Why I'm Awesome (Part 7 of 7,412): MARSHMALLOW

Before I get going here I'd like to say something to my compadres at Social Entropy ++:

• I miss each and every single one of you little shitsmokers, my new job is keeping me super busy


• I'm really sorry I won't be at PAX, it's killing me to know that it's this weekend and I won't be there


• I can't get on AIM or MSN at my new job, I can only use Skype, so stop crying at me you blubbering vaginas


• I occasionally check the forums but those chances I get are view and far between… I can't post much at work and after work and on the weekend I'm busy having a life that involves my general aura of awesomosity being shared with people who can enjoy its presence in exchange for many hugs


• ABLOOABLOOABLOO


• Okay now I'm going to go back to acting like I'm better than all of you because I have a spiffy job a bitchin' bod the best hair in the world and basically everything that you don't have ready GO

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

I started out this tirade of 7,412 obnoxiously long blog entries with a not-so-brief explanation of one of my two main strengths. These two strengths, as I mentioned before, are traits of my personality that I have found great confidence in, which, if you know me at all, you'll realize is a pretty big deal for someone as self-conscious and doubt-ridden as myself.

That first strength, you may or may not recall, is that I am very able to express myself. No matter how abstract, I can put just about anything into a verbally communicable form. I love that I have this skill, as it makes me a good communicator, and I do it well.

The second strength is that I can take good emotional care of myself. Generally speaking, I know exactly what I need to do to get over a rough patch in the heart zone.

Whether it's a bout of overwhelming depression, cuss-laden rage, or even just bouncy happiness, I'm generally able to make the most of it all without much outside counseling.

I know when I need to talk it out, when I need to shout, when I need to sweat it out, when I need to numb it, enjoy it, thrive on it, ignore it, suppress it, write about it, bitch about it, confront it, etc. It took me a long time to get to this stage, too. A lot of it comes down to a familiarity with oneself and, perhaps above all, honesty.

I've had to admit many things about myself, almost all of them negative in nature. I am stubborn, hot-tempered, loud, stubborn, validation-seeking, foul-mouthed, stubborn, pissy, whiny, bitchy, stubborn, obstinate, hard-headed, adamant, pigheaded, tenacious, and stubborn. (You might notice an ongoing theme there, I'm not sure.)

More than anything else, I am a stubborn person. When it comes to controversial debate, I may be convinced to accept a different viewpoint or even change my existing one, but this is only after I have ensured (with a tenacity that the Chan Clan is infamous for) that my point has been heard…without any chance of misinterpretation. When it comes to my emotional well-being, it's an arena wherein you just won't survive.

When I'm happy, there is very little that can stop me from being happy until I am good and ready to let the outside world come in and beat the crap out of me like it does to all of us. Likewise, when I'm depressed, I need to just sit there and BE SAD for a while before I will even entertain attempts to cheer me up. Most of you know what I'm like when I'm pissed off, but it's the same basic principle: I will go ahead and be pissed until I am damn well ready to not be pissed anymore.

How I handle things while being in an extremely emotional state is my true skill, because it ensures the longest recovery time for the so-called "bad stuff."

For example, if you go back several/many blog posts, you'll see one entitled "What Happened" or something to that effect, which is me talking about what is nowadays referred to as the "subway incident." I was pissed beyond reason and upset and I knew what I had to do to get over it as humanely as possible while sparing my landlord the need to clean up bloodstains from punching my fist into a wall a few too many times.

First thing I did when I got home was, well, slam the door a couple of times and perhaps smash the palm of my hand ridiculously hard into the wall of my bookshelf, just to get some pain going there. Then I picked up the phone with trembling fingers and pressed and held the number 2.

Michelle answers the phone, I tell her what happened, and with her ever-glorious understanding of what it means to be pissed off, basically egged me on in my violent, loud, and utterly unreasonable tirade of death threats, disembodiment designs, and a slew of swear words that make what I say on a daily basis the stuff of babies and rainbows and puppies and marshmallows and lollipops. She knew as well as I did that I just needed to be angry to have someone there to hear me be angry.

It's not about logic, it's not about comfort, and it's certainly not about making sense. So amidst cries for castration and various methods of asphyxiation, Michelle threw down her agreement and, without saying it outright, her understanding that I just needed to be pissed. I love her for it and it's why I called her first.

Next, after hanging up with Michelle, I pressed and held the number 3.

Romain picks up and I fill him in on what happened, this time with a much more tearful accompaniment. Death threats ensue yet again, some of which probably made him a tad bit uncomfortable since I was basically mentioning male genitalia every other second, but this time with more of an emphasis on making ME feel better about what happened. My conversation with Michelle was more of a "how do I make this guy suffer as much as possible" deal.

