Sibling Fights

I hate fights with my siblings.

I mean, I realize they are inevitable. Cain killed Abel. Jacob stole Esau's birthight. Leah and Rachel shared a love interest. Aaron freaking built a gold calf while Moses was away. Mary never helped Martha. And Jesus' brothers thought he needed a serious reality check. If the bible is any indication, the very fact I have brothers and sisters is going to mean, on some level, my life is going to suck.

But I still hate fighting with my siblings.

I hate it.

In my nearly 22 years of life, my brothers and sisters are the only ones who haven't run away when the going gets tough. They are the only ones I have been able to count on and lean on. In some cases, they are the only ones I trusted with the most real parts of me. We're presidents of each other's fan clubs, the loudest cheerleaders, the biggest supporters.

Except when we fight.

When we fight I feel like everthing I've counted on in terms of necessary human contact has slapped me in my face. When you only have a few people you really trust and that trust is broken...when the support you lean on has left you free falling to th ground...when you're the biggest, the best, the loudest - for them - and they throw it back in your face.

Then it sucks.

Fights don't last. And the cloth my family is cut from means that wounds will heal and all will be forgiven in the end. But until then, well, I guess, life is just going to have to suck.