I knew this guy once who was a total dick. I mean, he was our friend and we all loved him but he was a dick. Super fun, always up for a good time and totally loyal, but also mouthy, condescending, always joking and button pushing, drinking one too many, miserable half the time; dick.
A few years went by and he started dating someone, came out to his friends and family and wasn’t a dick anymore. Just like that. It was like a huge weight that just made him a miserable prick half the time was lifted and now he was getting to be himself, just loving life.
I get it.
If you asked anyone from high school, or in my slew of waitress jobs over the years to describe me, at least one of their chosen adjectives would be “loud” followed by “crazy” or “goofy” and let’s be frank, “bitchy”.
Really anyone in my life longer than the last five years could tell you about my mood swings, my on and off shitty attitude, my general dislike, of, well, anything.
I spent my twenties and a good portion of my thirties hating things.
Most people, most places, most jobs, most situations.
Everyone was stupid, everything was a chore or a waste of time.
Why the fuck does this woman need extra tomatoes on her burger?!
stomp stomp stomp
Why is the phone ringing?!
slam slam slam
God forbid someone asked me to do anything, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!
long exasperated sigh
On (more than) one occasion I remember taking my arm and wiping it across my entire desk, or bathroom counter knocking everything to the floor out of aggravation. I once even did it to my brother’s desk.
I had a conversation with a manager at a job one time who told me, and I quote “You have a cancerous tone; you make your coworkers feel small and stupid” and all I could do was agree, and confirm that they were.
I yelled at my now sister-in-law for sitting in “my seat” at the dinner table once.
I have thrown more coffees, fast food burgers and other random food items out of my car window than I can even count; not because I liked to litter, but because I hated everything and god forbid the food or drink I ordered didn’t meet my expectations it enraged me.
I wish I was exaggerating.
I was subconsciously miserable, but brash.
I would get angry over the dumbest shit.
So dumb in fact, when something I had a tantrum over in recent years comes up, Steve and I debate the legitimacy of the tantrum … sometimes the stomping, crying and shouting was justified, but for the most part it usually ends with a “well, you were/I was fat, so that makes sense”
I picture angry obese me as a hunched over hag with silly or annoying things landing on my humpback and literally depressing me.
I’m not saying that I lost a bunch of weight and all of a sudden nobody annoys me or I’m so at peace that everything rolls of my back.
It doesn’t. There are still people and behaviors that bother me, and things that piss me off, but they don’t crush me. They aren’t extra weight now, they’re just fleeting things.
I’m still me, but standing up straight and lighter in so many ways.
I’ve gotta say it’s a much better way to live.