cold water and Melancholia
Two days ago, I got an email from the office here that the hot water wasn't working, and that they would let me know when they had figured it out. I didn't take a shower until much later that day, and when I did, the water was warm but not hot, so I assumed they had fixed it already but maybe it hadn't had enough time to fully warm up.
I was wrong. Yesterday, after shaving my head and being covered in small hairs, necessitating a shower, I found that there was no longer even warm water, only cold. "This is going to be painful," I said to myself. I first tried putting in just my arms, one at a time, hoping that it would help the rest of my body to get used to the idea of being cold. It did not. I did my legs after, and then the top of my head, while standing far enough away to be sure that the rest of my body was not getting hit. For the general front area of my body, I mostly had to get water on my hands and then splash it onto myself. I did the same with my back, but it was even more difficult. I came close to screaming and probably said "fuck" a lot. By the time I concluded that my body was clean enough, I had gotten very slightly used to it, but still not enough to stand directly in the path. If I lived somewhere with no water heater, I would have to go through this every single time and it would never get easy.
There is a scene in the movie Melancholia where the sister of Kirsten Dunst's character is trying to get her into a bathtub full of water, but she (Kirsten) is too depressed. She cannot even touch it. Her sister tries pushing her towards it but she only moans in response, and collapses to the floor. Her sister then takes her hand and gently puts it in the water, to get her used to the idea of being wet.
When I first saw this scene, I understood right away. Water, and especially cold water, is Kryptonite to someone who is majorly depressed. There is nothing more offensive in the world to someone who just wants to be left alone than your entire body being doused with or plunged into cold water. Imagine that you are living in a totalitarian society, and you've been forced into a room where you are stripped naked, and the very people you despise the most are all in there, poking and prodding at you, talking about you as if you're just some specimen, even mocking you. That is the best way I can describe it: dehumanizing. Like you are having your sovereignty over your own mind and body taken from you. It makes little difference whether you're getting in the water by yourself or someone is there pushing you, because ultimately you're only doing it because societal standards say that you must be clean and smell good at all times. If you were truly allowed to make your own choices without fear of punishment or scolding, you wouldn't touch water until you felt better.
Somewhere in the middle of tenth grade, I first became majorly depressed. I should mention that I have OCD as well, which always gets worse when I'm depressed. They go hand in hand, and together they can destroy my ability to live normally in a matter of hours, sometimes even minutes. I didn't know how to explain this at the time, but looking back now, I can say with confidence that roughly half the reason I became so depressed was due to the uncomfortableness of various things I had no choice in: taking showers in the morning, getting up early, having dry skin, having to rush when my mind isn't awake yet. I've never been good with waking up early, though under perfect conditions I can sometimes manage it well. But in the winter especially, when combined with having to put my body under water first thing, and twenty minutes later I'm walking the brightly lit hallways of high school navigating a crowd of judgmental people? No. While everyone else was chatting away as if they were on the beach in summer, I was as stiff as a board. Every muscle in my body hurt, and I felt like I was in that examination room naked, being poked and prodded.
If I had been able to do things my way, getting up a bit later, waking up slowly, taking a shower only when I was ready, and also if I knew about body lotion for my dry and itchy skin, something I had not yet discovered at the time, and then going to school, say at noon, I might have been able to make it through without ever collapsing into myself. The other half of why I was depressed was because of society being what it is and my parents not understanding me, but under better conditions, I might have been able to make a sort of game out of it. I might have been able to see it all as a challenge, and myself as the warrior who must overcome it. But with early morning showers in cold weather darkness, and then being thrust into the examination rooms, I stood no chance.
They say that cold showers are "good for depression." Hilarious. Cold showers are good for people who are slightly out of sorts and need some excitement in their life. If I was led to believe that I was going to have to take a cold shower when I was extremely depressed, but then told I didn't actually have to, the relief of hearing that news would be far more beneficial than the shower ever would. All we want is to not have to do things that make us feel horrible.
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August 30th, 2026