“Rule #1 of life. Do what makes YOU happy.” “The biggest failure you can have in life is making the mistake of never trying at all.” “Don't put your life on hold so you can dwell of the unfairness of past hurts.” Blah, blah, blah. That's not to say these quotes are completely vapid, just that they're ineffective when you're not in the business of understanding yourself. “But! Self-love!!!” Shut up. Stupid.

Self-love. What the fuck does that even mean? That by actually sleeping and deciding to eat and taking a shower means I give a shit? Well how about doing that two or three times, and then remembering that all I do is eat, shit, and sleep, and launching myself out the window in the morning. I can't get over it. Humans are so fucking weird. And I mean that sincerely. My mom thought that was all I needed as a kid, so she was shocked and maybe horrified when I told her that I wished the only person I had a full conversation with (my aunt) was my mother.

Last night was the one year anniversary of me cooking dinner for the house by myself. Not that I have any idea what I'm doing — because despite what you might think, watching Youtube videos about how to prepare dinner doesn't give you any confidence when you're “not a picky eater,” but your audience is. On top of that, they're not vocal about their opinions. Until after I've served it to them.

Am I picky??? Do I even know what that means? I guess that would require having an opinion, but “nobody asked” me.

Maybe I'm being a little restentful. Hell, maybe I'm angry. These are problems that didn't even occur to me because I've been too busy dealing with issues of authority. Thanks dad, for making me friends with my trauma, when I'd rather be an ass-backwards hood rat screaming “fuck the free world,” than live well fed in your jail cell. I was waiting for you to tell me “don't come home,” one last time, but I recently read you shouldn't put your life on hold for anyone.

No, this time, I’m not drunk or high. I’m not fighting to get you off my mind. I’ve chosen to accept myself before writing to you, because I know I needed this time and space to bury our memories in the garden and see what grows.

Like little ships signaling at sea, we’d wave flags to show warnings. You told me you cared too much about getting people to like you, but I wasn’t lying when I said I tried my best to hate you. I had seen this before, and I asked myself why everyone bathes love at first sight in an illustrius light when there are so many mental speed-bumps, fences, and abrupt brick walls. At least, for me. Of course I had to observe you from a distance -- this was a dangerous pursuit after all. My daddy raised me to believe love and pain were two sides of the same coin. Maybe he lifted me by my neck when I had trouble counting these coins to keep me from questioning it. He didn’t know that the pain of not understanding was more intense. My thoughts grew legs and started feasting on my incapacity to cross the boundaries of strangeness. I lacked the courage to be seen and heard. If the people who claimed to love me could nearly kill me, what would someone irreverent do?

So, no, I didn’t want to be right about my own feelings, or to change my mind about wanting to stay your friend. You know yourself that you appeased me more often than you should, and if you knew me at all you’d understand I would have fought my feelings until the end... if I didn’t see you falter. Mostly, this is an apology for invading your privacy and for volenteering my vurnerability. I didn’t realize my psychoanalyses were indications of a psycho at work, and that every time I mirrored your ability to share yourself with the world, I exposed only the parts of myself I was ashamed of. I wish I could have been better to you, firmly as a friend or as a partner, and was there for you to lean on when everything was falling apart. Even though I won’t ever see you, I'll carry you in my pocket. Right next to my spare change.

-Your best friend.

Unfortunately, this isn't about fireworks. My relationship with my boyfriend had always been tumultuous. Lately, though, the resentments stacked upon distrust and blanketed with fear had become too much for me to handle. The relationship was at its one year mark, and I decided, sink or swim, it was time to meet my family. I could use their opinion, and our 4th of July barbecue seemed the perfect occasion for a multitude of reasons. The location was my Aunt and Uncle's house, a two and half hour drive from Philly.

My daughter had been staying with my older sister in North Jersey. We were going to rendezvous at the barbecue and I was going to take her home from there. My oldest son decided not go for reasons too extensive to explain in this narrative and irrelevant to the point of the story. My youngest son was with his father for the holiday. Non-negotiable, like everything else with his father.

When I informed my daughter that I invited my boyfriend and he was riding back with us, she said that made her uncomfortable. She didn't want to be alone in the car with us. Her bedroom is next to mine, so she is the only one who has really been subject to some of our louder moments of discord. So I said, fine, I will not bring him.

Well, this was entirely unacceptable to my boyfriend. He became very upset and decried the callousness of my decision to choose my daughter's feelings over his. He asked to strike a deal, how about if he took the bus home from my Aunt and Uncle's house so she wouldn't have to be alone with us and he could still attend the barbecue. I shot her a text to see if this compromise was acceptable, and in the meantime, I confirmed with him that he was really willing to take a bus back.

He stated that he takes the bus from DC frequently enough, and it would be fine. He found that the latest bus to leave was 8:30 p.m., and considering the barbecue started at 5:00, I again confirmed this was his desire as it meant he would spend more time in transit than actually at the party. My daughter texted back she was fine with him coming if she didn't have to ride home with him, and I again confirmed this was what he wanted to do with his holiday. Meet my family and spend hours in transit instead of hanging out with his family and basically having zero drama.

