My laundry is piling up high and I can't seem to find the right detergent.  Every one I have used in the past has left my clothes rinsed, scrubbed, and wet but never clean.  And because of this I just continue to buy new outfits instead of dealing with the ones I already have. 

Outfits that I no longer fit but can't seem to throw away.  I just hang on to them hoping for the right detergent someday.  Outfits like depression, self-loathing, negativity, disguise, low self-esteem, physical abuse, mental abuse, love, indecisive and regret.  They just keep piling up in my closet and I just keep closing the door in hopes of hiding it from company, from family, from loved ones, from myself.  But today I opened the closet door and was buried in the mess that has become of my life and I couldn't breathe. 

Reaching my arm out from under the mess I felt the empty cool air surrounding my fingers and I wanted to break free.  I started from the bottom of the pile and picked up my first dress. My outfit of molestation.  I held it, ripped and torn to practically shreds as I remembered it and began to cry.  I was crying because I not only saw the rips of things I remembered but holes and stains of incidents that I had blocked out.  And next to it, I realized why there were things I couldn't recall, because I had on my invisible coat.  My invisible coat helped me forget, pretend, be hidden & deny all incidents that occured in that dress and I would take it with me from that moment on.  I grabbed that dress and balled it up and threw it out of the pile and into the laudry basket. 

Next were my baggy pants and big shirt of disguise.  Make myself ugly is what I remember.  Deter all men from finding me desirable so I can just get through the rest of my childhood safely.  I claimed tomboy at the core of my lungs and I found happiness in this outfit.  I became the friend. I lived in the friend.  Until the disguise wasn't satisfying me anymore.  Until the friend wasn't pleasing to my soul anymore. So I went shopping.  Bought me a name brand scarf of love, a first, a promising future in a lie and wore it proudly.  Damaged hearts of those involved and begged for everlasting completion from a love that kept me cold.  No matter how many times I wrapped love around my body I just couldn't seem to keep warm.   Until my love scarf tried to choke me.  As it tightened around my neck I searched for air to breathe, to be free again, to venture and grow up without expectations or hindrance.  As I held that scarf at the bottom of the pile and looked at it I now realized that it was not a name brand after all.  It was possing as love. An imatation of, an imposter of, and manipulation of love. This angered me and I threw it with all of my strength right into the basket along with my outfit of disguise.  These clothes were never a true depiction of who I was.  But I didn't know who I was either.  With more room to crawl around under the pile I found my sweats of depression.  Holding these smelly big sweats I started to gag.  I couldn't believe how many years I wore these. With a draw string I was able to take these sweats through years and years of physical growth.  They had been everywhere with me.  Through dirt, rain, wind, sleet and memories.  They covered my truth. Covered my feelings, covered my dress, my baggy clothes and my self.  These sweats went perfect with my invisible coat and that is exactly where I put it.  With my coat in the basket.

I looked around to find my self standing in a pile much smaller but still overwhelming.  Still outfits of depression, envy, greed, sexy, confusion, low self-esteem, and financial instability.  And I screamed.  Without retracing the dates and times I wore these clothes I just grabbed loads and loads by the arm full and threw them towards the basket.  Ripping and streching them out. Balling and scrunching them into balls of fire. Until the pile was in my closet no more.  The pile was in the basket and I thought I was free.  Until I looked into the mirror to see that I was wearing my outfit of anger.  And in rage I stripped my self naked of all material things covering the essence of who I was.  Who I am.  Who I have always been underneath the cloth.  Emani. 

And I stood there naked.  For all to see.  For me to see.  And was unhappy.  Unsatisfied.  And confused.  I realized at that moment that there was nothing to see.  Nothing to reveal because I wasn't sure of who I was.  What I was...or who I was to become. 

And in that moment....somewhere in that moment....I became excited.  I was free and excited to find the clothes that would accent me.  But I will not throw on clothes unsure anymore.  I would start with my hair accessories.  My bracelets, my rings, my necklaces....I would start slow...but I was determined to start fresh.  To find me.   And to make sure to find me without dirty laundry defining who I was.  I then went back into my room and looked at the pile again.  One last look....because laundry detergent isn't enough.  I realized that no matter how many times I tried to wash those painful outfits it would never be enough.  Even if they finally came out clean...they would still be exactly what they once stood for.

So I had a spiritual garage sale.  Determined to rid myself of all the negative influences that had once determined who I thought I was...and excited about the Me I would discover....without the old, abused, wrinkled, smelly, discolored, torn, ripped experiences of my past.

And now I feel free.

Spring cleaning began early for me this lifetime...and will continue to happen as things, people, and circumstances try to get me down in the future. I won't be afraid to start clean with every relationship, with every dream, with every destination, with every new adventure and with every step in recovery and forward movement. 

I won't be afraid to discover me.