controlling this aspect of my body.
So I focused my attention to my leg hair, knuckle hair, eyebrows, toe hair, my pubes. Whatever I could pull out with a shiny pair of tweezers. To this day at 30 years old I still will scan my body and tweeze out little hairs that I see that don’t belong if I am scared or nervous. Somehow this compulsive action still calms me 20 years after discovering it’s powers. It’s a happy side effect that I am well groomed.
I have vitiligo and I have white spots on my shins. I pull out the hair in those spots and if people ask, I tell them hair just doesn’t grow there. It’s not really something you talk about at the beach while people are trying to relax. I feel like I couldn’t talk about it without going into the backstory and seeing that sympathy look in people’s eyes. So I just say I’m lucky to not have toe hair.
I figured it’s not harming anyone and it calms my nerves better than a cigarette ever did. I have a whole ritual around it. I know. TMI. I like to marvel at the dark roots of the hair and the little tubes of white that surround the follicle. Or maybe it is the follicle. Definitely too tired to research the anatomy of a pubic hair.
It always feels like a victory when I get that dark bulb root pulls free from the prison of my skin. I almost feel like I’ve accomplished something and I can call it a day. Sometimes it is hard to pull away from the activity. Get it? Pull away? Ha!
The shower business is a whole other beast to tackle.
I used to have panic attacks a lot when I was drinking and speeding. I would always drag myself to the nearest bathroom or shower before collapsing into the fetal position and howling like a dog in pain. The bathroom has always been a special place and a safe haven for me.
Over the years it has become more than that for me. A first home. I used to not so secretly smoke cigarettes on the toilet while the room filled with steam and smoke and listen to the shower run and my mind run and the cigarette burn.
I eat meals in the shower. My normal morning routine is wake up, get coffee, make oatmeal, bring breakfast to the shower and read while I eat and drink my coffee and wake up for at least 30 minutes.
I have a trick for eating in the shower.
You sit in the tub with your legs in the water and the curtain shielding your torso from spray.
A couple times a month during my period, because I have hell monster cramps, I will either wake up around 6:00am and immediately go to the shower to fall back asleep or straight fall asleep in the tub when the heating pad doesn’t cut it.
My best friend, Joseph, is a good roommate. He knows if I’m in there for a long time that I probably fell asleep and he will come in and wake me up so I can go to bed.
Even though I know some of the reasons behind this behavior it doesn’t take away the magic of the bathroom for me.
I have a trick for just about any anxious bathroom behavior. Anyone who knows me knows I spend a good chunk of my day in a locked bathroom, but I’m not sure that anyone really knew what I was as doing in there.
I knew she knew about my crazy long and introspective showers because growing up the bathroom was the only room with a lock on it. With a dad like mine, you wanted to be in the room that locked.
I didn’t know she knew about my tendency to steal tweezers. I thought I was the sneakiest kid.
I have always pulled out my body hair with tweezers. I read somewhere that it is either a nervous, anxious thing or it has something to do with obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m too lazy to find out what it is called at 3:00 am when I’m trying to empty my mind and go to sleep.
It makes sense.
Growing up I had no control over anything and everything was always up in the air. What mood was dad going to be in? Are my parents drunk or high? Will I do or say something wrong?
I would spend 10, 15, 20 minutes controlling this aspect of my body.
So I focused my attention to my leg hair, knuckle hair, eyebrows, toe hair, my pubes. Whatever I could pull out with a shiny pair of tweezers. To this day at 30 years old I still will scan my body and tweeze out little hairs that I see that don’t belong if I am scared or nervous. Somehow this compulsive action still calms me 20 years after discovering it’s powers. It’s a happy side effect that I am well groomed.
I have vitiligo and I have white spots on my shins. I pull out the hair in those spots and if people ask, I tell them hair just doesn’t grow there. It’s not really something you talk about at the beach while people are trying to relax. I feel like I couldn’t talk about it without going into the backstory and seeing that sympathy look in people’s eyes. So I just say I’m lucky to not have toe hair.
I figured it’s not harming anyone and it calms my nerves better than a cigarette ever did. I have a whole ritual around it. I know. TMI. I like to marvel at the dark roots of the hair and the little tubes of white that surround the follicle. Or maybe it is the follicle. Definitely too tired to research the anatomy of a pubic hair.
It always feels like a victory when I get that dark bulb root pulls free from the prison of my skin. I almost feel like I’ve accomplished something and I can call it a day. Sometimes it is hard to pull away from the activity. Get it? Pull away? Ha!
The shower business is a whole other beast to tackle.
I used to have panic attacks a lot when I was drinking and speeding. I would always drag myself to the nearest bathroom or shower before collapsing into the fetal position and howling like a dog in pain. The bathroom has always been a special place and a safe haven for me.
Over the years it has become more than that for me. A first home. I used to not so secretly smoke cigarettes on the toilet while the room filled with steam and smoke and listen to the shower run and my mind run and the cigarette burn.
I eat meals in the shower. My normal morning routine is wake up, get coffee, make oatmeal, bring breakfast to the shower and read while I eat and drink my coffee and wake up for at least 30 minutes.
I have a trick for eating in the shower.
You sit in the tub with your legs in the water and the curtain shielding your torso from spray.
A couple times a month during my period, because I have hell monster cramps, I will either wake up around 6:00am and immediately go to the shower to fall back asleep or straight fall asleep in the tub when the heating pad doesn’t cut it.
My best friend, Joseph, is a good roommate. He knows if I’m in there for a long time that I probably fell asleep and he will come in and wake me up so I can go to bed.
Even though I know some of the reasons behind this behavior it doesn’t take away the magic of the bathroom for me.
I have a trick for just about any anxious bathroom behavior. Anyone who knows me knows I spend a good chunk of my day in a locked bathroom, but I’m not sure that anyone really knew what I was as doing in there.
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