AngelineIsTyping
Newbie
- MBTI
- INFJ
- Enneagram
- Type 4
Sitting in the classroom, furiously scribbling answers on my worksheet, the air so silent that I temporarily forgot to breathe… then, a slap on the table. When I look up, the person is gone, leaving behind a note addressed to me.
Dear Angie,
I understand that you are under a lot of pressure at school. But kindly realize that we have our own problems, and we are not your emotional dumping bags. If you have some psychological problems please go see a therapist. Was it your intention all along to spew garbage so that WE’D crack under pressure? If so, you don’t deserve our friendship.
Yours truly,
Brittany and Lia
I stare at that piece of crumpled paper, shocked and speechless. I can’t believe it. They wrote this letter to me, when all I’d been doing was trying to fit in. Making conversation, trying to find common ground, laughing even when their jokes weren’t funny (and often at my expense)… that meant nothing to them?
Maybe I was sort of dumping my problems on them… but what I was really trying to say was, See? We are going through the same stress. Same academic overload. I mean, sure, you have your jokes and memes to worry about, but for me? If I want to be friends with you, I need to find something we have in common to start our conversation, no? I laughed along when you teased me for being too “slow” or “boring”, like it was all one big joke. Isn’t that what you wanted?
All I wanted was to be your friend.
And you threw it all away. Because of one stupid misunderstanding.
Now that I think about it, it wasn’t just one misunderstanding. It was a sequence of dominoes that collapsed against each other like our friendship that belongs to the fishes. Of course, you have your own problems and I have my own insecurities… but telling me I don’t deserve your friendship? What are you, conditional charity?
Readers beware: Let’s back up and analyze the situation from an angular viewpoint. Okay. Let me just cut straight to the point and introduce the characters:
Brittany (queen bee): The girl who seeks to manipulate others so that she can uphold her popularity image… she feeds on noise and laughter because she is afraid of silence. But why?
Lia (ISFJ): Brittany’s mindless follower who echoes everything she says for harmony’s sake.
Reyna (ENFJ): My potential ally who sees through Brittany’s performance but remains nice to her out of diplomacy.
And, yours truly,
Me (INFJ 4w5): The wildcard who sees Brittany’s raw, insecure self behind her mask of cruelty… but walks away in the end.
In every high school there is a queen bee. The one who calls the shots, who has a herd of followers imitating her in every way. She has a league of friends and seems popular… but only on the surface. Her friendships are founded on gossips, peer pressure and domination, not genuine kindness and compassion. She pretends to care so that she can stay in control. But maybe the queen bee is her crown—made of thorns, obscuring the truth that she is not somebody. Just like the emperor is invisible in his clothes, there is no body to support the weight of the crown, only the echo of power and sovereignty. Her throne does not exist, because she performs instead of living.
Truth is, strip her of attention, and you dethrone her. What enrages mean girls most is when you don’t look her way, giving no satisfaction to her villainous arc. It would have been more bearable for her to be hated. But ignorance is a stab to the gut. It means you deem her unworthy of time and energy—and that will undo her. Some people act out because they want to be important, yet they are unaware that beauty often lies in unfiltered moments that do not require you to pretend to be somebody else.
My experience with Brittany have been full of ups and downs. I remember a time when it didn’t use to be like this, when the four of us laughed and joked in genuine delight. Back then, Brittany’s joke didn’t cut deep like a dagger to the heart. Back then, I wasn’t the lone wolf who got cast out of the pack.
Good times, however, don’t last.
I don’t know what it was about me that enraged her so much. Maybe it was the way I barely talked to anyone in class, or how I concentrated on my studies most of the times. Or maybe how personalities clashed, or she thought I was weak prey and easy to control. Every possibility went through my head when she repeatedly ridiculed me—“God, you’re so slow!” “Your hair… the splitting image of our class teacher (whose hair is thin and frail)” “Can’t you be normal?”—and then after every single blowup refused to make eye contact for a whole week, before pretending nothing happened and we were still friends. Never an apology. Oh, hell, no. Girls like Brittany never apologize. Ironically, always I or Reyna (she gets the wrong end of the stick once in a while) has to do the apologizing.
