When I talk to my guy friends they tell me that the range of female emotion only has three categories: happy and sad and mad. I don’t know if they believe this because of the hectic way my emotions work, but I would just like to let them know, you are wrong. Just because I put my whole self in every emotion I feel does not mean I don’t feel ranges of emotion. Within those three emotions there is a wide spectrum of sub emotions. I think their confusion is really because of my anger, though. I have learned that I am angry a lot. It is an emotion that courses through my blood as often as a girl eats a whole carton of ice cream in some sappy romantic comedy. I am not afraid to show it either. My poor friends take my wrath every day. My Italian heritage comes out as my voice reaches the highest volume I can reach, and I tell them exactly why they are all morons. What they don’t realize, though, is my wrath is semi-sarcastic. My friends have a way of pointing out my anger and calling me names like “crazy” or the lovely word “bitch.” This only fuels me more and the bit of sarcasm that was in my voice has left and I am just full out pissed. My heart starts beating quickly. I stand up out of my chair (usually knocking it over) and let them all have it. Don’t expect to call me a name like that and not set me off.
For the majority of my life my core group of friends has consistently been male. And until now that has made me perfectly happy, but recently I have been clashing with them. In high school guys focus on getting with girls and girls focus on being in a relationship with guys. When my guy friends, in particular, talk about females it always seems to be the girls’ fault that they aren’t with someone. Sitting at the lunch table with me and maybe two other girls who are considered “bros” the same conversation always takes place. “Girls just don’t know what they want. How can someone be too focused on work to date someone.” And then my favorite line: “They are super shallow and only go for jerks.” I have no time for this pity party. This anger I feel is very cruel and this is when I really don’t watch what I say. “Hey guys, if girls went for jerks you would be on the top of the list. It is confidence,” I say as I shake my head and lower it as if they should know better. “Yes, Jeremy might not be the kindest to girls, he cheats on them and each girl knows, but you know what, he is who he is and he is totally ok with it. If you guys weren’t so busy focusing on your immature card games and actually tried to have a conversation and took your head out of those cards you play all the time maybe a girl would notice you.” At this point in the conversation I have been explicitly stating the truth but then I let them know the truth they don’t want to hear. “Maybe if you talked about something other than how you are desperate to get laid and that girls suck you might be with a girl.” I can feel the adrenaline running. I am so frustrated with them. I have told them all this multiple times. They usually back away from me because, unconsciously, I am cracking my knuckles. I would never hit anyone but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I know there is a very easy way to avoid this extreme frustration: don’t hang out with them. But until I find a girl who won’t fain interest in some stupid video game to get a guy to like her, I just can’t.
Jealousy is a big reason for all of my anger. It makes me hate girls instantly. That’s probably why I listen to why girls suck all the time. I cannot sing. I cannot dance. Since I am in an artistic school these seem to be basic talents of most of the students. I really don’t have a special talent besides acting like a fool but you can only go on stage in a Snow White gown for a cheap laugh so many times. I know that people all the time say they can’t do things and are actually great at them. I promise that I cannot dance. I tried. I took dance freshman year. The instructor would say to me, “Monica, do that move again.” So I would try my best with my hunched over shoulders and give it a go. “See how Monica is bent over, her hips aren’t aligned and….” She would continue to go through each body part and say what was wrong about each of them. It is hard to see my boyfriend staring at these girls on stage. He is most likely watching innocently but because I am jealous of these girls to begin with, it only makes me go more insane. It is hard to listen to him praise them when there is nothing to praise me about. So when there are girls around who I know are more talented than me I become very silent and dismissive. I don’t engage in conversation and I really don’t look up. I am silently fuming. I am usually getting boxed out of the circle of conversation before I get angry. It is convenient because then no one sees me. I get so frustrated with myself. If I let it consume me I cry. That’s ok, though, because I have the perfect bathroom stall picked out for these outbursts. The door is broken and won’t shut but I have the best way to get it back to closed; I punch it.
When I am with my entire family, including aunts and uncles and grandparents, I do a similar evasive action. This involves hanging out with the two people who don’t care about family drama, my ten-year-old cousins. You are told when you are little that “family is everything.” And I would agree family is a big part of my life, but when everyone has pretty visible tension towards each other it is hard to be near them. This anger that I feel is helpless. All I want to do is tell them to just stop. If I get myself involved I will just be yelled at and ignored. You think I would be used to the fighting because it goes on every single time everyone gets together, but I am not. I don’t think I want to get used to it. I want to be that Hallmark family but it will never happen. My family is very similar to the guys I hang out with. A giant pity party. I don’t know if it is our Italian culture or what, but everyone’s life is worse than everyone else’s. Don’t dare to disagree or cheer up the other person, they want to be self deprecating and please, do not deprive them of this. If you do try you are in for the story of your life. You hear about their life struggles and how your life doesn’t even compare. I want my family to get along. The trip back is just as bad; my mom goes on the entire card ride back from New Jersey to New York. I hear about how her brothers don’t help themselves. This underlying feeling of frustration I have comes out and that is when the brawl becomes real. “Just shut up!” I always say something and I always know not to. She will turn to me and just as I do to my guy friends, she lets me have it. Everything I have done wrong recently or not so recently is yelled at me in a decibel level that the world, besides me, hasn’t discovered yet. I know not to say anything, but for some reason I do.
