I am not Crazy

Dear readers,
   
      Tonight, I write to you through teary eyes and a mind clouded with anger.  Therefore, please take everything I say here with a grain of salt (or a pinch more salt than usual).  Staying on our current theme of labels and the impact they have on people, I had a first-hand experience this evening that exemplifies a lot of the issues that accompany labels.  In order to uphold the highest confidentiality, I am going to have to swap around some of the details - but rest assured, the story's essence is untouched.

thanks google images!

      This evening, I was with a large group of friends whom I haven't seen seen since the spring.  We all attend a club off campus together on a weekly basis.  As with every year, there were quite a few new members who came in along with the new school year.  Mr. and Mrs. Cook are the wonderful husband and wife duo who run this club, and do a very good job of meeting and greeting all of the students as they pass through the club.  Tonight, however, was strange indeed.  I was bouncing around quite happily (as usual) catching up with a dozen or so returning friends, when I run into Mrs. Cook.

      She says "Oh Melissa, you should meet these girls, they're very sweet.  I asked them 'have you met Crazy Melissa yet?'  I know they'd remember someone as crazy as you! "  
Me:  "Huh? Oh not yet, but I'll be sure to say hello...!"

       That simple exchange cut my soul in half.  I know in my head that Mrs. Cook meant "crazy" as in fun, lively, funky, groovy, and generally a good time to be around kind of person..... but that's not how I took it.  There was something far more weighty in her words than a simple term of endearment, or a passing comment meant in jest, should hold. I was so taken aback and the potency of that one little word that I couldn't even think about it until I got back to my room and had some time by myself.   Why is this bothering me so much?

       That label is not a true reflection of who I am.  I get very wound up at club because I love the people there and the atmosphere there is charges with positive feelings and makes me feel incredibly safe an comfortable.  Because I'm so wound up, I recognize that sometimes my energy can be a bit overwhelming for people who don't know me, or are tired, or are otherwise sticks-in-the-mud.  I get it, it's ok, I'm not every one's cup of tea (I'd rather be their cappuccino anyway).   But Mrs. Cook has no excuse.  I've known her for two years now, gone on many of club trips and been to dozens of club meetings with her before.

 She knows that I calm down into a "normal person" after the initial adrenaline.
 She knows that deep down inside, when the evening winds to a close, that I turn into an introvert and go into my turtle shell.
She knows that being super involved and personable has always been a part of my affectionate personality.
 She knows how much I miss these people and this healthy atmosphere when I'm on campus, how much I crave my time at club.
She knows.... she ... well.... I thought she knew.

I am not crazy.  I'm affectionate.  I'm desperate for attention.  I'm a goofball.  I'm the life of the party.  I'm exuberant in my actions.  I'm dramatic in my reactions.  I'm creative and a broad-minded thinker.

I am also respectable.  I'm in FIVE very high positions of leadership at my school.  People of all ages come to confide in me and to get advice from me.  People of all generations call me wise and mature.  I am a peace-keeper, ambassador, and negotiator.  I am certified in my profession, more than 10 years ahead of my fellow professionals.  A professor just asked me last week if I was going to apply for the Rhodes Scholarship.  I sang in Carnegie Hall in April.

I am not Crazy.  The fact that the only adjective that Mrs. Cooks thought to call me was "crazy" is insulting and hurtful.  I thought she knew me better than that.  I thought she cared about me.  I work very hard to accomplish what I do, and it is barbaric to slap such a one-dimensional, inaccurate, hurtful label on me.  It appears as though Mrs. Cook doesn't know me at all.  I might have spent more time with her than my own mother in the past two years but she still doesn't understand me in the least.

As always, thank you for listening.  Getting this kind of thing out of my system and written out like this is medicine for my soul and a dose of peace to my heart.

I remain always yours,
~Melissa

What is in a name? Chapter 1

Dear reader,
        It pains me to think of how long it's been since I've written you last.  Over four months ago, I said I would start a series on labeling, how powerful it is, and so forth.  I've had many adventures between then and now, leaving us much to catch up on! Oh how I have missed  that respite of writing, that solace found only in composing these sonnet.  Sonnets  - surely an overstatement of what is penned here, but what may come across as the words of one woman (with far too much to say), is to me a reflection of my own soul.  By being allowed to write my mind, I feel as though the world has granted me permission not just to write, but to think freely and pour out my heart in a song without melody.

       Before I disappeared after the second post, I had started a series on titles, their benefits, dangers, and limitations.  Here's the kicker:  I was so caught up in the original name of this blog (the anecdote chronicles) that I never posted!  I never felt as though any one individual story was good enough to write about here, and that was discouraging enough to deter me all summer.  To amend this situation, I've remade the blog from the ground up.  From now on, I promise to write form the heart and not worry about the details too much.   :)

Please welcome, The Unspoken Soul hosted by blogspot!!

Always yours,
Melissa
( ^ thanks, google images! ^  )