"Just tell me what the ink blot looks like to you and then we can go for coffee."

     I once had a "friend" who always had to be angry at someone.

     That sounds weird, as though I should say, "a friend who was always angry at someone," but "had to be angry at someone" is more accurate. If she didn't have a legitimate reason to be mad at someone, she created one. She needed to have that one person to focus her anger on or she was miserable to everyone.

     I'm not talking about the "mildly annoyed" feelings we all have and swallow when someone in our lives upsets us. I'm talking about the queen of all grudge-holders. She once became upset with her mother over a comment and refused to let her see her grandchildren for more than two years. Everyone in her life took turns being the one on the outs. It could last from a few weeks to years and you never knew when your turn would come or what small thing would set her off. It was the Russian Roulette of friendships.

     After a few years of friendship, she got angry at me for something so insignificant that I can't even remember what it was now, and just like that, I was cut out of her life.  Our husbands remained friends, but we didn't speak for months. We had friends in common, which meant that we ended up at the same parties on occasion, and eventually, a few polite exchanges led to a renewed friendship (translation-she had moved on to shutting someone else out of her life, so it was time to let me back in).  I picked up the gun, hoped my chamber was empty, and started playing the game again.

     Our husbands had hung around together since grade school and our kids were best friends, so it was easy to go back to having coffee together three or four times a week, talking on the phone at least once a day, and our two families found something to do together almost every Friday and Saturday night. Then, without any warning that it was my turn, I found a letter from her in my mailbox. Thirteen pages, front and back, listing every grievance she'd had against me, small and large, since the beginning of our friendship. She now felt free to tell me how wrong I was about everything in life, even issues on which she had strongly agreed with me in previous conversations. She shared with me all her family and friends' opinions of things I thought I was telling her in private. Even knowing her history of turning on people, the betrayal was devastating and had me doubting my own character.

     My God, what kind of monster was I to make someone angry enough to write that many pages of pure bile? Were all my other friends just putting up with me while secretly hating my guts? I had tried to be a good friend to her, not perfect, but good. I'd babysat her kids, helped her after her C-sections, threw parties in her honor, packed my small kids into the car and drove to her house anytime she called in a panic over a bee that needed to be killed, and in general, just tried to be a supportive, fun friend.

     This letter was so cold-hearted and despicable that my husband ended his friendship with her husband and we tried to explain to our kids why they wouldn't be seeing their best buddies anymore. I felt such guilt that my failures were responsible for ending their friendships.

     Two weeks went by and then I found another letter from her in my mailbox. This one was an invitation to a party she was throwing. A note on the bottom said that she meant everything in her previous letter, but she was willing to put it behind her because her party just wouldn't be the same without me there.
    
     Huh?

     According to her first letter, the one she still stood by, I was one step above a serial killer. Why would you want that person at any party you were having? Why would you want a person like that anywhere in your life or around your children?

     You wouldn't. Unless you're a psycho.

     It seems she had been so proud of what she'd written that she'd shared the letter with a lot of our mutual friends before sending it and told others about it afterward, and they didn't see things quite the way she saw them. She'd not only lost us as friends over the letter, but had lost the friendship of people she had shown the letter to as well. Even some of her husband's family members stood up for me and told her what a good friend I had been to her. So now that she was in hot water and her party guests were about to be no-shows, she wanted to be able to say, "See, it all blew over and everything is fine with the world again." Of course, she wanted to be able to say that without ever apologizing to me.

     How exhausting it must be to be so angry all the time! To always have someone in your life that you are single-mindedly furious with to the point that more than half your conversations are complaints about them. Sometimes, early in the day, my husband does something that makes my blood absolutely boil, but keeping that level of anger until he comes home from work is just too much effort for me and by the time we're actually alone together, the boil has become a soft simmer and I have to decide if I would rather fight with him, watch a good movie, or read a book. The movie almost always wins. The book always does.

     I would never have the energy to stay that angry for months or years. I would also have trouble keeping it all straight. I'd have to carry a little notebook around with me reminding me why I was mad at each one and if I'd decided to forgive them or not. I'd have to be like Santa with a naughty and nice list or I might do the unthinkable and let a family member on the naughty list speak to my child and then the whole house of cards would tumble down.

     I've heard news of my ex-friend over the years and know that she and her husband have very few people who are still involved in their lives. Most, like me, learned a hard lesson and moved on. I was sad about the loss of friendship for a couple of months, but one day, it dawned on me how much easier my life was without her in it--no more walking on eggshells, no more worrying what was going to set her off and when it would be my turn in the doghouse, no more snide comments (just kidding, ha, ha) about my house, or marriage, or parenting, or appearance. More time with my husband and kids and real friends. I see her out and about once in awhile, but she's just another stranger on the street to me now.

     But I do have to thank her for being such a psycho. Her actions made me realize that I don't have the time or desire to have people in my life who are only there to judge me. I know my faults and I try to work on them, but if you want to be my friend, you'd better be prepared to accept the fact that I'm impatient, my house is messy but fun, I have the world's worst poker face, I'm over-protective, and while my baked goods taste yummy, they don't always look like the picture in the cookbook.

     She also made me place an even greater value on the friends who stood by me when the bullet was in my chamber. And she made me appreciate the new friends whom I've accepted into my life in the years since then--

     Once they passed the required psychiatric evaluation, of course. :)