Butterfly

I once considered myself a connoisseur. The word has a lovely, sophisticated ring to it. It grants you the freedom to indulge in anything really. All vices can appear grand when framed in the proper context. I carefully selected bottles. My fingers caressed labels and delicate glass ridges. I eyed rich liquids and wafted before delicately sipping and rolling the wine across my tongue. I chose presents and selected perfect pairings. Friends and colleagues asked my advice.

Now, a box waits patiently on my counter. It greets me when I enter my apartment. Last night’s glass is still sticky and red with lipstick smudges. I refill it. I force myself to take small sips. At the very least, I will not gulp.

My glass accompanies me to the darkened patio. The sun has set and taken the day’s warmth with it. The chill settles in early this time of year. I slowly sip.

The wind is light but sharp. I shiver as my sweat cools. I am still wearing my yoga clothes. It’s a matching set. Entering the studio, I appear bright and trim. My ponytail prances with me. It’s helpful to surround myself with light. I want to feel cheery in the hot, humid studio sweating out last night’s wine and stretching out the day’s kinks. It is important to have healthy coping mechanisms. I can listen to my own advice.

I like the view of the city at night. The lights and the hum of busy remind me that I am not alone. The world still hurtles forward, but the cloak of darkness provokes thought. My people are out there.

I sip.

Claudia made progress with her anxiety today. I imagine her at her kitchen table with her husband and children. She is coaxing one to eat broccoli, she tells another how smart they are, she beams at her husband. He tells her that he loves her, and she believes it. She believes it.

I sip.

Samuel shared his feelings of inadequacy with his wife last week. They scheduled a joint session tomorrow. He doesn’t know it yet, but we have crested the hill. There is work, but he is opening up. I imagine him making love to her. She opens herself to him. He cradles her in his arms after and feels whole.

I sip.

Joann will leave him. Not tonight. Not next month. But eventually she will. I know it. She is reading the signs and gaining perspective. I imagine her bright and happy. She will wear a flattering dress to meet dates for coffee. She will genuinely laugh at their jokes.

I sip.

Kenneth opened up about his childhood. He confided in me his longing for caring touch. He cried. I imagine him holding hands while strolling through the park. I see him in the embrace of his family or nestled amongst friends on a couch.

I sip.

I cannot see the stars. The light pollutions fades the darkness to a dingy yellow-gray. My apartment is dark behind me. I shiver. I sip, but the glass is empty.

I do not flip on the switches as I reenter. I do not need the light to find my way back to my box nor to refill my glass. My body completes the habits instinctually.

I am never alone. My apartment feels crowded. It’s an economical size, but my people fill it. Their needs and hurts rise up around me. The air is thick and heavy. I push down their fears and imagine their smiles. I imagine who they could be, but their past and current selves follow me home. I wish their futures visited more quickly.

I invite my wine to join me in the shower. I light a candle and play calming melodies. Water spews from the showerhead, and steam rises into the air. Droplets speckle my wine, and I sip it anyway. I am immersed and warm. I scrub. I exfoliate daily as if trying to remove the most outmost layer of skin. I have to slough it all away. The bathwater swirls down the drain. It merrily takes the day away.

My glass is empty. Not another I tell myself. I sit in the bottom of the tub. The consistent pulsation of the water against my skin is cathartic. I cry. I cannot explain when this habit started. Some days, only a few tears trickle out. Others, I find myself collapsed in a heap with terrible wounded sobs bursting forth. I feel worse on the nights I cannot cry. I sit there blank and crumpled unable to move under the weight.

I wash my face. I apply toner followed by a serum and cream. I need to appear fresh. I brush my teeth and floss. Oral health is supposed to influence every other aspect of our health. I think my dentist told me that.

I repack my gym bag and set it by the door. I ready my breakfast and lunch for tomorrow. I hang out my outfit for the following day. We are made by our habits. If we change our habits, we change our lives. If we change our mental dialogue, we can do anything. I am prepared.

I follow the correct checklist of affirmations in my mind. It’s 10 pm. I must sleep now. The full 8 hours is crucial. I lay in bed.

My people hum around me. They come to me and they take. They do not give. I am happy to see their new lives, I remind myself. I am blessed to be a part of their transformation. Gather round, all my little caterpillars, I can show you how to be butterflies! See what I have imagined for you!

Tomorrow, I will do it again. I will feel fulfilled, I affirm. I am blessed, I repeat. I resist the urge for more wine. My eyes are already groggy.

At some point, I stopped imagining my own future. My eyes fly open in the dark, wide and alert. What must I change?