Welcome to my water prison.

Contrary to popular belief, my showers do not run a half-hour long because I’m servicing myself. My showers run a half-hour long (or more) because my brain will not shut up. I wear a watch in the shower in an attempt to keep myself on track, although it works about five percent of the time.

Oh look, I’m running late yet again…

As I stand there with hot water raining around me, my mind drifts until it settles on a memory: recent or from a decade ago, the time frame doesn’t matter. My brain has but one criterion: pain. Once it has chosen the day’s haunt, the shower mutates into a graveyard of past trauma. I debate endlessly with those who hurt me, and try desperately to understand why things went wrong and what I did to fuck it all up. Surely there must be some specific combination of words that would make everything better; words capable of magically guiding everyone to mutual understanding. I torment myself searching for those words. I never find them.

Rumination. It’s quite a lovely word for something so sinister. It rolls off the tongue just as easily as the water rolls down my back while I agonize over past wrongs.¹ Whether I’m feeling content in the present or not, my brain will go back to a time when I wasn’t and fixate on it.

I ruminate.

Far, far too many times have I woken up optimistic about the day, then my brain bludgeoned its way in and left me hurt and angry. I do not want it to be this way, but I am powerless to stop it.

I ruminate.

I ruminate over past injustices, I ruminate over past mistakes. I ruminate in an effort to try to “fix” things that are already set-in-stone. In other words, it’s fruitless torture.

I ruminate.

Rumination is not useful. In fact, it’s very much the opposite: counterproductive and paralyzing. It strips me of my ability to move on and heal from negative experiences, instead always keeping the wounds fresh, even years later.

I ruminate.

The toxic, abusive work environment from eight years ago is recreated with a stunning attention to detail.

I ruminate.

The shame of my own erroneous actions in a now years-defunct friend group is miraculously given life anew, as if it all occurred just yesterday.

I ruminate.

The humiliation of last year’s rejection by a “friend,” in all of its spectacular and bombastic nature, is once again brought before me in the harshest light imaginable.

I ruminate.

I must hand it to my brain. It’s pretty damn good at making this stuff feel real.

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I ruminate,

   and I ruminate,

      and I ruminate,

         and I ruminate some more…

I have no control over this. If I did, I would simply choose not to torment myself. If only it were that simple.

At a glance, rumination might appear as working in tandem with scripting, an Autistic behavior. Maybe the pair are two sides of the same coin: rumination dealing with the past, and scripting preparing for the future.

However, scripting is actually useful. Scripting allows me to better assert myself in situations where I need my voice heard.

Rumination presents itself as if it is helpful; as if it is a way to process past sorrows. Except that isn’t the case. There has never been a single instance in which I have ruminated over something and worked through it. Not once. It has only ever succeeded in making me upset and thinking ill of myself, others, and the world around me.

Rumination is a trap; a thought-loop that by the time one realizes they’re in it, it’s already too late.

If this post reads more negatively than usual, that’s because rumination has such an overwhelmingly negative impact on everything. The traumas we experience taint our approach to life: That hostile work environment has left me hesitant to move beyond the surface-level with any co-workers I’ve had since; after watching people I once called “friends” conduct and enable that environment’s toxicity, I struggle to believe in anyone’s good intentions. The rejection I’ve experienced from friends and peers has been detrimental to my self-esteem and as a result, I doubt anyone really cares about me or my perspective. Rumination then takes those traumas and garrotes me with them until I’m frantically gasping for reprieve and reduced to nothing but an angry, broken mess. It doesn’t give me a choice in the matter. It doesn’t relent. It doesn’t care. It is exhausting.

They say time heals. Well, not when rumination is involved.

There seems to be a link between rumination and Autism Spectrum Disorder, which doesn’t surprise me. Autistic people tend to encounter a plethora of trauma, think in black and white, have a strong sense of justice, and hyper-focus on things. Mix it all together, and what’s left is a delightful stew that tastes bitter and reeks of misery and regret.

I wish I could wrap up this post with some wisdom about how to overcome this mess. I wish that I could say that where once rumination ruled my life, I have now taken charge. But that is not the case. I have ruminated for as long as I can remember, and I continue to do so. The best defense I’ve found is if I can recognize the thought-patterns that lead to rumination starting to coalesce, then I can prevent it from happening by using distractions like music, games, films, TikTok; anything to keep my mind from spiraling. This strategy works but is far from perfect, as I often fail to recognize those patterns forming in time. They come about so quickly. Blink and you’ll miss it.

Perhaps with time, I’ll get better at recognizing those patterns of thought, thereby improving my ability to prevent rumination. Perhaps my brain and I can eventually learn to work together and not engage in friendly fire. Perhaps one day I can begin my mornings in peace, without fear of being confined within my water prison.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

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