When I first became a blogger a few years ago, I enjoyed the peace and quiet of my own blog space. No one knew about my blog. No one read my blog. It was my blog. All mine and mine alone. Here and there strangers would pop in to say hello, comment on how they understood what I was going through and then merrily leave on their way into the blog-o-sphere where they came hence.

One day, a few years after I was quietly blogging to keep my sanity and to keep from slaying all the people in my office, a friend of a friend called at work to tell me that one of my best girlfriends found my blog. My first reaction was "…..and you're telling me this because….." You see, my blog was a diary for me. I had pictures of my friends and family, my pet, my fiancee etc etc and it was a place where I could regurgitate all the crap in my head I didn't want to stay there. I wanted a place to put all those thoughts so I could sleep at night like I used to, when life was normal and carefree.

The friend of the friend who rang me said that my friend found a post that was about her, was absolutely fuming mad and was demanding an explanation. Needless to say I was surprised because what I wrote had nothing to do with her personally. It was a post I made right after I had some very disturbing news from another friend that just about broke my heart. Not knowing what to do with what I was feeling at the time, I did what I always do. I blogged about it.

For me, writing is therapy. Free therapy. Often I find when I write, I start out with something in mind I'd like to write about but what comes out is something completely different. It's an old trick/exercise I learned a long time ago and I find it really helps me figure out what the real problem is. All the things that are hidden in my unconscious come up when I write that way and it then I can figure out what is truly bothering me.

It seems that my friend was much too upset to talk about what happened with my blog and she has made many assumtions, the biggest one being that it was a personal attack. It wasn't. I made three attempts to sort out what happened. She declined. I'm finished.

For as much as she no longer wishes to have me as a friend, I no longer wish to have a friend who won't hear me out. A friend would have rang me up and asked me directly what I was thinking.

It is not easy to lose a friend, especially over a misunderstanding. I am in mourning for the friendship and I am sad. I'm sad because I thought I meant more than assumptions. I thought my friends were honest and forward. I thought when I was going through the most difficult time I've had to go through in my entire sodding life that my friends would be there for me and would have heard me out.

I was wrong.