A while ago, some bad things happened to me. These things caused a rift between me and some of my family; I felt betrayed, and they thought I was being ridiculous. Things haven’t improved very much, despite the passage of time and the lack of discussion pertaining to what I’ll call The Event.

I never said a word about any of it to my oldest brother – partially because I wanted to forget and partially because I had a feeling I knew exactly how he’d react, and I didn’t want to lose another family member.

I’m wrong a lot of the time, but I rarely consider it a relief. Today it was. I ended up randomly talking to him about The Event – he brought it up – and was surprised by how understanding he was. His perception of things was more like mine than I ever would have given him credit for.

He was supportive. He was very nearly gentle, a word I can rarely apply to him. I definitely misjudged him.

I’ve got to start giving people more credit.

For a little while, I believed him.

I believed we belonged together, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. The tightness in my chest eased whenever I saw him. I smiled easier, and laughed harder. I felt like a better version of myself. Being with him made me want to accomplish more, experience more, live more.

He said he loved me, but I didn’t believe him. I never believe those words when someone else is speaking them about me. I thought it was enough that I loved him. Love is a gift, I told myself. And gifts are given without expectations. Or at least they should be.

My defenses got a little bit weaker every time I saw him. He brought me a flower. He didn’t just say I was beautiful, he looked at me like he really believed it. He promised me someday.

Someday is never coming. I know that now. Someday was the bait, and I was just hungry enough to swallow it.

I’ve known her since I was thirteen. We’ve been friends – best friends – since our first slumber party, where we bonded over a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Nintendo game (SO nerdy) and stayed up until dawn giggling in our sleeping bags. We were thisclose in high school, we lived together in college, and then kept living together when college fell through. She helped me through unspeakable grief and made me laugh until my sides ached on several occasions. I like to think I’ve been there for her as well.

We live in separate places now, miles apart, and we lead separate lives. We have different religions, values, & temperaments. She isn’t interested in dating or getting married, but plans to adopt a baby. I want a real relationship, but have a difficult time imagining myself as anyone’s mother. She’s introverted and reserved, I’m extroverted and flamboyant (obnoxiously so). Despite our many differences, we somehow stayed connected over the years.

She’s angry at me. I was honest about feeling estranged lately, and it hurt her feelings. The absolute last thing I want is for her to be hurt, especially by me. But I wasn’t careless. I was as gentle and tactful as possible – I reheared countless times to make sure I wasn’t accidently an asshole (a recurring affliction of mine).

She hung up on me. I didn’t say what I said to drive a wedge further into our friendship – I said it because I want to fix things. I didn’t call her back. If she needs time she can take it. We always hash things out eventually.

I am starting to wonder if I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut. Maybe I should have just let days lapse between emails & phone calls, just gradually let the issue take care of itself. Maybe that would be less painful, for both of us.

Or maybe she’ll call me tomorrow, and we’ll talk, and none of this will matter. I’m hoping it becomes trivial, something we can laugh about later. But it doesn’t feel trivial. It feels broken.

I particularly like this definition of the word because it uses gem as an example, and of course ‘amber’ is a semi-precious stone. As you may have guessed, today I’ll be blogging about my flaws – some of the more and less obvious ones.

I like to claim otherwise, but I’m sensitive. Little comments or a lack of little gestures can easily hurt my feelings. Despite more than two decades (whoa boy, did I just age myself or what?) of hands-on experience with my family, I still let stuff get to me.

I have a tendency to be egocentric. Everything is really about me, right? Or at least it should be. Ahem. Enough about this particular flaw, lest you all decide you hate me and never come back.

I’m very good at burying my head in the sand. If I pretend a problem doesn’t exist, then it really doesn’t. And believe me, I have a good imagination. A quick example: I’m walking everywhere because it’s healthier and more cost-effective, not because the scary grinding noise my breaks have been making could result in my death.

I’m usually pretty tactless. I don’t even try to be polite about things, especially bothersome things. The other night in the midst of drinks with friends, a forty-something man – evidently fueled up on liquid courage – hit on me. I ignored him until he wrapped his arm around me and started breathing heavily in my ear, then I calmly stated that if he didn’t take his hand off of me all he would get back was a bloody stump. No tact whatsoever. Although I still think he deserved worse.

I don’t necessarily consider my total lack of modesty a flaw, but my sister sure does. Especially when I strip down in her living room.

I’m very, very vain. I know I’m pretty, and I do everything possible to protect my beauty. (Please forgive that last sentence). When I lost one of my back teeth due to an abscess, I cried for days and it didn’t even affect my smile. I have a habit of checking my reflection in everything, and I mean everything – once there was a handy mud puddle. I spend gobs of money on various items designed to preserve my looks, because deep down I honestly don’t think I have anything else going for me. Which leads me to my next flaw…

Insecurity. I have all these fears that I’m not good enough or strong enough or gorgeous enough, that no one will ever really love me, that people would hate me if I let them see the darker parts, that I’m going to one day snap like all those crazies you read about in the news and drive across numerous states in a diaper with the sole purpose of forcing a lover into submission…ETC. ETC. You get the idea.

You might not always be able to tell on this blog, but I’m a total grammar nazi. HOW DARE ANY OF YOU MISUSE A WORD OR COMMA!? Don’t you clueless, uneducated bastards have any appreciation for the English language? And just for the record, ‘how r u?’ is NOT a sentence.

Lastly, I’m judgmental. This is another of my flaws that I’ve made peace with, mostly because I figure we all have the ability to make judgment calls for a reason, and if that reason is to seperate ourselves from the unworthy, well then…good.

