Although I have been (long) off my Dr. Phil kick, those three words always sing true in any (well handled) conflicting situation. Someone always has to, “be the hero”.
Today, i was given the chance to be the hero and I fucking took it; I have not felt this empowered in wayyyyy too long of a time. As I was exiting the mental health center where I attend my group therapy classes, this mouthy psycho-cunt yelled out a choice rumor (directed my way) in front of a large group of people. Immediately, this pathetically-vicious behavior brought me back to the night when my sister’s husband was yelling from the top of the stairs, “get the fuck out!” and I was too advil p.m. intoxicated to defend myself.
However, as I continued towards the road, it brought me even further back, to high school haters, and my immediate urge was to handle things now as I did then – I wanted to turn around and pop the troll in her fugly face. Although she is three times my size and naturally just looks more pregnant than I ever will, that has never stopped me from dropping a bitch before. The most unfortunate consequence of this concept would (surprisingly) not be that I would be viewed as a pregnant woman starting a fist-fight, but that Rocky Road would most definitely hit me back (T.P.T like) and obviously, I have to put Evie first.
Fortunately, I was able to quickly spot the error of my de ja vu ways and made the best of all decisions – I would be the hero and just continue on with my day without further pause. Hell fucking yes. I looked at the entire situation from every angle and realized in the end that what I truly felt was nothing but Pity. I feel so terribly sorry for someone who’s life is so pathetic that they actually lower themselves to standing outside of a mental health facility trying to spread rumors about a patient being victimized by an employee, to other patients. I feel sorry for someone who has been going to group therapy twice as long as I have; yet has not learned any other coping skills to get them through their (self-induced) miserable life.
I know who I am and I know my truths. I have learned a limitless list of skills in the months that I have been attending group therapy and not a day passes by when those new abilities are not in action. I could give two ginormous shits what She-Man thinks or says about me, unhealthy people focus on unhealthy things.
Right now, Piggy stands proud of her low-level “achievement” to (hopefully) enlist everyone to share her rumor and be so equally deplorable, but she will still go home today the same empty, immature, pitiful “human being” that she was when she woke up this morning. Whereas I, I feel more confident, more proud and more secure with myself than I have in months.