Brittany was very snappy to me, and Lia followed her orders. They said I was “slow” and “Can’t you listen for yourself to what the teacher is saying?” Girlfriends, I had barely six hours of sleep last night, so excuse ME if my brain is a little sluggish today!
Maybe she felt jealous and threatened because her friends were starting to enjoy my company more. Or maybe it was my defiance in my act of nonconformity. I wasn’t like her and I would never stoop to her level, so she couldn’t make me follow her around. I was one of the rare girls in class who didn’t need her approval. And when she realized there was nothing she could do about it, she lashed out, waiting for me to reveal my cracks.
When I realized the truth, I stopped talking to her and only responded when she initiated friendly conversations, refusing to take any more crap from her. Things got better between us, but I still couldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.
Maybe it was my INFJ’s quiet perceptiveness that unnerved her. She knew that I could see the crevices in her performance. She hated that I saw her but walked away anyway. She didn’t deserve my rage, my pity, my anything. She was insignificant, an NPC in my life. And she hated that.
Once, when we were still friends, she told me, Reyna and Lia one single truth, “If I’m not entertaining, they won’t like me.” Reyna had once told me about how Brittany used to be socially ostracized as a middle schooler for her “brutally honest tongue”. And I have to admit? I did feel sorry for her, a little bit. But not enough to cancel out what she did to me. From the little information I’ve been bestowed, I’ve learned that Brittany is weaponizing herself with the illusion of popularity and social reign—by hurting others she thinks she is saving herself from being hurt first. The bullying she experienced has impacted her in a way she would never forget, hardened her into somebody who craves an audience for her performance. She believes that if she doesn’t crack jokes to please people, she’s worthless. She fears being excluded—not being relevant to other people’s lives. And since I’m the only one who sees all that, my not-trying-to-be-popular way of life is a threat to her existence, like I’m holding up a mirror that reflects her truth—one that she is not ready for.
People like her for performing humor.
People like me for staying authentic.
The core difference? She needs a crowd to proves she exists. I can survive the storm in a ship of my own making.
Existence needs no witness. But some people who go where the crowd goes? They need to be seen. To be unseen and unimportant, for them, deprives them of existential meaning. But there is a beauty in simply being. No masks, no fake smiles, no feigned concern. Just you, the wind and the ocean, tumbling waves that kiss the shores with newfound hope.
Dear Angie,
I understand that you are under a lot of pressure at school. But kindly realize that we have our own problems, and we are not your emotional dumping bags. If you have some psychological problems please go see a therapist. Was it your intention all along to spew garbage so that WE’D crack under pressure? If so, you don’t deserve our friendship.
Yours truly,
Brittany and Lia
I stare at that piece of crumpled paper, shocked and speechless. I can’t believe it. They wrote this letter to me, when all I’d been doing was trying to fit in. Making conversation, trying to find common ground, laughing even when their jokes weren’t funny (and often at my expense)… that meant nothing to them?
Maybe I was sort of dumping my problems on them… but what I was really trying to say was, See? We are going through the same stress. Same academic overload. I mean, sure, you have your jokes and memes to worry about, but for me? If I want to be friends with you, I need to find something we have in common to start our conversation, no? I laughed along when you teased me for being too “slow” or “boring”, like it was all one big joke. Isn’t that what you wanted?
All I wanted was to be your friend.
And you threw it all away. Because of one stupid misunderstanding.
Now that I think about it, it wasn’t just one misunderstanding. It was a sequence of dominoes that collapsed against each other like our friendship that belongs to the fishes. Of course, you have your own problems and I have my own insecurities… but telling me I don’t deserve your friendship? What are you, conditional charity?
Readers beware: Let’s back up and analyze the situation from an angular viewpoint. Okay. Let me just cut straight to the point and introduce the characters:
Brittany (queen bee): The girl who seeks to manipulate others so that she can uphold her popularity image… she feeds on noise and laughter because she is afraid of silence. But why?
Lia (ISFJ): Brittany’s mindless follower who echoes everything she says for harmony’s sake.
Reyna (ENFJ): My potential ally who sees through Brittany’s performance but remains nice to her out of diplomacy.
And, yours truly,
Me (INFJ 4w5): The wildcard who sees Brittany’s raw, insecure self behind her mask of cruelty… but walks away in the end.