Truthfully, my judgmental nature isn’t even close to my last flaw, but the more I write the more I realize this list could go on forever – a daunting possibility. And since I don’t want you all to hate me, I think I should quit while I’ve only alienated a few of you.

Molly isn’t working out. I say that as if she’s some sort of mattress or blender or other item, something to be tried for the sake of convenience. I don’t feel that way at all, but…

She destroys things. She attacks innocent neighborhood children (unsuccessfully, thank god). She BIT me when I tried to prevent her from eating the cat whole. I’m sure it was an accident – she was just excitable – but I CANNOT HANDLE THIS.

Maybe I’m not meant to have a dog? She’s four and full of horrible bad habits and I can’t fix them because I don’t have enough time to dedicate to her, and truthfully I should have held out for a damn puppy and started from scratch.

The cat is miserable and afraid. She lives near the ceiling now, and nowhere else. I am paranoid and constantly stressed about her attacking people or my books or my delicates.

Yesterday in the course of one half hour she managed to a) scratch my sister’s new(er) car on BOTH SIDES, b) nearly rip the material on my sister’s very expensive sofa – thank god for the protective coating, and c) jump up after sternly being told to stay and give my sister a fat lip.

The sucky thing is, she seems to love me. And I’m very fond of her. But she’s a MENACE. And right now she is making me feel like total and complete crap by sprawling cozily by my feet, looking all innocent and sweet and chewing on her rawhide instead of whatever she managed to fish out of the trash. It’s breaking my stone cold heart.

Tomorrow I’m making a friend accompany me to the nearest animal shelter to leave her. I feel like a bad human being.

When I lived in Washington, I moved in with my ex-boyfriend and his roommate. It seemed like a great idea at the time – I needed a place to live, and they needed the extra rent money. I was still in love with him, but I was certain I could handle it. I’ve always had a knack for smothering my true feelings. I convinced myself I’d be just fine.

Except he met a girl. She was everything I wasn’t – she was skinny and quiet, and she had a car of her very own. Her lips were bigger than mine. Her eyes were brown. Her hair was straight, not wild and curly. I tortured myself when I saw them together, which was often – how could he love me, and then date her? We were so different.

At night I would be downstairs on the couch, huddled in my blankets, listening to them. I used my pillow to muffle my sobs.

I didn’t move out. I was determined to prove I could handle it, that I was over him. I wanted him to believe it, even if I didn’t. And besides, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

I got a phone call that my grandfather died. He wasn’t home, he was where he always was – out partying. His roommate tried to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. I cried and raged – I threw the plate I was holding against the wall, where it shattered.

I called to tell him what had happened – I wanted him to know, so that he didn’t come back with several friends. Secretly I was hoping that he would come back to hold me. He’d claimed to love me once, and more than anything I wanted to be with someone who loved me. Instead, he sent HER with a candy bar. I remember holding it, staring down at it, and feeling even worse. Chocolate was supposed to heal the wounds created by the death of a loved one? I wasn’t sure if he was being intentionally insensitive or he was just that wasted.

He came back with friends, and they partied well into the early hours of the morning. He made a bet that I was so fat that my jeans would look better on him, and then tried them on. I sat, numb and disconnected, out of tears and at a loss for words.

The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, I got up to get a cup of coffee. He was in the kitchen, cleaning up the plate I’d broken. I told him I’d clean it up, since it was my mess. (I was still pretending nothing he did affected me). He smiled sheepishly and told me he thought that he’d done it.

I don’t know why, exactly, but that moment – while he stood, offering me his little half-smile – that’s when I knew he didn’t love me.

I’m a good friend. I believe in friendship, and most especially in protecting my friends from anyone who would hurt them, whether by saying cruel things or doing them. I also have pretty good judgment, so most of the time I don’t have to defend my friends. Their actions speak for themselves. My friends are usually good people.

Except I was told today by someone I know I can trust that two of my ‘friends’ did something rude and unnecessarily cruel. After I left the bar last weekend (early, because I didn’t intend to drive home intoxicated), they high-hived each other and exclaimed, “Thank god she’s finally gone!”

I don’t feel like I deserved that. I do feel like I’ve made a bad error in judgment. I’ve decided to cut them out of my life. I don’t need friends who are also handy enemies. I never give my affections without meaning it and so it hurts me to withdraw, but I know it would hurt more to continue a friendship that’s obviously a lie.

People can be so disappointing.

I haven’t been making a lot of effort to write. I haven’t had a lot to write about. I was thinking about it the other day – what can I say that would be worthwhile, humorous, interesting? Ultimately I came up blank. I think it’s because lately, I haven’t felt like I have a lot to look forward to.

I try to be optimistic about everything I possibly can. Look! The sun is shining! The snow is melting! I have a fantastic new hair cut and color (photos pending)! My cat loves me!

As you can see, my reasons are looking a little thin. Especially written down. Thank god for my sister. She’s scheduled a spa day for us at the end of March – a day to get manicures, pedicures, massages, facials, waxes…it’s should be a fantastic day, filled with quality time and relaxation. Well, except for the waxing. Nothing too relaxing about getting your hairs ripped out by the root. Or so I’m told – it’s the first time for both of us.

I was sure I had a point when I started. Oh, yes. I need to give myself things to look forward to. I can’t just expect fortune to plop in my lap and say hi. I have to find it. I have to do whatever’s necessary to make my own excitement and adventure, to give myself events to look forward to.

Hopefully I’ll come up with something more exciting and relatable than this. For your sanity, as well as mine.