Drama Queens

Something I don’t understand is drama queens. I like a nice quiet life. Drama is something upon which I most definitely do not thrive. It annoys the hell out of me.

If something is bothering you, I believe in getting it off your chest. I don’t believe in throwing out a teaser and waiting until someone asks what’s wrong. Life’s too short. That’s one of the many reasons I have this blog – if something’s bothering me, I write about it or rant about it and then it’s out of my head. It’s cathartic.

Physically this weekend I’m not doing much. Quite frankly I’m too damned knackered to do much except sleep, chill and watch TV. It’s very irritating for me to feel below par but I have to accept that until the supplements and medication start having an effect, I’m going to have to put up with being relatively inactive. To indulge in the wailing and gnashing of teeth at my predicament is, quite frankly, drama queen-ish. So I don’t bother.

When I broke my wrist earlier this year, it was a bit of an inconvenience. Again there was no “woe is me”, just an acceptance that it was going to take a little while to heal and I had to be patient.

I’m sitting watching an old episode of “24 Hours in A&E” this afternoon. There are some programmes I like to call “Shouty TV“:  I sit and yell at the screen occasionally and have an overwhelming need to reach into the TV, grab some people by the scruff of the neck, shake them and slap them senseless, which I don’t think would take very long as some of them appear to have bugger all of this commodity in the first place. Nevertheless, this is a strangely enjoyable pastime for me.

On the episode I’m watching today is a young woman who’s stepped on a needle and it’s broken off, leaving part of the shaft embedded in her foot. It happened 24 hours previously but she hasn’t done anything about it herself by the sound of things and now she’s gone into A&E and is sitting there on the phone to her mum whinging: “It’s like they don’t care about me. Why did they become doctors anyway” and she’s crying. Drama queen. She’s been seen to at this point and triaged. They’ve said they’re going to take the needle out for her so what’s the fricking problem? Not enough drama for her, obviously. Another episode of Shouty TV has accomplished its mission. I’ve shouted at her to get a grip and told her that someone needs to give her a good slap. I feel better now.

So what is it that turns someone a drama queen? Did they not get enough attention when they were younger? Do they have an inadequate sense of self and the only way they can feel validated is when someone is fussing over them and saying “oh dear, what’s wrong?” so they only release snippets of information, which are designed to elicit that response?

Then there’s the Super Drama Queen. This one is sneaky. They have something going on in their life and they actually want people to know about it but don’t throw anything out there that’s obvious. You know the type: the ones that will carry on as normal but you may notice them leaving their car keys in a visually obvious place because they’ve bought a new one and want someone to ask about it, or they’re having health problems but don’t talk about it, although they seem to ensure that their appointments are always at a time to maximise disruption to the people they work with and they’ll come into the office sporting a piece of cotton wool over the site of the most recent blood draw and keep it on all day yet say nothing to anyone.

Maybe the sneaky ones are the Baby Drama Queens.  Once they realise that they have to leave slightly more obvious clues to get the response they seem to require, they progress to being Drama Queens proper?

I believe that I’m a caring person. I’m also fundamentally bloody nosey, which should automatically mean that when I see one of these snippets, I’m programmed to produce the required response. However, I’ve found that as I’ve got older, the Drama Queen Detector seems to have become very well tuned and the response I can muster nowadays is a tut and an eye roll.


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