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When I was younger, I was super sensitive. I took everything personally, even if there was no way it could be. I truly thought that the Jewish song, Dayenu, which is sung every year at the Passover sedar, was sang, yes, partially because of tradition, but mainly as a way to poke fun at me because of my name…dy-dy-ana. It’s hard to be sensitive when you are often the butt of the joke. I’m the friend who gets the middle seat, the air mattress, and the one who had to be Violet when everyone else gets to be a much cooler character from “Saved By The Bell” (Violet was Screech’s girlfriend… she’s no Kelly Kapowski). I know it’s all in fun. But sometimes, I can’t stop these feelings…anymore… I’ve forgotten what I’m started fighting for... (That last part doesn’t really apply, but such a great song)!
I’ve gotten better–I no longer cry when someone takes out their bad mood on me. When I interned at an event company, I remember a vendor being extremely rude to me over the phone. I was purely the messenger, yet his nasty response irked me all day. I recently worked with a woman who from the get-go, decided she didn’t like me. You would think that would be fine, because the feelings were completely mutual, but I just don’t understand why she didn’t like me. And when someone confirmed it, “Oh yeah, S* really didn’t like you,” months later, I still got upset thinking about it. Why would you tell me that!
I’m hoping the more I age, the less I care about what others think or say about me. I recognize that people’s actions are often self-motivated and not malicious. Like when a friend forgets to call on a birthday. I can recognize it’s not personal, yet I can’t help but feel badly. Yup, birthdays are when my sensitivity kicks in. I don’t think I ever experience PMS, but if there is a day when I act like a crazy, emotional PMS-ing biotch, it’s my birthday. So, 30. Yeah, get ready for the waterworks.
