There's a funny thing about crying in the shower. It's that you can't tell if the drops of water trickling down your cheeks are your own tears, or the soft water falling from the shower head. There's a universal thought on this earth that states most people do some deep, dark thinking in the shower. That, I'd like to believe. Maybe it'd make me feel less alone knowing that other humans do the same, considering thinking and crying in the shower is a daily activity of mine. The hard part, is that bathrooms echo. Luckily for myself, whenever I would bawl my eyes out, screaming in the shower, no one would hear. The living room was at the opposing end of my trailer and I always made sure if I was going to shower, all the people living in my home were sitting by the TV or weren't in the house at all. Heartbroken, barely able to breath, I would cry and scream in the loudest room in the house, but no one would hear. No one ever heard. They still don't. It's quite the unique activity for a thirteen year old. Funny enough, it'd be a unique, daily activity of mine for many years to come. But if only I knew that back then. Maybe I would have picked something else as a hobby besides thinking in the shower, possibly another sport. My parents probably would have preferred that, then again they had no idea what my hobbies were anyways. At the age of thirteen my hobbies consisted of bitching about girls being prettier than me, eating everything in sight, and yes, crying in the shower. Why the shower? Wish I knew. Maybe its because in my double wide trailer, our shower was separate from our bathtub. It was small, with a frosted glass magnetic door and a leaky shower head. It was tight, yet comfortable. I loved the way it made me feel. Closed off from the world and embracing how warm the water was in my skin. It was soothing. I'd seen many amazing and breathtaking places in my day, but none was as important to me as that shower.