My Humorless Self

The Scream

As long as I could remember, my mom dominated the house with her rules. She was a strong creative, and a very complex woman.

From the time I could talk, I’m sure, there was the no talking rule and no laughing rule. To talk to her or to laugh would bring upon one of her rages, especially at the dinner table. I learned very early on not to laugh at home, and there was no humor in my parent’s relationship with one exception.

With her friends, she was a different person. She laughed, she flirted, and she played. I observed this in astonishment, because this was not the mother I knew. My parents had monthly parties with their group of friends, and they drank and laughed and made sexual innuendos with each other. At home, quiet was the rule and I was to stay in my room away from them and not bother them.

I have always been attracted to funny men. They let me play and laugh, which was downright dangerous as a child. They were free of the rules I had grown up with and I love to be made to laugh, even at my own expense, because I know how serious I am.

I have also had a lot of serious things happen to me. I almost died from polio as a child and had to endure the torture of painful physical therapy to get well. I spent a whole summer in full leg casts.I had a surgery when I was ten for a tendon transplant in my right leg. I was brutally bullied by the neighborhood boys and girls as a disabled child. There was nothing funny about my childhood.

I developed bipolar disorder and suffered. I married an abusive man and acquired PTSD. I was plagued by nightmares, flashbacks, and migraines almost daily. I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder and succumbed to psychosis at times. Later on, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and have had surgery twice for it. There was very little that was funny about my adulthood.

Then I met Frank. He was funny. He poked fun at me, and gave me the permission to play. He taught me to enjoy watching and laughing at comedy. He is the perfect yin to my yang. We’re a lot alike in temperament, but I get the added bonus of having his jokes to laugh at, and his tickling to squirm from.

When I met him, I knew he was fulfilling a lot of childhood needs I had that had gone unmet. His physicality and gentle stroking of my cheek filled a void that the absence of affection in my childhood had caused. His patient listening made me feel valued and heard, even though what I was saying was trauma related and frightening oftentimes. I was badly broken, and he told me I would heal. I hung on his words more than he knew.

He was right. I have healed in a lot of ways. But I am still serious, and a deep thinker. Frank even teases me about my thinking, telling me that it gets me in trouble. He’s right, but a lifetime of thinking doesn’t get turned around in a few years.

Today I can laugh without fear of retribution. I still have trouble making jokes of my own, but that’s okay. Sometimes I think Frank would prefer a funny woman to joke with, but he chose me for reasons of his own, too.

He rescued me in more ways than one.

I hope you have someone to laugh and play with in your life today. Life is short, and laughing is as emotionally necessary as crying to cleanse the soul. There’s nothing like a good belly laugh that causes tears to run down your face.

Love,

Gail

Are you a funny person? Do you have someone in life to joke and play with? Was humor a big part of your upbringing?

 

 

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