The Fighter.

ISFJ – THE DEFENDER. “If I Can Protect You, I Will”

I’ve only ever really wanted to be one thing, a superhero. I was obsessed. I wanted to be a Power Ranger so I could protect people and beat-up bad guys. I wanted to fight. There’s plenty to psychoanalyze there – abused kid, broken home, bullied, bad neighborhood of-fucking-course I wanted to fight. We could never afford martial arts classes, but every once in a while we would get coupons for a few free lessons. There’s a picture of me somewhere breaking a board with a front kick for my yellow-tip test in Taekwondo… I can still count to ten in Korean.

It’s weird, the things that stick in your mind. I would spend a lot of weekends at my Godmother’s house, her 17 year old daughter died in a car accident when I was six and my sister and I were the next closest thing she had to her own kids. Her and her husband had EVERY gaming system and she always took us to rent whatever we wanted from Blockbuster. One time I didn’t feel well and she gave me a pill, but it was huge and I couldn’t swallow it. I remember the pill, I remember where I was in the house, I remember that I was playing Mega Man X on Super Nintendo, but I don’t remember what was wrong with me or if I ever managed to swallow the pill. We always rented a different horror movie, but the only two I remember are Children of the Corn and Pumpkin Head. I hate horror movies, I wonder if I hated them when I was a kid. All I wanted was martial arts movies, Three Ninjas and Surf Ninja were my “go-tos” and an instructional video by the guy who played the Green/White Power Ranger.

I always wanted to fight.

Anyone who has ever looked closely at my hands has probably noticed – and often remarked on – the fact that my middle-finger knuckle on my right hand is fuuuucked up. It’s huge…seriously, I keep looking at it while I’m typing and looks deformed, the result of having been broken countless times. The worst was when I would break bones in my hand. It was impossible to hide my swollen, bright purple hand and the last thing I wanted was to have to explain it. I don’t know if I outgrew my temper or just stopped having the energy to have one, either way, I’m glad to be rid of my wall-punching compulsion.

I never grew out of wanting to be a super hero. I tell people that I decided to be a Marine when I realized Power Rangers weren’t real. It was all doomed of course – my career and my childhood fantasies. A genetic defect that I wouldn’t learn about until after it cost me everything.

So here I sit, wearing medical compression stockings, having fainted twice today, my scalp tingling from my blood pressure medication, aches and pain throughout my body, mourning my Vampire Slayer aspirations, and hoping for a new way to fight. Still dreaming of being a super hero.

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