The War Within Self: Brody’s Story
Hey everyone! This is going to be a short intro because it’s story time!! Today has been a rather interesting day I must say. A lot of ripping and running & Back back forth and forth lol. I feel as God and the universe have a weird way of telling you to write something. Today was just one of those days. The short story I’m about to tell is inspired by a visit to the doctor’s office today. That is all I’m going to say about that. I have had this story in my head since I left the doctor. I’m going to tell it through the eyes of our protagonist, Brody. I felt like I needed to write it because I didn’t have anyone to speak with. It was mentally stressful, but the writing helped. So what I’m saying is it was destiny! Anyways, here is The War Within Self: Brody’s Story!
As I sat in doctor’s office waiting for Doc Green to show up, I kept hearing in the back of my mind “I love you Brody”. I don’t know why I kept thinking that, but I ignored it. Of course I love me, why wouldn’t I?
I was at the doctor’s office this time to get an estimate on a surgery. I should point out that I have a track record with surgery. It’s like my gold digging ex-girlfriend I keep taking back. I had three surgeries done just to be clear: tonsils, appendix and abscess removal. This was going to possibly be number for. This isn’t about my medical history so let’s move on.
You see, I’m a hefty dude. The old folks call it stocky and society straight up calls it fat. If we can’t see abs or your bones, it’s just fat. I personally don’t think that’s healthy to look like you eat air and grass. Anyways, I have come a long way for a 22 year old. I used to be what I considered fat until I got up off my ass and started hitting the gym, eating better and making smarter choices. I went from 240 to 190. I did pretty damn good I must say. However, there was one problem, my chest.
I have what I would like to call biggie smalls syndrome. Never heard of it? Well this is what it is simply; One of your breasts is normal and one is little oversized. Thus the term biggie smalls syndrome was born! It was a great yo mama joke, but you get the point. The medical term is gynecomastia and I had it and I wanted it gone.
I figured back then if I put in the work and lost the weight those will go away as well. I was wrong apparently. No amount of bench presses or push-ups was going to tighten this shit up.
Hell even The Rock (you may know him as Dwayne Johnson) had to get his gynecomastia removed and he was back then in optimum physical performance. I mean now he looks like a boulder, but he still was in shape back then. I looked up to this man as if he were the perfect blue print of what a man should be like. He should be charismatic, determined, in shape and awesome. I wanted to be him sorta. I wanted to be the Brody version of The Rock! I mean if this damn thing plagued who I thought was the greatest entertainer slash man on the planet and he got the surgery to remove his, I should too.
Or so I thought.
The visit went like most visits do. You sit in a room despite showing up early and just pass the time by reading a magazine or playing on your phone. Luckily, I had my phone to entertain me for the damn near hour wait. It’s better to drain your battery than being alone with your thoughts.
The door opened and a new doctor came in the room first. I never saw him before and to be quite honest I thought Doc Green got tired of seeing me. He practically watched me grow up from 18 to 22. Anyway this new doctor shakes my hand and in comes Doc Green with a big smile on like he is seeing his long lost son again for a while.
We go through our general way of greeting each other by hurling a few playful jabs at each other
“What’s up OLD man…how is that whole age thing going?” I said
And Doc replied with “Glad to see you’re not fat anymore fella”. He messed with my hair and sat down to joke around and catch up.
After joking around for a few and talking about my history here to the new doctor, we got down to business. I lifted my shirt and they looked and touched my chest to see how much tissue was there. The doc proceeds to tell me that it is a lot.
Now I don’t want y’all thinking I’m walking around with one normal balloon and a big huge obese man titty balloon. It just was more tissue than a normal person at my size. What I am saying is, I do not need a bra.
Doc continues about how the procedure will go and how the healing process and etcetera would go. When Doc says “The recovery is going to be at least 8 months or a year” I zone out. I can hear my voice in my head saying “Brody, I love you…but are you sure?” I snap out of it and hear the rest of Doc’s explanation while he tries to make me laugh about it.
I asked doc about the price and he simply replied “Sky High.” I shook hands with both doctors and Green tells me Geri is going to give me a quota of how much it’s going to really cost. She came in shortly after they left for me to meet her in her office.
Geri is pretty cool. I can consider her a friend from afar. You know what I mean? Like someone you cannot see or speak to for years, but when you meet up it’s like nothing changed. Well it’s been two odd years and nothing changed haha. We caught up about finishing and what I wanted to do after that. She thought me doing social work was insane. Geri said “Why would you do that? Your spirit is too kind to deal with other people’s problems.”
