Tuesday, January 31, 2012

My Albanian Liquid “Heroin”

Look, I’m not admitting that I have a problem. This is not a cry for help. So, don’t even think about an Intervention. I’d see right through that bulllllllshit… I mean, come on! Why would my best friend ask me to meet her at some random hotel room? Oh no… I’m not havin' it!

Here’s the thing… its not about addiction. I just really really really must have … (be strong, Melia... nothing to be ashamed of) HOT SHOWERS! And I'll say it: I don’t want to live, if it means living without them! As I think about how I crave the hot shower experience, I can’t help but relate to the heroin addicts I’ve encountered. And by encounter, I mean… watch with blink-less fascination on TLC’s gut-wrenching Intervention and movies like Requiem for a Dream, Traffic and so on. So clearly, the following comparison between your typical, run-of-the-mill junkie and my own steamy vices will be based only on the most solid of expertise.

Let me walk you through it.

It’s morning and roughly 50 degrees or so inside my apartment. Crawling out of the radiant heat of my mummy bag, every fiber of my being screams for that fix, that comfort, that that sweet satisfaction. As I make my way to my bathroom, I watch my breath float in front of me and imagine the blue-ish purple shade my lips have taken. I’m careful to prepare my private sanctuary, securing the window closed and sliding the door closed behind me. Afterall, I can’t bear to give up a single droplet of steam. Stripping down, revealing the bareness of my soul, moderate chills grow into shivers. And on the occasions when I’m careless enough to let my tootsies hit the frosty tiles… we’re talking full-body convulsions. But it doesn’t last. No… I won’t let it last. My reprieve is only moments away.

When the fog begins to rise, it marks the moment I’ve been aching for. One deep breath and without hesitation, I step into the flow. Pure, unapologetic indulgence. As the first waves of hot water wash over me, I’m rendered virtually useless. No shampooing, no sudzing… just my Id reveling in its pleasure. During these precious moments, nothing else… no one else matters. When I finally “come to”, there’s no telling how much time has passed. Seconds? Minutes? Weeks?
The high is too good. I’m woozie, stoned, giddy with feeling the warmth reach my core. It’s what makes me feel alive again.

I manage my way through the typical routine, wash face, condition hair, shave legs, yatta yatta… it’s all a ruse. Just opportunities to ride the high for as long as possible. Once there’s nothing left to do (or I can sense the hot water running frighteningly low), I allow myself one more little taste… pushing the nozzle just a little hotter, a little sumthin’ to get me through. Drying off brings fast, aggressive scrubbing of the skin, scrubbing away the guilt from placating my urges. And suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with resentment… furious at all the things (work, meals, friends, etc) that stand between me and my next fix. Returning to reality, I can hardly even look at myself. (But that’s only because the mirror is all fogged up!)

Hello. I’m Melia and I’m a hot shower addict. It’s been a little over 14 hours since my shower. And I don’t think I’ll make it much longer.

Peace, Love and Steamy Bathrooms

Blogger’s Note: I truly believe that addiction is a disease that requires both significant medical and emotional support to overcome. Despite the tone of this post, in no way, do I wish to minimize the experiences and trails of any addict. May we all muster the courage to battle our demons.


  1. This is the sexiest blog I've ever read.

  2. I'm telling your mom about this