In planning this post I thought about a recounting of all the holes in my body… Well, the holes God did not give me, anyway.
Do you care that I passed out cold when I got my left ear pierced in 1993? Or that I was so nervous that it would happen again that when I got my right ear pierced in 2001, I sat on the piercing stool for at least five minutes after the job was done while Heather went to pay? (It was her idea. She said I needed to be “balanced out”, so she paid for it.) I did not pass out, FYI. Do you care that when I finally made up my mind to get my upper ear pierced, something I had wanted to do for years but had been too afraid, both of the pain and of my mother, that it didn’t actually happen until just four years ago, after going to Tulsa to take care of my mother, post surgery, and coming face to face with her disdain (which wasn’t as bad as I expected) for my then three tattoos (I now have four and have an appointment for my fifth on Tuesday), I was still anxious. I felt liberated and able to do whatever I wanted so I went for it, but I was still nervous. And, well, you Probably don’t want Any of the details of my fourth and most recent piercing; one very few people will ever see.
Then I thought about a post discussing the number of men not named “Riggledo” who have touched my favorite appendage (hint, the answer is three– no make that four. I have to assume my father changed a diaper or two… No… actually, that’s five – I just remembered a trip to the doctor…) Anywhoo… Only one of those five men was neither related to me, nor was he being Paid, And oh look we’re talking about The Guy and I’ve failed, again. There’s no need at this stage of things to go into that story. It was risky and stupid, and in the end, quite possibly the least pleasant of all the experiences, and that’s including the man who, just two days ago, touched it TO POKE A HOLE THROUGH IT….
So much for vague allusions…
But the simple truth is, all of these things do directly lead back to the idea of facing one’s fears. You see, I was afraid to do any of these things, or write any of these posts. In the end, I decided not to write the story of my most recent Piercing, And I decided not to write the story of the “special massage” I got a week ago, before which I was quite nervous though simultaneously tremendously excited.
(It was actually a really incredible experience which I can’t wait to repeat and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before – so much more… better.. than I imagined. So incredible, in fact, that I had no inclination to try to recreate the experience on my own before going to the body piercing shop on Monday… Something which, judging by the aching in my dangly bits, I should probably have planned out better…)
Even the simple act of writing this post, in place of the other two, was something I was afraid to do. I’ve put it off for two days because I feared who might see it and how they might react. But the simple fact is, we have to do what’s right for ourselves. I’ve just finished a six week class I’ll probably write more about later. It’s an “anger management” class, though most people who are acquainted with me and hear that, can’t imagine why I would take such a class. The truth is, I felt very out of place, but I needed to be there and I did learn some things from the class, the most relevant of which, at this moment, is the importance of taking care of one’s self first and foremost.
The fact is, there are people who will read this who will wish they hadn’t. (Some of those people are unwelcome here and should have stopped reading, should have “unsubscribed” from the e-mails, as soon as they read Reclamation. They lack either self respect, or a shred of human decency, or a combination of the two, and therefore, continue to receive and read these posts in their e-mails. I can’t be bothered to concern myself with such people and their reactions.) The fear which I had to face was the idea of someone who matters thinking less of me for what I’ve had to say. The act of writing this post is me over-coming that fear. It’s a step in the right direction.
And it’s a step that feels pretty good.
One thought on “In Which I Share TMI and Try To Draw an Analogy With Facing One’s Fears (And Try Really Hard Not To Mention The Guy — Oops!)”
You’ve been in a very dark place for too long now. This post proves that you’re coming out of that place. I’m happy for you!