I didn't speak this fear at the time (and I most certainly should have), but I worried that I was going to be put into the position, once we were there, of bringing him home with us. I didn't want my daughter or me to be emotionally manipulated once we were there, like can't he just have a ride back we were being unreasonable it's so far, the bus is uncomfortable, etc., etc.

With much trepidation (on my part) we embarked on the journey. The ride down was not remarkable. We arrived at the party and he was ill received by my parents, which was to be expected, and then we sort of parted ways for a while as I caught up with my daughter, niece and nephew, cousins, etc., etc. He hung out in the kitchen mostly (because food).

Around 7:30 p.m. we were sitting next to each other at the dining table. One of us made a comment about getting to the bus station in the near future. A few moments later, he asked for the key to the car. I gave it to him, he went out the door and I turned my full attention to the dance competition my niece and nephew and little cousins had orchestrated. After a while, I realized he had never come back inside and I went out. At this point it's around 8:00 p.m. He said we should get to the bus station. I queried as to whether he was going to say goodbye to anyone, he said there wasn't time, and I went back inside to grab my phone and let people know I was going to be gone for a few minutes.

The bus station was four tenths of a mile from my Aunt and Uncle's house. A few stop signs into the trip, he says he doesn't think we're going to make it in time and can't he just ride home with us. Well, I went from zero to rage in the blink of an eye. I had been holding this fear in all this time that I would be put in this position, and, unbelievably to me, here I was. I hardly remember what I was saying but whatever it was, it was loud. He looked at me, incredulous, and said to let him out of the car. I was still on my rage rant, but at this point we are around the corner from the bus station. I said I would just take him and see if he can still catch the bus but, admittedly, I was yelling when I said it. He jumped out of the car at the stop sign. I yelled after him, you are making this decision to walk away right now. He kept walking.

So here's the inside scoop. As a child, teenager, young adult...all of them...my feelings and opinions were ignored by parents. As a result, I learned my feelings didn't matter over someone I loved or who was in a position of authority. Throughout my adult life, this default "understanding" of myself and my place in the world has caused me nothing but physical, emotional and spiritual harm. I absolutely refuse to do that to my daughter. Her feelings of comfort, especially around an adult male she hardly knows, have to take precedent over said adult male. Period.

Should I have expressed all of these things to my boyfriend? Absolutely. Should I have allowed him to come? I am thinking no, I shouldn't have. Should we have broken-up over the incident? Doesn't really matter, we did.

I don't remember being quite that angry in quite a long time. Was it disproportionate to the offense? On its face, yes, it absolutely was. Should I have taken some deep breaths before responding? Um, yes, I was admittedly out of control. In my defense, I had recently stopped drinking (my normal coping mechanism), and I had spent the last few hours with my family (a trigger requiring the engagement of coping mechanisms), and I already had played this whole scenario out in my head. By internalizing my fear instead of discussing it, I allowed this situation to unfold the way that it did. Mea culpa.

My takeaway from this experience is that if I allow my fears to fester internally, I will lose control of my rational response in the face of the manifestation of that fear. My other takeway? I suck at relationships.

Thanks @tmakovic for this challenge. Apparently I needed to process incident this further.

Her voice was airy, and she was blinking more than usual, which forced my blood’s temperature up. I refused to look at her while she described what happened on her date, listening intently while reprimanding myself for getting angry at her and trying to keep my temper at bay.

She asked me if I thought he liked her. I said yes. And as she stepped closer so I’d look at her pleading eyes, I sighed deeply to avoid escalation. Of course he liked you, I told her. You’re pretty, skinny, smart, funny, real, you can cook, clean, hold a conversation, and on top of all that, he’s interested. There are guys that close themselves off, if not to specific people, to everyone, but this is not that kind of guy. Show him you’re interested too, and you guys will be together, easy.

The analysis is always the easy part for me. I’ll tell you all the logic, but please don’t make me feel anything. Her expression finally faded as she considered this information with more rationality, and I could see I didn’t give her what she wanted to hear. I’m not sure what she needed me to say, and even if I did I’m not sure I could deliver. I could not make myself soft, even for my sister’s sake, because it’s so much easier to get hurt that way. By who? With what? Nobody’s looking to hurt anyone, you might say. It’s us though, not them. We hurt ourselves with our anticipaiton of future comfort or ease, and with no defined sense of what that means, we lose the sense of how to get there.

I saw in her my own raw hopes and delicate dreams and I despised them. Not because they’re emotional or irrational, but because they were fragile and I am very clumsy.

Did you feel it when they sucked you from my womb? A whore's womb. That's what he said, your daddy. "No baby a' mine 'll come outta that whore's womb", and he chucked me the cash to deal with ya. Oh, baby, you're safe now. Better there than here. The walls are startin' to frost with winter comin'. Last night a wino near barrelled down the door to get to the fire but passed out onna porch tryin'. He was gone come mornin'. Tabby has learned to break the ice atop her dish most days but it went solid through yesterday. I imagined how you'd a fared. I imagined waking up finding you stone frozen, your rosy lips still moist under the ice, your eyes open, accusin', asking What have you done? I gettin' justice is what I done. You think your daddy got to just go home after sayin' a thing like that? Every week he still come. And when he sleeps I cut a lock of his hair and burn it in the fire, asking the gods to burn him too.