Due to an unfortunate bug massacre and a proclivity for secret lairs, a few months ago I convinced myself I’m meant to be a super villain. After several failed attempts at world domination, it’s become clear to me that this isn’t the case.
Things I’d Like To Be
– A turtle
– Slightly taller
– A contact lenses-wearer
– Under the sea, in an octopus’s garden with you
Things I Seem To Be
– A neurotic college student
– Socially awkward
– THE INCREDIBLE HULK!
I don’t know anyone who would pick The Hulk if someone asked which comic book character they’d like to be (well, besides Lou Ferrigno). Personally, I’d go with someone with a little more snark or sex appeal, like Spiderman or… Spiderman with cleavage (?). The Hulk isn’t a superhero, but he’s not really a villain. He’s mainly just a really angry guy that other people are constantly trying to get rid of because he’s a freakishly strong nuisance.
Lately, I’ve been reacting really strangely to things. Say Godzilla and the monster from Cloverfield got married and had a baby, but then they divorced and no one bothered to explain why mommy and daddy don’t love each other any more to their child. Now their conflicted and angry kid runs around destroying things until it falls over and someone feeds it. I am Godzilla-Cloverfield, Jr. and I blame myself for my parents’ divorce.
I’m usually more of a Mr. Spock with sarcasm instead of pointy ears, so Hulking Out is kind of a new thing for me. It started a few months ago, and inevitably follows the same pattern.
Don’t Get Me Started
1. Everyone around me acts like they normally do. No one is particularly charming, or particularly obnoxious. For some reason, this infuriates me.
2. Someone says something that makes me so mad my jaw starts clenching and I develop this really brisk, robotic walk. The thing that sets me off is generally some terrible phrase like, “Hi, Stephanie. How are you?” or “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
3. I’m unable to respond to whatever was said because I can’t think. For an over-thinker, this is terrifying. Thinking is the one thing I’ve shown any aptitude for. It’s like a fish suddenly developing lungs and drowning.
3. CUE HULKING: I start to panic because I don’t know why I’m suddenly so angry and mean. Panicking makes me angrier. I start snapping at people, then yelling. I slam doors and stomp on the ground. My vision blurs and I begin to shake. If I were a little closer to Japan, residents of Tokyo would look up and scream my name in fear.
4. I get kind of dizzy and tired and helpless, so I fall over and just lie there. You know. Like a large toddler.
5. I recover eventually and look around at the aftermath. It takes a while to find the people I was talking to so I can apologize, because they’re all hiding under things and flinch at the sound of my voice.
For a while, I was really frightened because I didn’t know what was happening to me. WebMD told me I had cancer. My friends worried I was diabetic. I started to become convinced I’d regressed and was hitting puberty again. (A fate worse than death.) I read the news frantically to see if any radioactive materials had been found nearby. I looked into anger management classes. I almost started yoga. YOGA.
The problem briefly went away and I was slowly accepted back into society by friends who had been burned, but it came back! Tears were shed! Homework was thrown! ENTIRE TRAINS WERE FLIPPED ONTO THEIR SIDES! (Not really. But I did kick a desk.) It became clear that something needed to be done about this problem, so I made a doctor’s appointment.
It wasn’t as bad as diabetes. It wasn’t as cool as radiation exposure. It was far less sinister than Puberty, Part Two. It was… hypoglycemia. Aside from being a lovely name for a baby girl, hypoglycemia is a condition that occurs when your blood sugar is low. There’s only one way to fix it.
Eat something else.
Maybe a little later, eat another thing.
That’s it. You just eat. Isn’t that awesome? It turns out my grandpa is hypoglycemic, too, and he eats chocolate when he starts to feel woozy, so my grandma sent me some in the mail. All my relatives sent me food. Friends started waving food at me if I looked like I was going to frown. Even my little brother went out and bought me granola bars. This is probably because he’s actually really nice, but I like to believe he was motivated by fear.
So here’s a hint, hypochondriacs of the world: if you have to develop a condition, develop hypoglycemia. Frighten people badly enough before eating, and you’ll never have to pay for a meal again. Just follow my lead: