I'm no longer Regina George

As many of you may recall, it was about a year ago I was wallowing in the depths of self-despair. Right now, I've got to chuckle a bit, because I remember starting a post off in a similar manner a year after H told me I "wasn't physically attractive." Oh, how stupid that all seems now, but believe me-- that memory still affects me every day. And now, though I can't be bothered to go back and dredge up the memories by looking at old posts or journal entries, it was about this time of year that I had that whole, "I'm hitting rock bottom" experience. I think I'm actually a little early on this, and because the ordeal pretty much went from September through the end of December, we could commemorate for a whole season, but why bother? I'm just saying, THAT stage of my life has been on my mind recently, moving me to reflection and evaluation.
But it's not what you might think from your sappy Rachel-- it's not like I'm losing sleep any more, trying to figure out how in the world my life will go on, or any such dramatics (most of the time-- I guess it would be lying to pretend like that's never happened, even though it's much less frequent these days). Mostly, I've been thinking about the aftermath, and how I'm kind of "recovering from recovering." Oops. Vague enough?
Let me try again. The most tragic thing about last year's heartbreak wasn't that it sent me into such a state as to need medicinal help, nor was it feeling like I'd never recover. It wasn't the sense of having a vital organ missing, leaving a whole in my chest cavity (at least through the year, I've gotten some sense of my heart's existence, even if the manifestations feel like the sensations of a phantom limb) or having to let all my publics see me crumble again and again. Those things weren't fun, but if there's one thing I regret about it all, it was my reaction to everything, inasmuch as I found myself being meaner than the "Mean Girls" of Tina Fey fame. I don't know if I was looking for power or revenge or satisfaction in feeling anything, but I think about how mean I was to a couple of people, and I really regret it.
That's not to say I don't still end up being a little mean sometimes. Unfortunately, I am, though I'm glad it's no longer this intentional delight from unmerciful teasing. I've long ago stopped stomping around, acting like some entitled Queen of the World. I really snapped out of it ages ago, I think, but it's taken me a while to see just how crazy my behavior was for a while. Not that this is a confessional, but for heaven's sake! I dated a guy just because I thought it would hurt someone else. When I heard people thought I was evil, I laughed and tried to prove them right. And when I realized how seriously bizarre I was acting, I couldn't blame it on an alien abduction or temporary insanity (though I sometimes felt like I was losing my mind, I was never insane, though it would have been a convenient excuse). When I temporarily lost myself, I could have lost so much more. Fortunately, my friends were good enough to give me the benefit of the doubt and stick by me through it, and I hope now I'm proving myself a more-worthy companion.
To sum up--
* I no longer take pleasure in other people's pain.
* I stopped playing on people's loyalties and acting the part of the martyr (I hope).
* When people don't like me, or double-cross me, or call for my head on a platter, I've moved past vengeance. I do what I can to rectify the situation, but I've also learned to not lose sleep over it anymore.
* I am once again comfortable in my own skin, because even though I make myriad mistakes-- DAILY-- my intentions are good and kind. So now, the old, dead, hardened-heart is gone, and it still beats for someone else in its tale-tell way, but I think I'm growing a new one.