The Plight of Drama Queens: AKA Dramaqueenitis
There is a common condition that I have seen time and time again among my friends, but had not personally experienced until recently, because I tend to avoid the dust cloud of devastation that it brings and not allow certain types of people to wander freely in my world.
I call the condition “dramaqueenitis” –
Let’s break the word down, so we have a clear definition –
drama • queen / itis:
- A person given to often excessively emotional performances or reactions.
- A person (often but not limited to a woman) who acts as though things are much worse than they really are.
Therefore, dramaqueenitis is an inflamed event of excessive emotional reactions, where even the littlest things have horrific traumatic consequences, in the eyes of the drama queen. #ohmygodyourshoesaretouchingthecarpet #youdidn’tsayhi
Taylor Swift waved at a boy yesterday, and he didn’t wave back…
…So she will have a new album coming out tomorrow.
Furthermore, the drama queen suffers from extreme paranoia, in that every action performed by anybody surrounding the DQ is an attack against the DQ.
If a man tripped, she might say:
“That guy fell on me on purpose just to piss me off!” #puhlease
While dramaqueenitis is common, it is insidious and is a direct link to obesity, cancer, heart disease, stroke, low back pain, and erectile dysfunction. #cantgetitupanymore #nolongeraman #lifeishardsoiamnot
I used to be dumbfounded when a male friend would unload his frustration about his latest session of histrionics being perpetrated by the drama queen in his life, frequently in his living room, bedroom, front yard, driveway, and via cell phone, and most often at the same time. #shitstorm #thestruggleisreal
…and then I earned my experience…I gained wisdom, enlightenment, and deeper understanding.
Drama queens are not limited to just women. Both men and women can create such an affliction.
One of my exes was the queen of all drama queens – and male drama queens are the WORST. #iamnotalesbianquitbeingagirl
When I ended the relationshit (please refer to my zombie story for an overview of this experience), I really thought I had been quite clear that we were done, there would be no reconciliation, that we were done, that it was over, that we were done, that I had moved on, and that we were done. #wearedonehere #itisover #doyouspeakenglish
However, I was kind #mymistake – rewording sentences so that I owned the responsibility of preparing the exit strategy without blaming him. For example, I would say things like:
“I feel like crap all the time in this relationship,” rather than “You make me feel like shit all the time.”
“I want joy in my life, and there is too much stress here,” rather than “Dude, you stress me out way too much.”
My BIGGEST mistake was – I left open-endedness, avoiding the dreaded answer to the horrific question: “Can we still be friends?”
To which I developed absolute pain on my face, like someone had just punched me and I was holding back a seizure and maintaining self-induced paralysis in order to avoid screaming: “NOOOOOOOO,” because I had never said that to anybody before…
…and instead said, “…well, I usually stay friends with the exes that I like…”
I hoped very much that the caveat (that I like) would be noticed – I learned my lesson. #keepitsimplestupid #statetheobvious
Apparently my little answer aversions were seen as breadcrumbs to lead this individual back when the empty hole inside him grew to massive proportions and he needed to feed the monster within with another fight resulting in supremely negative toxic drama – like the MUTO in Godzilla, consuming negative energy like it’s candy.
He arrived at my sanctuary after a glorious month without a single fight in my world #happiest30daysofmylife –
My sanctuary is my gym – a domain to which he does not belong. I was on my treadmill running and looked down – he was standing there, looking up at me. #uhohnowwhat
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not pleasantly.
“I came to see you,” he replied.
I stopped my treadmill, extremely annoyed that my precious workout was being interrupted by what was sure to be an episode of dramaqueenitis.
“How did my crackerjack security staff let you in?” I asked, and I was serious. They card everyone at the desk – how did he get in here??
I offered to go for a walk. I know, sometimes I do really stupid things. #iamnotperfect
He began by telling me how hard the last month had been for him.
“I understand,” I said. #killwithkindness
Then it began … and he said, “When you unfriended me on Facebook, it was like you stabbed me in the heart. You devastated me. Why did you do that to me?”
#howoldareyou #crymeariver #whatthefuck
I replied, quite calmly, “You know that Facebook is not really real, right? It would be inappropriate to have you read my posts, and it would be more inappropriate to censor myself.”
Silence – Ahhhhhhh ….. I love silence …..
Then it started again… “But you didn’t text me or call me…”
DQ’s typically start sentences with “You did this,” or “You did that,” or “You never,” or “You, you, you.” #lookinthemirrordq
It went on and on and on – I felt the zombie apocalypse closing in on me. It was like toxic green gas choking me out.
…and then I finally did it – I said what I needed to say –
“No, I do not want to be friends. We are toxic to each other, and toxic people are not welcome in my life. Please do not seek me out.”
I crossed the street.
He yelled, “Can we have lunch this week?”