I am very much like my family members though. The worst is when I cannot do something. I am very bad at athletics and I know this. I am a hard worker and for the most part I am ok with being bench; for the most part. I do everything that will show that I want to be there and be a part of the team. I go through pre-season in New York and Florida and I push myself 110%. My coach used to call me Rudy after the athlete Rudy Ruettiger. If you don’t know, Rudy was a football player who was never the best. He was bench for his entire football career in college until his last game of the season when the coach put him in for the last play of his senior game. Remarkably, he tackled the opposing quarterback to end the game. This man did all he could to get on this team. He fought and did all he could to prove himself. Every game as bench I am ready to do what is needed. I make sure the equipment is ready and organized so no one is stressing about finding what they need, I warm up the outfield, I run across the field as balls are called to come in and give the outfielders my support by giving them a high five, and I make sure our catcher is ready to play by helping her with her gear. I’ve got to be honest, it hurts when another player is put in over me. This is when I go through the whole color wheel of emotion. First I have my own little pity party usually involving something like, “Why don’t I just quit. No matter what I will do I will never be noticed for my hard work.” I stand in our dugout and lose focus of what I should be doing and make everything about me. This phase doesn’t die but is very similar to the chicken pox. It hides deep inside of me and if it chooses to appear again, it isn’t as annoying but a lot stronger. The next step to this multi-step emotion field is the subcategory of, “It’s just us much their fault as my fault.” I stand there, arms crossed and think about the amazing things I could do if I went in. I would remember to cover first. I would lay that bunt down perfectly and though I am slow I would run my heart out. If my coach just gave me a chance he would see. Surprisingly this anger doesn’t make me feel better. Whether I am right or not it makes me angrier. This would be the point right before the Incredible Hulk turns into a big green monster. Level three is a lot more physical. I would never hit anyone but I definitely get the feeling that someone should get some sense knocked into them. This is when the Hulk is alive. I get a nice punching bag after the game and go to town. The most satisfying move is the back arm. It is when I stand with the punching bag behind the right side of my body, make my arm into the shape of an “L” and swing away.Back arm feels the greatest because it uses the whole body Maybe if my coach saw me do this he would try me during a game every once in awhile. It is a similar motion to swinging a bat. Once my adrenaline has been released, I reflect on what this anger is about. My anger is controlled and I am able to focus on what is truly needed to be done - proving my coach wrong and inevitably starting to whole cycle over again.
What makes me the angriest are relationships. I have been in two serious relationships even though I am only eighteen. I have never been dumped in person. The first boy dumped me by changing his status on Facebook to single and refused to talk to me for nine months. It hurt because it was my first real relationship. It probably also hurt because I went off my antidepressants. The person to save me is the person currently killing me. Back in December (it is now March) I made a trip with my parents to Disney World with my boyfriend. My mom said laughing, “Now don’t break up before the trip or it will ruin Disney.”
“Mom, we aren’t going to break up.” I really should have listened to the old adage, “Think before you speak.” He broke up with me two weeks before the trip. We ended up going on the trip together. We had tons of fun, but I had to restrain myself from being my normal sarcastic self or I would have said some hurtful things to him.
I am going to be honest here, we really weren’t getting along before he broke up with me. We fought constantly and the happy times were fewer and farther between. We had been dating since the end of sophomore year and now we were halfway through senior year. His immaturity and his social awkwardness always were endearing. Once we got stuck in a mall and he walked around like he was a dinosaur to make sure that I was entertained. I laughed and loved it. He did everything he could to impress me. Time went on and we became closer and further apart all in one. When it was just us two we were perfect. We went to concerts and dinner and had a great time. When we were at school it sucked. He tried to impress everyone else and forgot about me. I know why he did it, he doesn’t like to be disliked, and who would? He also felt uncomfortable just like he did in that mall the one day. It made me feel so many things: jealousy, because he didn’t feel like he needed to do anything to impress me, and sadness, because he didn’t seem to want to. This was hurt. I couldn’t take it. He always seemed to have more fun with everyone else, and when we walked into town unless I prodded him there was no conversation. He didn’t seem to want to be there.
It took me a long time to understand why. He was comfortable with me. The silence was fine to him. He didn’t think he needed to have constant conversation because just being there was enough. I never really saw it that way in the beginning though. I only became more jealous and clingy. I would test him by not texting him and seeing if he would text me first. I would see if he would come looking for me. All I wanted was to feel that he cared and that he wanted to be around me. I am eighteen it shouldn’t be this hard. You’re thinking right now probably, “It is good you broke up, you guys weren’t right for each other, you’re only eighteen it’s not like you’re going to marry him.” Just to let you know, if you haven’t noticed by now, my emotions rule me and I am a passionate person. He wasn’t hurting me on purpose and I knew that. That is what made this the hardest. When I would storm away in anger and yell at him he felt he was a bad person. He isn’t though. He ended it because I made him feel insignificant and worthless. He isn’t.
We were together for one year and six months. I thought I was going to marry this kid. I thought he was the one, my prince charming and my one and only. It has been about two weeks and I don’t know what to do. I wander the school during break and lunch. I hide in that same bathroom and wonder if there is some girl making him feel the way he deserves to feel. Happy. He deserves to be happy and that is what puts me in this stall crying in the first place. I wanted to be the one who makes him smile and I just can’t be. We cancel each other out because he has no emotional capacity and I have all of it. I understand guys that I am an emotional wreck, and I paid for it. Half the time all I do is cry. I want to punch him. I want to say I am sorry. I want to be with him. I want him to disappear. I want to go back and have him be a dinosaur. I want to move on.
I hope this is enough of a spectrum for you guys.