Don't make me hate you.

Over the weekend I finally settled an issue with a family member who "didn't want to talk about this."

I get that, I really do. I don't want to talk about it, either. But if you keep refusing to talk when I need to, I will hate you. I won't mean to hate you. I won't want to hate you. But you're telling me I'm not worth the time, or enduring the minor discomfort you'd feel during a conversation? No. I'm not gonna smile and play Cool Girl while I silently stew in your bullshit.

We're adults. We talk about it, or we don't talk. Your call. Reasonable? Of course not. But I've learned that NOT communicating solves nothing. It just creates larger problems because now everyone is operating on presumption and hurt feelings.

I forced a 10-minute, in-person conversation because I thought it was worth forcing (because I don't want to spend my life butthurt), and now we're good.

I fucking hate when hippies (ie, my therapist) are right and I can't just be Irish and swallow my rage. Swallowing is my favorite. Oh. Wait, no...

The Asshole Files, Entry (...ew...) 1.

OK, so remember yesterday's "asshole" warning? Let's start easing into some of that...

I know this is partly my fault for letting so many "little things" go and stifling my feelings and then exploding (go Irish!), but I wish people who claim to know me understood how far they had to push me and how much they had to hurt me for me to NOT talk to them.

I WILL talk, eventually, because I'm generally too lazy and forgetful to hold a proper grudge -- I have better uses for brain space. But for the moment, something you've done has shut me down, and I Basic Bitch "just can't" with you. You broke me; I need to "breathe and reboot," to think things through before I blow up on you. And that's always the time people are in my ass, setting up tent cities and trying to talk like we're just cool now.

No. You should've talked before. Right now, fuck you. You're picking a scab, making the wound worse, and giving me, like, emotional MRSA. I just need a minute.

(Or, OK, in extreme cases I've needed...10 months and [not-that-I'm-]counting, but A. That person should've known better, and nudity/trust were in play, and B. Right now it's just my family I'm having issues with.)