They Taught Me Not to Hurt

Ever since I was little, I had a habit of making mountains out of molehills.

During my first year back with the Carrington family, after they finally tracked me down, I called 911 four separate times over what they called "trifles."

First, my father hiccupped twice at a formal dinner; I halted the entire banquet and dragged him straight to the emergency room.

I yanked out the microphone cord in the middle of my mother’s live television interview because the left corner of her mouth gave a barely perceptible droop.