Live Wire

Finally!  I have successfully been adrenalized.  As of this weekend, I am officially off of the Prozac.  I went to Crossfit tonight, and got to flip these bad boys around.

The combination of the prozac wearing off, and one of my favorite things to do at the gym has got my adrenaline flowing so much that I am just plain giddy.  Here's the thing, I'm thinking about Megan a ton right now, but in such a happy, happy fucking way.  When we were doing this together, and I would get in this state, we would have such a fun night when we got home.  All of us, as a family.  Shelby and I would roughhouse, Megan would play with the dogs like a little kid making baby talk with them, we'd have music blaring, and grill some steaks and just have a knock down, drag out damn fun party.  It wasn't planned, it wasn't talked about, it just happened.  After Shelby was in bed, well, more fun usually started that shall remain unsaid, but completely understood by everyone.

It is SO weird right now to feel this way.  To wish Megan was here to enjoy all this with us (yes, we have the music going, we're playing with the dogs, roughhousing, and I gobbled up a damn fine ribeye) but also not NEEDING her here to have fun.  It's exactly what I needed right now, but I still don't understand why it's not a sad moment for me in the least.

If it wasn't Monday night, I would be frantically calling people trying to get them here or to go out, not because I'm lonely, but because I'm in rare form and I want to share that with people.  If they can't get together, oh well, I'm still having fun.  This isn't me.  It really isn't.  It's a better person.  A silly, immature, giddy, but fun person.  Shelby loves it when I'm this way, because I'm the best playmate she could have.  I'm drunk on adrenaline, but not aggressive or angry.  I'm ready to conquer the world, slay the beast, and save the princess.  I feel like I could take care of (in more ways than one) multiple Megans right now without so much as breaking a sweat.

I'm happy.  Happy because for a few hours or days or however long it takes for the euphoria to wear off, I'm not just thinking about the fact that Megan isn't here, but about the fact that she WAS here, and got to experience these feelings with us.  These are the times now when I can start to see that really, she probably IS here, grinning from ear to goddamned cute little ear right along with us.

If I could bottle this stuff and sell it, I would be a millionaire.

Magic Shoes

These are my magic shoes.  They've been there for me to put on for well over a year.  When they were first purchased, they were able to magically bring me closer to Megan, because she had magic shoes too.  Putting our magic shoes on together was the final good memory we shared.  We were wearing these shoes when she felt the "pop", that was the first sign of her lungs rejecting.  She was wearing her magic shoes when her body was reduced to ash.  

Now, through the pain, these shoes can magically transform me in a different way.  I can don these pieces of rubber and nylon, and turn into a different person.  For one hour, my magic shoes let me feel like a kid again, like I never experienced all of the sickness and struggling and love and dedication and fucking death.  The part of my brain that remembers death exists is shut down, and replaced with focus and energy.  It is the only time my body and mind are separated.  These shoes deconstruct me, and reassemble me into a better person.  They perform the opposite function as before.  I am distanced from Megan while I wear them, and it brings relief.  

I'm careful not to abuse or overuse them.  They mean too much to me; so much more than simple coverings for my feet.  They are always hand carried into the only setting that they work in, and they are removed when the magic has ran out.  

Luckily though, their effect lasts for a few days, until my mind powers back on and I'm plunged back into remembering that there really isn't any permanent cure for life, except death.  That's when I know that I need to put my magic shoes back on and recharge them.  See, they are powered by my body.  The longer they sit collecting dust, the more their batteries run dry.  The first time I put them on again, after 8 months of hell, my body had to work so hard to juice them up that I vomited twice and hovered on passing out.  By the end of that cycle though, I knew that my magic shoes were still working to transform, protect, and improve me in so many ways.

Adrenalize

I've stepped out of the fog again.  After spending the weekend at Camp Widow, and coming home to the subsequent crash of emotions and a good night's sleep, I finally feel some fire in me.  I'm not really feeling any enthusiasm for work; it still fucking sucks, but my desire to do some things is ramping up, and I can physically feel it.

I know what I need right now, and I need to spit it out as I'm thinking of it.



I need to be "adrenalized".  I need some intensity.  I need to throw some weight around and grunt and yell and listen to some goddamned angry music.  I need to be fucking sweaty and tired and broken.  I need to throw a medicine ball through a goddamned brick wall.  I need my eyes to sting from sweat and tears at the same time.  I need to collapse in a heap on the cold rubber floor of the gym, then drag my ass off of it and crank out some pullups.  I need to start bawling in the middle of the workout, and have everyone look at me and think they should stay the fuck away, like a doberman that just got a broken leg that will bite the first thing that comes near.  I need beast mode.  I need to work so hard that my hands bleed from all of the ripped callouses.  I need to be younger, so I can re-join the Marine Corps, go overseas, and rain motherfucking fire down again.  I need the type of euphoria that you can only get from one other thing.  Most of all, I need my wife back, so I can wear her the fuck out, hit the bottom and tear up the sides, and make her walk funny for two days and still ask for more...shit.

I'm addicted to adrenaline.  But it's a certain kind.  The kind that's triggered from the "fight" side of the flight or fight response.  I can't be "scared" into it.  I need to force myself into it.  I need to push myself off of that bridge.  There isn't a pill available that's going to give me this feeling.    

The fucking prozac had killed this drive off for awhile (I'll write more about it later), but it's back, baby.  Yeah, I'll have more bad days too, but I know what drug fixes it.  Goddamned adrenaline.  If Sunday night was bad, Monday evening fixes it right up, and it lasts for days. If Megan left me with one thing, it was her fucking intensity, and it only added to mine. 

It's so nice to be back on the roller coaster, because while it has its ups and downs, it never ceases to adrenalize me.