Chapter 69: Pain Powered

Ralph Lauren is having a bad day.

Skirts, pants, tops, preppy styles and conservative lengths all go sailing out of my closet. I’m mining through depths of clothing as if the answer to life, the universe and everything simply must be in the back hiding from me like a deranged clown doll under all the brickabrack. Brik a brak. Bricabrac? Is there a right way to spell this? I’m not even sure I’m using it right. Bricabracadabra. Ha. I am feeling a great weight lifted as I sift through my mess of clothing, whilst kicking myself for all the wasted money trying to keep up with the Dudes. Single is definitely going to be cheaper. So why do I find myself pitching my Pradas?

The morning I left Fundude’s house, I got out a notebook. Tired of my alcohol fueled pity party, I have decided to exit the Dudetrain before it travels around the track one more time. I close my eyes and dive off, preparing for the jolt of the ground as I tuck and roll. The leap from the train hurts, and I sit in the grass watching it chug-chug-chug away, my train full of Dudes, who look back at me with a puzzled expression but how will you ever make it without us? Bye bye. They shrink and disappear around the bend.

And just like that, a decision is born. No more Dudes.

My eyes were chronically swollen and burning from an ocean of tears over Jackdude, but why? Why allow him one more minute of my life energy? Why am I wasting my life on these Dudes?

And I do realize it, and it’s plain as if someone is holding a giant whiteboard six inches in front of me with huge block letters while also yelling in my face “YOU ARE COMPROMISING YOURSELF FOR THESE GUYS!” and I see the truth at last. As long as I’m riding the Dudetrain, I’m not steering the ship. I’m bound to whatever track their train is on. But I’ve jumped, and now I’m free.

So now what? Now that I’m committed to being alone? I have to figure out what I want.

ohh, but the loneliness and pain is ever present and gnaws at the aching hole in my chest. Hazy, sentimentally enhanced and probably somewhat incorrect romantic memories interrupt my mind constantly at first. What if I had done this, what if I had done that…Images of Jackdude and the wonderful times we had keep waltzing through the dance party of regret in my mind and I’m just stuck in this cycle of pain. How can I deal with this when I’m in pain… the pain… the neverending always present….

Wait just a minute.

I want to change. I feel constant pain.

I am going to use the pain as a driving force. It’s always there, running like an energy-draining app in the background of my life, I might as well use it.

I determine that every time I feel the ache of losing Jackdude, or miss any other Dudes, or want a Dude in my life, I will use it as a cattle prod to my brain to keep working on myself. I effectively started powering my life with a drivetrain called Pain, and I am going to use it to power my trip to my next destination.

I’m going to get my damn life back.

I’m going to change everything.

I’m going to make my life fucking amazing, and this time, I’m going to do it by myself, so no one can march out the door with my life.

Ever.

AGAIN.

I’m going to build a Monica Empire.

And I’m starting by pitching out every reminder of every Dude. Every bit of clothing I bought because I thought some Dude would like it. Harley-Davidson shirts, gone. Slinky, overrevealing tops, gone. Prepdude used to just looooove taking me shopping for Prepclothes. He’d pick out the clothes he wanted me to wear, and I would pay. God, was I really that fucking stupid? GONE! Sports team logo shirts gone. Sportsdude would be so disappointed, but Phoenix Monica is getting out of the goddamn ashes for the last fucking time, and gives zero fucks what any Dudes think any more. Because Phoenix Monica knows you can’t soar if you’re tethered to the Dudetrain. And soar I will, baby.

You see, when I took out that notebook, I wrote down WHO IS MONICA?… because I need to figure out who I am without any external influence. Who am I? Who do I want to be? I am in an archaeological dig, and I’m just starting to hit pay dirt on the first few pieces. Oh, I’ve picked up a few along the way, but without any Dudes, getting back my pieces goes into hyperdrive. I start thinking back to that precious span of time in which I wasn’t under anyone else’s influence. When I was alone. Who was I then? No one was telling me what to do in the many hours I was by myself growing up. I was the youngest child, and my seven older siblings had their own reindeer games while I sat alone with my red nose. I spent a ton of time by myself. I make a list of the earliest things I loved doing by myself:

Science experiments: My parents were convinced I was going to blow up the house. Hey Mom, we’re out of vinegar/baking soda/Borax/dishwashing liquid/bleach again. And don’t look in the laundry, I think I might have ruined a few things, heh heh.

Climbing trees: I would climb all the way up until I was holding onto the swaying branches at the top, drifting back and forth on the breeze that also swept away my mother’s panicked voice thirty feet down. God, that was fun.

Exploring: New paths, mysterious abandoned houses, ruins of any sort, places I haven’t yet seen. The more forbidden, the better. I would loved to have been one of those storming Area 51. Even if it’s risky, my curiosity tends to win out and I will go places I shouldn’t go. I have always had dreams of mysterious houses with stairways leading everywhere.

Knowledge: Weirdly, at a rather young age I loved reading the dictionary and the encyclopedia. We had an entire new set of World Book Encyclopedia, and I wanted to know it all. I would let the muse carry me into whatever my mind desired, spending endless hours poring over the heavy hardcover books. I even remember the new-car smell of the glossy pages.

Success: We always had a library in the house, a practice I highly recommend, because rather than play my sibling’s favorite game Let’s Tumble Monica In The Dryer On Fluff, I preferred digging through my dad’s expansive collection of books on success. I devoured the works of Napoleon Hill, Earl Nightingale, Dale Carnegie and anything else self-enriching I could get my dirty little fingers on. I have to attribute a lot of my success today to the fact I was exposed to these books so early.

Fitness: I always hated team sports but holy shit did I ever love silent sports! When I was 15, I started getting up at 5 am to run, do yoga, exercise along with Charlene Prickett In the Morning! back in the day when it was called Aerobics, complete with leotards and leggings. I even owned a Unitard, which looks just as stupid as it sounds, and ran with a cassette Walkman the size of a pizza box.

Dance: One of the stupid decisions I kept making was dating anyone who doesn’t LOVE to dance. My dad would be the one tossing money at the band to keep them playing… just a little longer, please?? The number of guys I dated that wouldn’t dance was just stupid. I adore dancing, why would I sell myself short on such an important point?

Music: music, MUSIC! I’ve been onstage singing since I was six, and have loved it the entire time. I have to get my music back!

Sass: I hid my boisterous, wild personality because my goodness, guys might not like that! Especially in my church years, we were taught to be demure, quiet women, not firecrackers. Up until I met my husband, I was a sassy hyper wild girl with a razor sarcastic wit and a mouth like a sailor who just dropped anchor directly on his foot. Prepdude told me right out he hates sarcasm, just one of a thousand reasons I never should have been with him.

I pick up these pieces like a Lego set and I’m’ carefully setting them in place. I’m using Krazy glue this time to make absolutely sure it all bonds together into a solid, unbreakable piece.

And one last thing needs to be dealt with.

I pick up my phone and dial…