Anna, Based on the Novel "Push" by Sapphire

Once upon a time, I caught on fire while making a sandwich.  It was the single best thing to ever happen to me.  Let me tell you why:

When reading about famous artists, have you ever noticed that they all seem to have some sob story attached to them?  The best comedians magically became funny after their mothers repeatedly told them they were ugly and unlovable.  Actors born in halfway houses with drug-dealing step-dads have tons of marketable depth and angst.  Kids who grow up in violent environments are forced into becoming creative, imaginative, and driven.  Their dreams lift them out of oppression and inspire them to paint sprawling murals of eagles playing saxophones.

But, surprise, my life isn't Precious, Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire.  THANK GOD.  But when one is born into a highly functional household with very emotionally supportive, drug-free parents, how the HELL is one supposed to succeed?  When one is granted things like, say, opportunities for guided learning and growth, and allowed outlets for healthy self-expression, how is one supposed to develop into the kind of passionate, deranged artist exalted by our modern world?  And when one's reasonably stable self-esteem is constantly reaffirmed with statements like "I'm proud of you," "You are brilliant," and "Holy shit balls this is the best blog ever," what excuse has one to become a twisted, rebellious, badass?

Are you still with me?  Do you understand that my parents royally screwed me over by not withholding their love?  I'm never even going to get to have a slutty phase, because I’ve never had “daddy issues.”  It's so unfair!

Which brings me to why it's awesome that I caught on fire while making a sandwich.  The experience was mild enough that I am not a burn victim, but extreme enough (sounding) that it qualifies as a verifiable trauma.  It might even give me an excuse for personality quirks.  I CAUGHT ON FIRE.  Imagine what that would be like.  The terror!  The flames!  The heat, rising from my charred sandwich!  Now don't I have an excuse for being a little quirky, a little "off," like a child star?  Doesn’t this give me enough of a “past” to push me into the same category as troubled geniuses and reality television stars with personality disorders?  I think so!

Catching on fire provides the shadow of mystery in my eyes, the cryptic darkness only a true artist can capture.  It gives me the color and excitement I was deprived of, growing up with the kind of parents who got Twitter accounts just because they knew I wanted followers.

It's okay, guys.  I know you feel really bad for me right now because I didn't have any character-forming traumas in my early life.  But I don't want your pity.  The thing is—and I’m going to get serious with you for a second here—we all have issues that we’re dealing with.  Except for a few very fortunate individuals including a handful of toddlers, we all have faced trauma, heartache, and some other horrible shit. What matters is how we choose to handle it.  One way any therapist would advise you to "handle" your shit is by finding a scapegoat.  (Trust me, I’m a blogger!)  Blame the time your grandmother told you that you were fat.  Blame Twihards.  Blame reality television, monster trucks, hipsters, Rush Limbaugh, and your uncle’s substance abuse. I choose to blame the time I caught on fire while making a sandwich.  BECAUSE I CAN.  Because no one can take that away from me.  And when beautiful, wonderful, fortunate things happen in my life, I can paint myself as a real-life Cinderella story.  From sandwich ashes to success.  I beat the odds.  Got over the trauma.  I’m an inspiration!  Proof that some people can catch on fire while making sandwiches and still go on to lead happy, healthy, lives.