I have battled the Negative Nancy gene all my life.
You know her...the "woe is me" lady who feeds off of your pain and makes you sit in it until your fingers get pruny.
I am prone to that wallowing. I hate it - HATE IT - about myself, and yet every now and then I catch myself doing it.
I caught myself today.
I've had troubled friendships in the past; the kind where people hurt you intentionally. Those friendships have led me to be quite the whacked out friend for those who enjoy my company today.
What one might say "aw, darn. That sucks", for me becomes "they hate me. I'm a pest. Why am I even their friend? I'm going to go cry in a corner."
It's stupid, really. It's foolish. Yet, for some reason, it's the conclusion I always immediately jump to when something goes wrong.
Today I was forgotten. Even typing those words makes me want to cry. It wasn't my friend's fault. Sometimes people forget.
That is logic talking.
Crazy Annie is convinced that this friend forgot me because I mean nothing to them.
Why would you mean anything to them? Why are they even nice to you? Charity case, no doubt. In fact, you probably weren't forgotten. You were probably blatantly ignored. They don't like you, and you're not getting the hint. You're the ugly duckling. Nobody likes you.
My heart breaks moment by moment, logic trying to say "SHUT UP ANNIE! YOU AREN'T HELPING!"
Annie never helps.
It's moments like this that I wish I were stronger. I wish I wasn't so sensitive. I wish I could roll with the punches, shrug my shoulders and say "eh, whatever" the way so many of the people I admire do.
I am not that person.
Not yet.
But I am damn well willing to do what it takes to get there if it means never feeling like this again.
I told Clone how I felt, that my heart hurt, so she gave me a little mantra originating from The Help.
You is smart.
You is kind.
You is beautiful.
I wish my self-esteem wasn't so volatile.
I'm sorry, blogisphere, for my insecurity, but if I wasn't real than you wouldn't like me anyway.
If you've ever heard me talk about my Clone, you know that we think alike. As I was preparing this blog, she posted this one here. Great minds...
Sometimes it sucks to be a girl. I'm not just talking about "those" times - the ones where everyone ducks and covers, offering up chocolate and heating pads for appeasement.
I'm talking about every day, emotional girl issues. The crazy Annie Wilkes that lives in all of us...waiting to tie up our favorite author and break his ankles until he writes a better ending.
Oh, uh...too far?
I'd like to think of myself as a rational person. Usually, I am. I think through things logically. When life throws a curve ball, I try not to react, but to consider the situation and respond with a cool head. Spock (and for that matter, Data) is my hero.
Calm, rational, doesn't let emotions stop him from getting the job done.
I am not Spock.
For this reason, I must apologize to everyone who spent any time with me from 12:01am - 12:30am on July 4th-5th, 2014.
It wasn't PMS that made me crazy during this time period, but just emotional girly-ness. It lacks all logic, makes no sense, and frankly is a pain in the...well, you know.
Explanation? Not really. Curious? I'm sure you are if you've read this far.
July 4th is my least favorite day of the year. It's the cursed day. Everyone has one - that day that no matter how hard you try, it never goes right.
Mine started rather fantastically, and frankly if I wasn't a girl it might have gone splendidly.
The first to get a dose of my insanity didn't know what he was up against. All he did was invite me to watch Independence Day to celebrate the holiday.
Frankly, this movie is a personal favorite - it's one of the best. How could I say no? This friend - Han - is a darling. One of my favorite people on this earth - all around nice, and while undeserving of my crazy, often takes the brunt of it with a forgiving smile.
So Han and I watch the best 4th of July movie around, talking through half of it and debating different cinematic elements (this is why I adore our friendship so much. Han and I share many interests. It's fun).
And then I turn crazy.
I never plan on turning crazy. Seriously, the Spock side of me facepalms and begs for me to shut up. Unfortunately, "Annie" is already on her way to the loony bin.
So after a freakout in front of Han, I went home and didn't get enough sleep - this only makes me worse.
Crabby Annie locked Spock in the closet and spewed venom at her family until she fell back to sleep (missing the soccer games, thank you very much).
By the evening, Spock and Annie were arm wrestling for the power to rule the remainder of the day. A little Vulcan Death Grip knocked Annie out long enough for me to enjoy a concert in the park where a friend Mike's band played (and they did so well)!
I barely made it home, however, before Annie reared her ugly head and went all Exorcist Linda Blair style. What does that mean? Read this blog here.
Spock, realizing all hope was lost, sent me to bed, only to be awoken by my amazing mother to be told she had to take Brosef to the ER.
Because, of course, the 4th of July couldn't pass without harming SOMEONE that I love.
(Don't worry, Brosef is okay. Bronchial spasms are no laughing matter, but the man doth breathe again!)
All in all, I'm glad the day is done. I'm thankful that Han has a sister and gets that girls randomly go crazy for no reason. I'm thankful that Mike's band did so well, and that I got to enjoy them.
I'm also thankful that the Spock in me let me write this blog, despite the Annie influences splashed all over it.
I'm glad to be a woman - really, I am - but sometimes, I wouldn't mind avoiding the crazy.
