I once got dumped over dinner and was so upset that I left my wallet at the table when I stormed out. My cheap, yet resourceful table companion who had just moments before broke my heart into a tiny grains of it’s former self- used my bank card to pay for dinner. Because I may pick soulless, callous men to break my heart, but I will make sure they will always know how to get a free dinner.

But that’s not what this post is about.

A few weeks after that event, I went out with friends to wash away my self pity with cheap pitchers of glorious honey colored ale. The three of us sat laughing in a crowded pub having one of those life changing discussions that can only come when you are young and believe that your words alone can change the world. Our cheeks were flushed with laughter and beer when I noticed some of the Ex’s friends had come in and were sitting close. We exchanged awkward hellos and quick head nods. The night progressed.

I’m not sure how it happened, but eventually a bridge was made between our two tables and someone brought up the Ex, in flattering terms. I swallowed a thousand stinging rebuttals and slid out a scoff. The conversation elevated. I can’t be sure who mentioned the fact that he used my bank card to pay for dinner (but I AM sure this was not said in flattering terms), but suddenly above the pub’s music,- the symphony of laughter, of glasses being put down too hard the table, of cell phones ringing, the door creaking open, the vroom of cars passing by, of the swish of the waitresses skirts as they hustled to the next table and the boom of university guys ordering another round, I heard from the mouth of one of his friends:

“Well, you were a stupid bitch if he knew your pin number.”

I suppose it would be a cliche to tell you that such words felt like a slap against my cheek, but such words would also be true. My eyes watered with shock and my face stung with embarrassment. I felt eyes looking at me and found no words would articulate my thoughts. Suddenly my stomach was near my ankles. I wanted to go.

But that’s not what this post is about.

My normally non-confrontational friends leaped into action. There was finger pointing. And hands thrown in the air. There were words said at high decibels, sentences that I could only think of but could not find my voice to say. I sat there and watched as they pummeled these guys for their insensitivity and lack of consideration. For their cruel words said when they were not needed, and certainly not wanted. I was shocked at how strong my friends were- but I was more shocked at just how much comfort I found in their actions. I wish I would have said more, did more but I always find that it’s 17.9 million times easier to stick up for someone else than for myself.

This incident has been replaying in my mind for the last few days. I had written the post about the copycat and then tried to let it go. It unsettled me more than I could say. When writing is something you do that helps you understand who you are- having someone copy your words feels like they are copying your DNA. It’s as though someone is passing off your diary as your own- and getting credit for it.

But then? Then, I read your comments. And emails. And facebook emails. And 20SB emails. And text messages. And instant messages. And twitter comments. (Twitter, why can’t I quit you?) And it reminded me that although blogging is an individual activity- we each chose what we want to write about, we chose what we share and what we don’t, it IS a community. It’s the idea that at the end of the day when there is someone who is unraveled by the state of his/her world, either by nasty commenters or copycats or sick family members or losing a job or a pet, or feeling lost or not wanting to be found- that there are people who will rally for you. Who will say the things you cannot say, who will support you when you are struggling to support yourself.

So thanks. For doing that for me. And if a group of unruly and thoughtless men ever say something to you in a crowded pub when I’m there? Know that I’ve got your back. Then, and any other time it’s needed.

That’s what this post is about.