It was only a dream...

As I've made my way through adult life, I've tried my best to become an open, honest communicator. When I was younger, I was horrible about such things. I come from a family that would rather gouge its eyes out with shrimp forks than tell someone they had hurt your feelings. I also grew up thinking that when you tell someone that you care about them (regardless of the context), the most likely outcome will be shunning and public ridicule.

A lot of that I've gotten past. I have spent years forcing myself to say those very difficult things, whether good or bad. Regardless of the cold sweat and racing heart, I do my best to get things out in the open when necessary. It may be with a hundred caveats, and painstakingly slow, but I find a way to say it.

I'll manage not to pass out when I say, "I think you're a wonderful person, and I'm glad you're in my life." I'll fight back the nausea to mention, "This situation made me uncomfortable, and I think we should work together to fix it." Dear God, but I do try.

Right now, though, I'm struggling. My feelings are hurt, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to tell a friend how disappointed I am in his behavior. I'm afraid that either way, the friendship is permanently damaged.

The story is very long, and I won't go into all of the details. What it comes down to, though, is that he and I went through a period where things were tense. He stopped calling, and when we did manage to talk, it was around an unacknowledged elephant. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable, even though he would never talk about the situation. I brought it up, I asked the questions, and tried to find out how to fix it. Nothing worked. (If, at this point, you feel like interjecting, "Duh, he's a guy..." please don't. I expect more from this one. I also expect quite a bit from myself, and won't play innocent. I made my share of mistakes, and take responsibility for them.)

Until I started dating P. All of a sudden, it was like a switch had been thrown. I guess I was safe again, and everything was supposed to go back to the light, frolicking banter of the old days. He called, he wrote, and acted as if nothing had ever happened. The silent sigh of relief was palpable.

It feels like I'm fifteen again, and my mom is saying, "Ssshhh. It's over, and he's happy now. Don't make him talk about it, or it is just going to cause a fuss."

Yes, this is more on the melodramatic girl side than I usually blog, and I'm sorry about that. My question, though, is this:

Is the fuss worth it? *

Because I honestly don't know anymore.

*This is a rhetorical question. I am not looking for your answers, as I know you don't have enough facts to address it. I'm simply wondering out loud. Or in print. However you want to say it.