In every high school there is a queen bee. The one who calls the shots, who has a herd of followers imitating her in every way. She has a league of friends and seems popular… but only on the surface. Her friendships are founded on gossips, peer pressure and domination, not genuine kindness and compassion. She pretends to care so that she can stay in control. But maybe the queen bee is her crown—made of thorns, obscuring the truth that she is not somebody. Just like the emperor is invisible in his clothes, there is no body to support the weight of the crown, only the echo of power and sovereignty. Her throne does not exist, because she performs instead of living.
Truth is, strip her of attention, and you dethrone her. What enrages mean girls most is when you don’t look her way, giving no satisfaction to her villainous arc. It would have been more bearable for her to be hated. But ignorance is a stab to the gut. It means you deem her unworthy of time and energy—and that will undo her. Some people act out because they want to be important, yet they are unaware that beauty often lies in unfiltered moments that do not require you to pretend to be somebody else.
My experience with Brittany have been full of ups and downs. I remember a time when it didn’t use to be like this, when the four of us laughed and joked in genuine delight. Back then, Brittany’s joke didn’t cut deep like a dagger to the heart. Back then, I wasn’t the lone wolf who got cast out of the pack.
Good times, however, don’t last.
I don’t know what it was about me that enraged her so much. Maybe it was the way I barely talked to anyone in class, or how I concentrated on my studies most of the times. Or maybe how personalities clashed, or she thought I was weak prey and easy to control. Every possibility went through my head when she repeatedly ridiculed me—“God, you’re so slow!” “Your hair… the splitting image of our class teacher (whose hair is thin and frail)” “Can’t you be normal?”—and then after every single blowup refused to make eye contact for a whole week, before pretending nothing happened and we were still friends. Never an apology. Oh, hell, no. Girls like Brittany never apologize. Ironically, always I or Reyna (she gets the wrong end of the stick once in a while) has to do the apologizing.
Brittany was very snappy to me, and Lia followed her orders. They said I was “slow” and “Can’t you listen for yourself to what the teacher is saying?” Girlfriends, I had barely six hours of sleep last night, so excuse ME if my brain is a little sluggish today!
Maybe she felt jealous and threatened because her friends were starting to enjoy my company more. Or maybe it was my defiance in my act of nonconformity. I wasn’t like her and I would never stoop to her level, so she couldn’t make me follow her around. I was one of the rare girls in class who didn’t need her approval. And when she realized there was nothing she could do about it, she lashed out, waiting for me to reveal my cracks.
When I realized the truth, I stopped talking to her and only responded when she initiated friendly conversations, refusing to take any more crap from her. Things got better between us, but I still couldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.
Maybe it was my INFJ’s quiet perceptiveness that unnerved her. She knew that I could see the crevices in her performance. She hated that I saw her but walked away anyway. She didn’t deserve my rage, my pity, my anything. She was insignificant, an NPC in my life. And she hated that.
Once, when we were still friends, she told me, Reyna and Lia one single truth, “If I’m not entertaining, they won’t like me.” Reyna had once told me about how Brittany used to be socially ostracized as a middle schooler for her “brutally honest tongue”. And I have to admit? I did feel sorry for her, a little bit. But not enough to cancel out what she did to me. From the little information I’ve been bestowed, I’ve learned that Brittany is weaponizing herself with the illusion of popularity and social reign—by hurting others she thinks she is saving herself from being hurt first. The bullying she experienced has impacted her in a way she would never forget, hardened her into somebody who craves an audience for her performance. She believes that if she doesn’t crack jokes to please people, she’s worthless. She fears being excluded—not being relevant to other people’s lives. And since I’m the only one who sees all that, my not-trying-to-be-popular way of life is a threat to her existence, like I’m holding up a mirror that reflects her truth—one that she is not ready for.
People like her for performing humor.
People like me for staying authentic.
The core difference? She needs a crowd to proves she exists. I can survive the storm in a ship of my own making.
Existence needs no witness. But some people who go where the crowd goes? They need to be seen. To be unseen and unimportant, for them, deprives them of existential meaning. But there is a beauty in simply being. No masks, no fake smiles, no feigned concern. Just you, the wind and the ocean, tumbling waves that kiss the shores with newfound hope.
