Can you catch amnesia from a cold hearted bitch?

A friend sat across the table from me at lunch today and described herself as cold-hearted bitch. Intense you'd think. But, in fact, she just might be. And I actually think she might have conditioned herself that way. By no fault of her own. She's let her heart grow a medieval suit of armor to repel any sort of modern amour. And what was most shocking was how unapologetic she is about the fact. She is more than successful in every other aspect of life but is resigned that she has an impenetrable heart of steel. She has shut her heart and has essentially shut the door on the topic as well.
 
So while it may appear that the modern woman strives for a combination of ambition, family, love, home, friends and any other clichéd but true desire in life -she seemingly, in equal measures repels them all at the same time too. But why? It seems mad.

We push away what we are afraid of so we don't have to take risks, give our hearts away, take a chance or admit we've failed. And sitting across from her I realised, what kind of fate is that to accept and wish upon each other?
 
We have the utmost faith in a friend's life story, knowing deep in our bones that for them, it will all work out. They’ll be happy, safe and joyful for years to come. And yet for ourselves? Why do we shun the slightest hint of success like a phat palm to the vicious paparazzi? Men who love us? We pick fights and push them away, cause drama and analyse it ceaselessly when it fails. Work? We struggle so hard to 'be liked' we forget to do our jobs, tell people when to 'shut up', 'push off', or even say 'your wrong you red-nosed lace knicker sniffing buffoon and I'm not honey coating it anymore snot licker'. Nope. Instead, we smile and nod and like martyrs and dig deeper. Home? Family? We want to be Wonder Woman, cook, clean, read books, plant seasonal flowers, re-tile the bathroom, wash the ceilings, iron that impossible skirt, raise a content 8 year old or mend that silk blouse all by 8pm Tuesday night.
 
We're never enough, and maybe its our own fault. Maybe we just need to forget all the bullshit we feed ourselves abut love, about home life, about the normal people in society, about the abnormal people, about ourselves. We need to un-learn all the crap that makes us unhappy and re-learn all the stuff that makes life good. Then maybe we wouldn't convince ourselves we're cold-hearted bitches, maybe we'd just accept ourselves, or at least accept ourselves enough to know that with a bit of self-selected amnesia; the sort where we forget the laundry, forget the breakups, forget the actions of our idiotic boss, and forget trying to be Wonder Woman.

Maybe if we just let ourselves forget a little we'd remember that things are going to work out just fine and maybe we'd relax. Just maybe.