So, you know how I'm constantly talking about all my epic meltdowns? And my hanger-induced wall rages? Well, as it would turn out, it's not completely because of hunger or my 800 million imbalanced hormones.
...I've been a giant drama queen since pretty much ever.
What an adorable, giant ray of sunshine.
I'd like to think that's hard for people to believe, but well, let's be honest - it's not. I've been mastering the art of throwing epic tantrums for many moons. And I've had some doozies in my lifetime. I'm talking like, 3 hour long sobbing/screaming/snotting/hyperventilating/throwing things across the room fits. Stuff that was so epic my parents would record it. I like to think I composed myself a little bit better as I got older. I remember the first time I ever screamed at my parents that I was "so pissed off!" I felt like such a sophisticated, badass for using the word 'piss' in front of them when I was only like, 11. And you know I must have thought that was a really bad word back then - because I also thought bikini was a bad word. Yeah, don't ask. Needless to say my parents didn't react quite like I had expected them to.
Aaaaand I digress.
The short story is, I'd get mad/sad/raging hot postal over some really absurd things when I was younger. I was reminded of some of those ridiculous things when I came across a paper titled "Why I Am Sad and Angry". On this paper, my mom had written on both sides, reasons that I had told her I was feeling grumpy. It was when I was about 8 or 9ish years old, and it likely happened after one of my signature tantrums, and it's very likely that I hated every single minute of it.
So anyways, for today's throwback - because I apparently enjoy embarrassing myself to death - you're going to get a teeny tiny glimpse of the eternally premenstrual child my parents had the pleasure of raising.
(I'm pretty sure my favorite one on this one is the, "I'm mad that I am mad." And that I didn't get ice cream from the ice cream man. My life was hard.)
Aaaaand it goes on.
Not only did I not get ice cream, but I didn't get American Girl stuff and roller blades?! The horror. And paying the library $8 bucks is a legit thing to be upset about at that age. (Now it's that I have to pay the government $4,000. By next week. True story. *Whimper*) Also, note the colorful stains on the page. Those are my tears. My rainbow tears. (Or a really delicious popsicle.)
Don't I sound like the biggest brat on planet Earth? Not to mention I make my family sound like a bunch of monsters who ignored me. (Which, by the way, was so not the case.)
So embarrassing and so ridiculous on so many levels.
But one thing that little exercise with my mom did do, is teach me that I can express my feelings by writing. So now when I'm feeling sad and angry, I write about it - well, unless I'm too busy kicking holes in walls - but most of the time, I'll write. (Thanks Mom!) And because I'm feeling extra airoutmydirtylaundry-ish today. I've got a good example of my write-my-feelings-down skills for you. It's a journal entry from when I was a big, bad 13 year old. And I'm pretty sure my favorite part is that it comes with a key for my emotions at the top.
So, clearly I'm a Jedi Master of blowing things way out of proportion. If only my 13 year-old self knew how much I don't shower now. And by my own choice, even. *Gasp*
The good news is that I have wonderful, loving parents who would talk me through my grump-fests -and I'd always end up in a better mood after talking it out with them.
So when I say I hope my kids take more after Shawn's calm, level-headed, peaceful nature, I'm so not joking. Can you imagine me having to put up with a mini me?
What kind of stuff did you throw tantrums about?
(Because I cannot be the most ridiculous person on the internet.)