No, I'm not (okay. You make me feel inferior, like I must not know what I'm talking about because I'm younger, or because I'm a woman. You talk down to me. All the time. You say I'm your best friend, your soul mate, your one and only, but I can't even be honest with you anymore. My problems are real, and so are my feelings. I don't need your permission to be angry, to be grouchy, to be a "Debby Downer," as you call me way too often. That phrase used to make me laugh. Now, whenever I hear it, I want to hit the nearest object and pretend it's your face. I am my own person. You can't tell me how to feel. Don't you ever tell me again not to be) upset anymore.