I was having breakfast with a friend of mine this morning. He recently went through a divorce. During the meal he got an angry email from his ex. He started fretting about what it meant. He worried that he had done something wrong. He frantically rambled about the hell he'd gotten himself into and he showed no signs of slowing down.
So I said that he gets pleasure out of extending the drama. I said that even though he was bemoaning what had happened, there was some glee in his eyes. Some unhealthy part of him likes feeding off these kind of situations.
This sobered him up.
I know that impulse to feed off of drama. It used to be a part of my life. I liked the adrenalin. It felt important. But it was clutter for me because it made me tired. And it didn't solve or repair anything. It didn't serve me.
It took a friend telling me, "You're addicted to drama" about seven years ago for it to become an aversion. I feel it rise up in me sometimes, but it's rare I take the bait. That doesn't mean I don't get upset, or complain, or feel afraid. But I lost my appetite for following it into the "what's going to come of me?" descent.