Bathroomfloor

I’ve created a habit of always checking my social media memories at midnight. I find happiness in the nostalgia. Tonight though, as I scrolled through the photos taken on my Snapchat… that photo popped up, and it stopped me. I felt time freeze. It was a private photo that I took for myself. You do not even know it exists… But in it, there you are, asleep, wrapped in a grey blanket, trying to keep warm on that cold bathroom floor. The same bathroom floor that I kept having breakdowns on. The bathroom floor that held all my tears and screams of agony when my friend committed suicide. The same bathroom floor that, around this time four years ago, I sat on, with a dumped bottle of pills in my hand, reciting out loud what I would write in my suicide note to you. But here I am, four years later… in part because of that night you spent on the bathroom floor for me. You were so lost on how to help me. You were scared that you’d find me dead on that bathroom floor every night when you came home. You didn’t know what to do… But on that particular night I was paranoid. My mental illness had that lovely little quirk of making me believe I was bad and that demonic things were out to get me. This was crippling. I was like a child afraid of the dark. It made it so hard to shower. And, just like a child, I cried and begged you not to leave me alone in that room. And even though you didn’t know what to do, even though a part of you wanted to run… You did what was asked of you, without hesitation. I struggle to fully recall what that paranoia felt like, in my current wellness, but what I do remember is how, every time I peaked around that shower curtain, you were there… I managed a long hot shower that night. I’m sorry I was so unwell, that I made you sleep on the cold bathroom floor. I’m sorry I nearly put you through the same trauma that was eating me alive. I’m sorry that this photo was born from my darkest days… But I want you to know that I took it because I am so thankful for you. Your life could have been so much easier without me. You could have been in a warm bed. But you chose to stay… You never left me alone on that bathroom floor.