This conversation was slightly longer since, as is expected of Romain, he laced a bit of "ok let's make sense and start calming down here a bit" into the phone, which ultimately had its effect. I took a shower and then picked up the phone one more time, pressing and hold the number 7.

As I talked to Chuck, I was much, much calmer, with minimal swearing (by my standards) and a much more rational recount of events. I asked if I could sleepover at his place, and in his very maternal way he said yes and offered to take good care of me. I went over, hung out with him and Romain and Michelle (who brought a bottle of Bailey's because she is just awesome) for the evening, eating an inordinate amount of American junk food and overdosing on cheese-in-a-can, having milkshakes at City Diner, and spent the night in Chuck's spare room.

Black Hawk Down, a violent movie dotted throughout with really hot men in uniform, was just, well, a perfect complement. The next afternoon saw a healthy three hours of volleyball, where the remainder of my rage was channeled out of me in the form of physical abuse on a bouncy ball that really never did anything to hurt me.

By Monday at Zapata's, I was pretty much fine and in a manageable enough mood to talk about what happened in a calm and conversational manner with my closest friends. Still a bit jumpy and nervous while on the subway, but nevertheless able to function as a wholly sane human being.

Breaking down this example, I took hold of my anger in stages that I knew would be most effective for me to get over what happened. Of course, this would never, ever have worked without the company of my friends. Of course, this also meant that I had to know them well enough to know how they'd respond to the incident and know if it's the kind of response I wanted. I bottled up my need for a physical outlet until Saturday, where I knew a good round of balls-to-the-wall volleyball would be just what I needed to get the last of the bad blood out.

This isn't to say that the friends not mentioned in this post were not also amazing in their support and love, because it really meant a lot to know that so many people cared. Basically, what I mean is that I know what I need in a support system to get over a trough in the utterly irregular (and often unfair) oscillations of life's pendulum. I would imagine that me behaving the way I did with other friends might've resulted in a ruined friendship, not because those "other" people are bad friends, but because of my own personality (and their reaction to it).

I have a very volatile temper, which is just a nice way of saying I'm a bitch with an anger problem. Not everyone gets to see me at my worst because I simply don't WANT people to see me at my worst. Sure I know most of my friends would never judge me, but for my part, the worst part about being caught in a round of utter depression or extreme anger is to know that people have seen me that way (and might react badly to it). You could say I fear that people would think of me as being weak because of it, but really, it's that self-conscious stuff I've said before.

Let's put it this way. At my absolute worst, I worry that my friends might actually end up afraid of me. I don't mean that in a "teehee you're so scary teehee" joking kind of way. I mean that in a "holy shit this bitch is fucking nuts quick hide the knives" kind of way. I worry that people might shy away from me in fear of ever seeing me in such a state ever again.

It's because of that that I refused to see anyone until I was already calm. Shouting on the phone is bad enough…it's another for someone to be there and see me when I'm in such a rage.

I wish I were exaggerating but I'm really not. At my very worst I am almost always alone in person. My bitchy behavior that is visible on a day-to-day basis…you all know that that's just how I am. I am very seldom truly vindictive when I behave that way. No one, absolutely no one, has seen me when I have been truly, righteously angry. I doubt anyone ever will.

That's anger, I guess. Sadness is different. Depression depends on the circumstances that brought it about. Sometimes, I want to have people around me to hug me or comfort me. Other times, I want to be alone to cry it out for a while, then maybe talk it out later.

I know exactly what kinds of outlets I need whenever I hit a rough spot, and it's not the same for all cases. I call it a skill because, based on my own personal experience, a lot of people don't know what to do to get themselves out of their own emotional traps. I honestly don't know how I know what to do…I just do. Instinct, maybe.

Thing is, it's different for everyone. Some people need to talk it out. Some people need to have it out. Some people need to cry or scream or punch it out. Many times, people do not need what you think they need, no matter how well you think you know them as a person. It comes down to the individual and, as I said, I guess a lot of it means you have to be really honest with yourself: what kind of person are you?

I could go a bit farther and say that the way you handle your own emotional states (or, better put, what you need to recover from emotional duress) tells a lot about the kind of person you are.

I'm an incredibly sensitive, insecure individual (to an almost alarming degree, if you really got into my head) who wears her anger on her sleeve as a shield to cover up all cracks and soft spots. There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for most people, but I don't want them to know that. Oh, it's true: I'm a steel-coated melted marshmallow.

Rub that fact in my face and I'll take it out on yours.

Keeses.