I’m writing this while marinating in a detox bath…one that calms and purges, all at the same time. Peroxide, lavender, baking soda, and myrrh are just a few of the essential ingredients that makes bathing like this, a chance to wash away internal dirt. The kind that’s more stubborn than the dirt hidden in belly button crevices.
Up until about three years ago, I was living a life where I thought I had it altogether. I kept mysef looking presentable and smelling like roses. I smelled good…absolutely…but the part of me you couldn’t see was dirtier than a penny on the floor of a NYC subway train track. Dirtier than Trump’s ear drum after a Southern states rally…(it looks like it’s clogged with wax). The inner dirt reflected outwardly in my disposition. It would come out in how many times I had sex and didn’t want to. It would come out when I easily slept with a friend’s crush and didn’t give a damn about how it affected her once she found out. It always came out in my harsh criticisms of others. It was easy as hell for me to point out the negatives in others, while hoping my flaws weren’t so vivid. But who am I kidding…they were in bold print. I was being whispered about, underlined and italicized. One of my friends even called me “loose” and a “ho”…which I was none of those things. I wouldn’t just screw anyone and I was not an easy conquest. But I wasn’t the Great Wall of China like I thought I was…more like the Berlin Wall…its tall, but if you hit it where it counts, eventually you can bring it down. That was me. I needed to at least conjure up some type of emotional attachment…even if it wasn’t mutual. I did that a lot. Fall for a man before we were ever an official “item” (no Facebook relationship status in those days to validate my serial monogamous ways). I was always searching for a man to do for me what I could not do for myself. Like me. Yep…love was a stretch…if he could just “like” my presence, and want me around…I was satisfied with that.
Things went a-rye after I lost my virginity at seventeen. I already had low self esteem before I opened my legs for the first time. After I closed my eyes and endured the thrusts of a good five minutes, it seemed like my soul detached itself from my mind and I unraveled into self-love suicide. What was meeting at my thighs, became my most powerful weapon and little did I know…would one day jam on me and self-destruct in my possession.