VI

December 9th, 2023

Six years ago today, I pulled off my biggest act of rebellion.

Despite being an unfortunate people-pleaser who needs everyone to like him (and has succeeded maybe 30% of the time), I have always been rebellious by nature. I was born obstinate and stubborn (a Taurus!) and, sure, I can still be all that now, but it is all I was then.

In my late teens, I discovered I was sick, stayed in denial for years, and only got worse as long as I was drinking. I kept drinking until December 9th, 2017.

To get better, I had to rebel against my own nature.

I was self-centered, filled with self-delusion and self-pity, the dictionary’s definition of all things selfish; my photo accompanied the entry in the book. We talk a lot about trust: trust for the people closest to us, like family and friends, and even our trust for strangers.

But over the years, I lost the most important trust of all: my trust for myself.

I’ve written about it before (most recently in Brushfire), but losing trust in myself allowed me to lose trust in everybody else, through no fault of their own. With my brain and my heart and my soul, I made decisions that I never thought I could, if all three hadn’t been so damaged from the beating I was giving them daily.

At my worst, I was all those negative self-words, plus belligerent, ignorant, disrespectful, insecure, gross, and mean.

Recovered addicts talk about the moment they had to accept they had no power over whatever it is they were addicted to, but just as important for me was the moment I had to accept that I am not just the worst of me.

That moment, with the support of people (and a dog) who believed the same, allowed me to finally take steps toward the life I (and they) deserve.

I was able to rebel against me: the dark, selfish, hopeless, worst parts of me. Not just rebel, but accept and let live.

And I’ve been successfully rebelling for six years now.

I started sharing this story with you all on close to day one, not just to keep myself accountable, but to let people like me know that it’s possible; to witness that personally would have been such a powerful thing for me to have in my life, and I wish I would have seen more of it sooner.

In The Weirdos, I bookend The Flying Squirrel issue with the lines ANYTHING CAN BE SAVED and EVERYTHING CAN BE DESTROYED. I wrote those words while I was in it, and now that I’m out, I can confirm: everything can be destroyed, and still anything can be saved. Things do get better, and so can people.

I do things like go to the dentist now, and apologize when I’m wrong (which is often), and let myself feel feelings. Sometimes those feelings are of worthlessness and jealousy and insecurity; I have to remind myself that I am not the worst of me.

Remind myself that things do get better, and so can people.

All it takes, sometimes, is a little bit of rebellion.