Why I hate arguing

My biological father died when I was two, of pancreatic cancer.

He didn't suffer through a long sickness; he went into the hospital on a Friday and died early Sunday morning. I was so young that I didn't understand "death," or why all of a sudden Daddy was gone. The man that revolved around me, spoiled me, and loved me as if no one had ever had a baby girl before, disappeared one day and never came back.

I wondered what I had done to make him leave. Mommy told me, when I asked where he was, that he was up in the cupboard -- his cremains were in an urn in the kitchen cabinet for a while -- but that confused me even more. How could Daddy fit in the cupboard?

I grew up without a conscious memory of him; I was well aware that he had died, and I knew I wouldn't remember him aside from pictures and videos he had recorded, but I didn't miss him. I didn't have enough of an image to miss. I didn't think that his death had impacted me at all, much less negatively, and throughout my life, I brushed off people who tried to console me when I talked about it. "It's okay -- really -- I don't remember him."

As I got older, however, I discovered I had a slightly unnatural fear of desertion, death, and goodbyes. From this sprouted a fear of arguments/disagreements/crying/harsh words, etc., because I was afraid that if I didn't do exactly what people wanted, they would get mad at me and leave. It became such an issue to me that I became unopinionated and overly sweet, a walking doormat and a blob of warm fuzzy jelly with no backbone, so that people would like me. I avoided any kind of conflict with my friends, even if it meant crying in my room at night because I felt taken advantage of and used. It became a lifelong habit to let people walk all over me, just so they would be happy. And even then, I thought people only liked me because I was nice, which became a chain reaction in itself. I couldn't start standing up for myself, because what would they think if suddenly I told them no? I didn't want to cross them, because when people get mad, when they don't like you, what is there to keep them around?

There has only been one person in my life that I've had the courage to stand up to, to fight against. Probably the wrong person, out of anyone, to pick a fight with. I argued with this person a lot, because it was safe, and I knew that I would still be loved anyway. But every time we would get in an argument, we would both pout for hours, sometimes even a day or two, hardly talking to each other. Each encounter during that time period was awkward. Then one day we would be happy again, and everything would be peachy. I thought this was okay, that our relationship was solid; but when I was told, "I love you; but I don't like you. You're not a nice person, and I wouldn't be your friend if I was anyone else" I began to think maybe that opinion had arisen from the number of arguments we'd had. Maybe if we didn't argue, if I let go of my own opinions and surrendered, I would be liked.

I dated a guy for a while when I was younger with whom I disagreed occasionally, but we never fought. I only got angry with him once or twice; and even then, he didn't fight back. There was never any confrontation. I thought this meant we were a good match, and that we were in sync and were good communicators; but I realize now that it just meant the relationship was lopsided; one of us ran over the other. And the one doing the unintentional plowing was me.

Dylan and I are both passionate people. This makes for a wonderful relationship, but it also means when we fight, we fight hard. For several months, I nearly had a panic attack every time we argued, because I just KNEW in my head that if I pissed him off, he would leave. I didn't trust that he loved me enough to stay even when he was frustrated with me; I thought the arguments would outweigh all the fun we had together and he would think I wasn't worth his time and effort. [I really over analyze everything, in case you hadn't figured that out by now.] I also wasn't accustomed to arguing with a guy, since I had hardly fought with anyone, and this made me skittish and wary.

But the more we've argued, the more I've learned to trust that fights don't have to break a relationship. We fight because we want to work through it; not just say "Screw it" and be done. Just because two people disagree or get mad at each other doesn't mean they will never get over it, that their perception of each other will change, or that they will just throw in the towel and say to hell with it.

Disagreements are signs that you are communicating, even if some of it is misunderstood, and that there is equal give and take between both parties. It is true that I fight the most with the people I love the deepest; but there is relief in the discovery that my best friend won't throw me to the wolves if I change my plans and piss her off, and that my boyfriend is interested in a real relationship, one that is mature and challenging and needs work to upkeep. I am only human, and I can't be perfect. Those that don't give up on me are really the only ones worth sticking with. And the truth is, I would rather fight with the people I love than paddy paw through life, all jolly-like, with any causal acquaintances.