I keep reading that last depressing post of mine over and over again and I feel that I should explain a thing or two…not really to let you all know that I’m not a giant douchebag, but in a lame attempt to make myself better understood.  To any long-time readers of this site, it is not a strange thing to read of my bitching that Jessie is the most beloved and I am the most hated in our families.  Of course, I exaggerate a little bit, but there is also a grain of truth to all of it.  To make myself clear, my beef isn’t with Jessie.  I know he’s a great guy.  I’m the one that effing married him.  I’m the one that had a child with him.  I’m the one that lives with him and washes his underwear!  I know that he’s great and I’m madly in love with him.  It’s outside forces that are constantly making me feel pitted against him in the fight between good and evil…with me obviously being the evil one.

I think I’ve always had a problem with people not really understanding me.  It’s not because I am this insanely complex creature, but rather because I have been cursed with family members and acquaintances who choose to make assumptions about my personality and character rather than taking the time to get to know me.  I have family members who actually talk about me behind my back like I am dirt.  They talk about me to my brother (who, like a good brother, tells me about it) and they talk about me to people I know who tell me.  My father once told my mother that he felt sorry for Jessie for being with me and that I needed to be smacked.  Look, my dad is a deadbeat father who has never made any real attempts to hide his contempt for me, but that REALLY hurt my feelings and it bothers me to this day that he said that.  He’s one of those people who knows absolutely bupkis about me, but still feels qualified to make generalized statements about me.  The sad thing is, a lot of people do this to me.  A lot of close family members do this to me.  It’s easy for some reason to make a villain of me.  Why, I wonder?  Because I’m straight forward?  Because I’m not much for side-swiping the issue?  Because I have a bit of an attitude?  Because I’m not a fan for ass kissing?  Because I don’t like to be fake, like so many of them can be?  What is it about me that bothers these people to such a degree that they feel the need to put me down like that? 

As I’ve said before, I don’t have thick skin.  And I sure as shit don’t have thick skin against the attacks of those who, to my face, pretend to love and adore me and behind my back talk about me like I’m better off locked in a cage having hot oil dumped on my head twice daily.  I take time every night before I go to sleep to remember why I am lucky.  I have Jessie.  He loves me despite my shortcomings and quirks.  He likes that I’m hard-headed and he loves that I’m strong-willed.  He understands me, but still he loves me.  Shocker. 

I have Lukas, who is happy, healthy, and perfect in my eyes.  I’m his mommy and he loves me.  He may never really understand all of me, but he’ll know me, and that’s just as good.

I have my brother, who understands me and loves me despite the fact that I am crazy and a little unhinged.  He’s always been my ally and I know that of all my family, he will always have my back.

I have my mom, who I don’t think totally gets me, but she’s close enough.  She doesn’t have any expectations about our relationship.  She just wants to talk to me and know my son.  What else dare I ask of her?  She’s madly in love with my son and my husband and if she sees my shortcomings a little more than my good sides, that’s ok because she really honestly loves me.

I have my wonderful, beautiful friends, who make sure to always let me know that they love me and are glad to know me.  I see people around me go through friends like toilet paper, but I’m still close to people that I’ve known since before I went through puberty.  These people know me, they know my problems, they know my family, and they know my quirks…and they love me still. 

Looking at all of those people at the end of the day and knowing that although the people who hate me may outnumber the people who love me, the people who love me are the scrappy bar-fight kind of people and would join me in a proper ass-kicking session if I ever asked them to do so.  I’d never do that, of course.  I’d like to think that I’m above that kind of stuff, but knowing that it’s there if I need it makes me smile.

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