I Remember Throwin’ Punches around and Preachin’ from My Chair

It’s an odd thing.

Opioid medications Do Things to your brain that you don’t even notice. Oh sure, other people will notice. But you’re just muddling along, doing the daily grind, and after awhile you get so used to The New You that none of it seems out of place.

The first thing I’m going to say is that at least in my case, stepping down the dosage was the right thing to do. Cold Turkey could have possibly killed me, so there’s that, but the helpful thing is that while withdrawal has sucked in various ways I’ve gotten off easy. It hasn’t been that bad.

I’ve dealt with worse.

What I really want to talk about is the fact that I’m back.

Oh sure, my appetite has returned, and I’m about ready to eat the dog if she stands still long enough. My appetite is a large part of who I am. And I’ve gotten back the two inches of height that I lost. Constant pain had apparently bowed my back enough that I had lost two whole inches, even trying to stand up straight. In December when I was measured at the doctor’s office I almost burst into tears. As my friend Jennyquarx said, “Glad to hear you are the towering bitch not to be messed with again.”

And, you know, I laughed. Then I was lying in bed that night, listening to Rich fall asleep (sometimes he whistles), and my life flashed before my eyes.

Not in that, “Holy fuck I’m about to die,” kind of fashion. I was lying there thinking about what things are important to me about who I am, and what I am, and various moments from my life started coming to me.

I started laughing.

See, there’s been a whole literal FUCK-TON of awful.

So what?

Oh sure, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Trite but true. All of that awful shit shaped me in some fashion. No denying it.

But for every single second of horrible there have been months and months of not so bad, and there have also been weeks and weeks of absolutely awesome.

I am thirty-nine years old.

These things occurred to me:

In the cleaning out of my mother’s house many of my old comic books were found, and when Mom told me I said, ‘YAY!’ I am a dork. I am a dork with her own sword who really wants the new light sabers they’re selling that have sound effects and used to attend Star Trek conventions (never costumed) and dresses in super hero t-shirts and got choked up the other day at Target when her daughter pointed and said, “Look! It’s Iron Man!” So lying in the dark I thought to myself, “You know, if you had been born male you might never have gotten laid. Maybe.”

And the giggles started.

So I started wondering about my, erm, personal past and what could have possibly been attractive to guys. To be absolutely honest I’ve only ever been in a relationship with one guy who could be considered as big a geek as myself, and I married that one, and we divorced. Everyone else has been of the not-so-nerdy persuasion.

I was always under the assumption that guys liked self-confidence. I really haven’t had much. I do remember a very good friend of mine, twenty years ago, telling me I should drop The Mask for good. He was right, of course. It’s been twenty years, but I get it now.

I’m not ashamed of who I am.

Am I tough? In a way. I wouldn’t call myself a towering bitch at this point, but I have been.

Lying there I thought I might have it figured out.

Who the fuck am I?

I’m a chick who has a sense of humor, laughs at the absurdity of it all- delights in it, is absolutely willing to mock herself when she’s stupid, embraces the ridiculous, and enjoys the bizarre. I prefer not to take life too seriously, and the unfortunate thing is that over the past couple of years I have been.

Rich told me via email when he saw me on Match.com that there was something in my eyes that made him want to know more.

Oh- he knows more now.

It’s not always been pleasant, but he sure does know more.

The truly wonderful thing is that it’s due to him that I know more now, too.

There are times when he still doesn’t “get” me, like when I take squealing joy in well-filmed zombie mayhem (When I grow up I want to be a special effects crewperson), but rather than humor me he flat out tells me he doesn’t understand it.

I’m sorry, but that’s fabulous.

He’s not enamored with everything about me, and he loves me anyway.

I don’t understand his addiction to real estate, and why it’s so fascinating to him. I love him anyway.

As a kid I was so different that to combat the mocking I went full-on weirdo. It was my only defense at the time, and looking back now I’m not ashamed.

I’m happy.

I’m still a weirdo.

That’s perfectly fine.

I laid in the dark and giggled and smiled, thanking the stars that the fog had cleared, and I was able to finally see.

When The Fellowship of the Ring was released several of my friends and I would refer to Boromir as The Whiny Bitch.

(Yes, I’m totally geeking here. Bear with me.)

Yeah, he did whine a lot.

But if you take a moment to watch, THIS is who he is.

He keeps getting up.

Me? It finally dawned on me the other night that regardless of everything, I actually do still keep getting up.

I have no armor but my sense of humor, my refusal to let being different or a dork equal being less, and willpower born of sheer stubbornness. Screw being a whiny bitch. I’m going to keep getting up.

When a person finally realizes their power the laughter comes from joy.

I really, finally like who I am.

Booya.