I laughed because she was right, but my sociology/ psych degree is perfect for that field. I would be raking in the paper!!
After joshing around for a little longer, she printed out the estimate for me to sign.
When I looked at the price, I zoned out again. It would be 8,000 dollars to take care of this non-life threating, but socially embarrassing problem…8,000 dollars. I heard a voice again saying “Brody….I love…you, but is it worth it?” Third time is the charm right? I ignored it, said goodbye to Geri and headed back to the car.
I got to the car and put the key in the door, I felt something was wrong. The air seemed thick. It wasn’t like that when I arrived earlier. It was like there was a weight on my mind and I was getting crushed by it. I sat in the car…the voices intensified and I could not ignore it any further
I must say anything that involves surgery makes you put things in perspective because you never know what is coming around the corner. You never know what could happen and that may be the worst part.
Nothing is certain…but if you had the money wouldn’t you do it?
I started the car, I turned the radio off and I began driving. I went into a full-fledged conversation with myself. I asked myself question after question like I had agenda to see why the hell did I even go?
Was it really worth it? Why am I doing this? Do I want to be the rock this bad? Will this change anything? Why not love what God gave you? Why alter it? Why? Why? Why? Why? And then I heard myself saying “Brody I love you, but do you love you?”
And for once as a collective I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t have the answers Sway.
I always had confidence so I knew that wasn’t the issue. I narrowed it down to two things: 1 I deep down did not like the change or 2. I was willing to transform for no particular reason. Was this why I was thinking like this?
I couldn’t answer myself that one question. Narrowing it down to those two things didn’t bring me any answers. The question was simple: Do I love myself?
If I did…I wouldn’t sweat this bullshit right? I would be like…it’s for the greater good, but what if it wasn’t? What if I getting my man-mammaries chopped completely off and healing up to a damn year wouldn’t be for the greater good.
A roadblock was there indeed.
What if this didn’t change how women looks at my or how I look at me? Why was I worried about how people perceived me? It never bothered me, but I feel like this possibly made me think of Lily. Lily was my girlfriend back in high school. We had a pretty dope relationship. But all relationships come to an end some way and mine did in a shitty way. Stupid lily left me around senior year for someone who looked ten times better than me. I knew it and she knew it and he knew it and I hated that. That was five years ago, but still that pain affected me. It made me really despise society. Why did looks matter so damn much? Why couldn’t someone love me for me? I hated the notion that personality only matters when you are considered “hot”. Lily is probably bigger than me with kids and shit and it serves her right. Well…whatever.
Was I getting this done to prove every woman who passed on me wrong or was I doing it because I wanted to? Was I going to the gym to benefit Brody or was it to become this so called “hot” just to dish their game back at them? Would I just end up doing the same thing Lily did to me to some poor girl just to have this cycle repeat itself?
NO….I wouldn’t be like that. I wouldn’t allow myself to be like that self.
As the drive continued, the more questioning I did to myself and I felt worst after each question.
Until I had this thought about Mick Foley (you may know him as mankind, cactus jack, dude love, Santa, etc). He was completely comfortable in who he was from the first time I saw him. His persona was unique and he never tried to fit in the mold. So I asked myself “why not be a Mick Foley? He is happy the way he is why can’t you be?”
I pulled into my drive way and just sat there. I wanted to cry so badly, but I couldn’t go in the house with the red eyes. My parents would know something is up. This visit was just a damn estimate not a therapy session with a psychiatrist. It sure felt like it though.
I asked myself more questions before I entered the house.
Was I doing this to blend in with society and be accepted or was I doing this to better Brody?
Was this one surgery going to impact my future?
Do I selfishly go through with this surgery putting my mom and dad in a hole with the medical bills or do I suck it up and work harder with the bench presses and push-ups and exercise praying that this one thing goes away?
$8,000 was my ticket to getting rid of this, but at what cost mentally and physically.
Has my quest for vanity and acceptance clouded my positive thoughts about my self-image and was I willing to change that just to be like a role model?
I didn’t know….I didn’t know the purpose and seriously questioned my reasoning. It made sense to go through with the surgery, but it didn’t make sense. I cried a little bit.
I turned the car off and I heard a voice one more time
“I Love You Brody….Do you?”
I smiled, wiped a tear off my cheek and got out of the car.
I said to myself… “Yes. Yes I do and if I’m going to go through with this, it will be at the perfect time and for all the right reasons” as I walked into my parent’s house.