Becoming Clean

During the last weekend, I told E that I wanted to find a ticker for my blog. I wanted to find something that would count up and would have a catchy title.

“How about ‘Clean since last Wednesday?’” I asked, laughingly. He replied with, “I don’t think that would give the best connotations.”

I sullenly agreed and then nixed my plan for a counter. The date has been flexing its muscle more in my mind today. It’s the sickness of the withdrawal starting to take hold and my body is readying itself with sublime shudders that are just under the skin, just stray of the visible spectrum.

The weather was nearly unbearable today. The heat became a wall that intensified, oven-like, while running errands after work in my car. As the sweat came in not just drops, but rivulets down my body, I thought not only of how I was becoming not only dehydrated, but how I was also in strange state of detox.

The heat clicked something larger in me as well. What all was my body doing for itself in this heat? Was I just sweating? Just trying to get cool? Was I just losing salt and water? Or was I maybe getting weak from the loss of those key elements, but also getting clean and clear like from the hot air from a sauna?

I thought about how you have to get tired and weak before you might be able to take right the steps to cleanse you. In this river of your waters, you might need to float to the bottom because sometimes you don’t want to, or can’t, fight it anymore. Sometimes you gently, or abruptly, sink to the bottom yourself. Sometimes you are placed on the rock bed by another and only under the water can you see clearly the illusions you place between yourself and others.

As I drove I felt the ebbs of anger, of sadness, of disappointment, of lust, of hatred, and I tried to channel them into the beads of sweat.

The beads of sweat on the small of my back became a pool of strength for how I would cleanse my desires of him. The beads of sweat between my breasts became a soothing ointment for my heart. The beads of sweat on my upper arms became a reminder that only I could hold myself up.

The tears of my body flowed out my disappointment in the fake friendship. The tears of my body flowed out to sweep away the betrayal. The tears of my body tried so hard to take away my scars. This temple, my temple, become a shelter in the blazing, and searingly clean, heat.

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6 Responses to Becoming Clean

  1. eatsbugs says:

    Wow, that’s beautiful. I only wish I felt the same about the heat. I always feel dirty.

  2. firewings says:

    It wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful if I mentioned the infamous Boob Sweat. [Note: “Breasts makes it sauve and less infamous.”]

  3. It took me a while to realize this wasn’t about you kicking the coke habit. I’ve yet to decide if I’m disappointed.

    Other than that, nicely written, though it could have used more references to boob sweat. Now that I think about it…pretty much everything could.

  4. Thebutton says:

    Sweat now seems beautiful and clean to me now…

    Anyway, kick the habit for good. Do not return, do not look back, do not wonder what could have been. Move on and be that strong woman you are. If ya need help, I’m more than happy to loan myself out as a support beam. 🙂 *hugs*

  5. J says:

    I think you need rehab, or a hug, whichever one works the best.

  6. firewings says:

    I don’t know which one would work best honestly.

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