I took the cup of milk from her trembling hand and placed it on the table. Her eyes met mine, grateful for being noticed, an adult needing an outlet for some emotional distress.
In my heart I knew she was hurting, but I also recognized the need to be dramatic and noticed. I've felt like that before when I was miserable and didn't know what to do, but needed to do something.
Forever conscious of the words drama queen and terrified of ever being one I have kept myself in check for most of my life, but there are subtle ways of doing the same thing.
I am an actor with amazing skills if the need arises, simply because my mind believes what I tell it and it becomes real for me. Not the kind of actor who performs upon a stage, but one who sheds tears over a made up story, or produces some other visible example of distress when it feels needed. My emotions hover just below the surface of my being, always ready to step up and take over.
Everyone knows someone who gets sick when they need attention. They are really sick, but there is that niggling doubt in our head about its cause. They've used their mind to work themselves into a frenzy that manifests in physical ailments. It's not a skill anyone would cultivate on purpose, but one that seems to start in childhood and because it works, continues.
These people ignite a righteous indignation and intolerance in me. Probably because I recognize myself, or my own tendencies somewhere in their make up. Instead of reacting to that I try to look deeper and see if I can find the real pain in them, but it isn't always easy.
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