distrusting memory

Memory--the way through which we perceive those moments that are past--has been the subject of two of my three courses recently...and something with which I often grapple to comprehend. (Ruth Kluger and the philosophers C. Peirce, W. James and, of course, Dewey have set me off on this course of thought)
Its subjectivity is very much like our skewed perceptions of the present, except intensified. We do not remember every detail of every moment.
I've always liked to think of my own memories as snapshots...more like photographs, really. My memories depict a moment, a facial expression, a sound...all, coincidentally, connected to feelings. So the question is how much can we trust our memories? How much of what we recall and relive and retell is merely artistry, and how much the reality, which, being in the past, might or might not actually exist, depending on ones views.
Recently, I am discovering that the selectivity of my memory is perhaps more intense than I would like it to be. I cherish people as I would have liked to have seen them, and not as they really were, and are. I become obsessed with either all that was good, if that's what I some part of me (of which I am not always conscious) wants...or all that I didn't like. I either revere people or detest them, or they did not leave enough of an impression on me for me to care either way.
The problem is one of either gross expectation or lack thereof. For those people I decide to elevate in my unreliable memories, I find constant disappointment, for these people are just as fallible as they were when the past was the present. For those whom I find some kind of dislike because of these memories, they either remain in that category through a lack of further interactions, or are herded into liking by exceeding the expectations for them which I never had. Both prospective situations, although the cases for only those people extremely influential in my memories, are not favorable. I would like to point out, however, that I am exaggerating the emotions here (it was not always a case of reverence or detestation; I can and do experience things on a much smaller scale) .
So what do we do? What do I do? What should I do?
Tonight, I can merely concede that I often expect too much of the people whom I love. Friends, family...I expect too much of you.
The problem is only compounded by the fact that I am a giver, a people-pleaser. I give, fast immer, more than I know I will receive, and then expect less, although still unreasonable amounts from others. It is probably for this reason, among many others, of course, that I am also such a forgiver. I expect only that a person attempts to begin anew or rectify the situation with some sort of gesture--no apologies necessary.
...At some point, however, these qualities which have become a part of my character, begin to hurt me. It's easy to take advantage of someone who primarily gives and readily forgives. But who am I to look around and try to see who is merely taking advantage ad who is genuine with good intent? ...But who am I not to do so?

Tonight as I relive memories near and dear to me, I ponder whether to remember more accurately, and insert those memories which I would rather forget, or to live with partial truths and expectations that will never be met.

Or are my expectations normal? Should I be more critical? Do I let the words that, probably unintentionally, seared me hurt me further? Do I wipe the slate clean and forget them? Or do I continute to acknowledge the pain, and perhaps give up on any semblance of the fullillment of expectation I once had? Am I strong enough to refuse forgiveness? And more importantly, is that something I should even want to do?

Memories have something about them that haunts us. Once they are allowed to flourish in our thoughts...they don't leave us as readily as we might hope. They have the audacity to enter our dreams, and are altered and changed in ways we would never permit or predict. For better or worse, they show us for who and where we are: people who are trapped in the temporality of now within the continuum of our experiences. Present and past live within the continuum of who we are, but we access, in reality, only this moment. The past, though still within the continuum, is altogether inaccessible in accuracy and entirety.

So what else can we do but weiter leben?