Pound of flesh

I did something tonight that I'm not proud of. I did what I thought was best, and insodoing, someone I care about got hurt.

I admit that I allowed my emotions to overshadow my judgement. Tonight's events were something that could have resulted in a resolution of conflict, but instead brought pain to everyone involved. I did not draw first blood, but I drew final, that much is certain. Trouble is, I wasn't going for blood even if he might have been. I was going for peace. I was trying to find a common ground, and it backfired. I admit my methods were not sound. I admit that shock is not the best way to get someone's attention in some cases. But as I said, I did what I thought was best, and it blew up in both our faces. Literally.

A few words about my methods, flawed though they may be...

I don't believe in pity. I don't believe in coddling, and I certainly don't believe that violence is the answer to anything. I don't run from conflict. I may end it quickly to avoid serious issue, but running only delays the inevitable. The other side of that, of course, is that I don't seek conflict, either. I avoid it like the plague. I'd rather internalize the crap out of something than face it most days. Not the healthiest MO, but everyone has something to work on.

And thus, my problem. My conflict resolutions skills aren't the greatest, but tonight, I sought to try and resolve a long-brewing issue with someone I care about. Little did I know I was walking into a mine field of atom bombs. One I helped create. And one that detonated not because I did something wrong, but because I failed to do the one thing that was right: use discretion. They say it's the better part of valor, and I never doubted it. I will fall on my sword a thousand times for what I believe in. I will lie down before tanks for my loved ones. But tonight, unchecked, uncensored honesty was the forked tongue that slit my throat.

Yet his blood stained the floor.

As I said, I do not pity, and that includes myself. But in this wee small hour of the morning, I feel hollow. As if my failure has killed something inside me. Perhaps it was the last breath of this friendship. Perhaps it was the last hope that something good might come from something so long-suffering. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. And just perhaps, it takes two people to make an argument. I know I have wronged, but I know that I was not alone. our loss is shared, as is our grief.

3/5/08