My hand is bloodied to a pulp.

I can honestly say,

without any guilt, or remorse, or feeling of dishonesty; at complete peace with the statement; without reservation and without malice; and not feeling ashamed at all,

that I have never done anything to try to hurt anyone that I love; that I have never targeted anyone about whom I care with bad intentions; that I have never tried to cause pain or to seek revenge; that I have never intended to destroy or to harm;

that in all cases in which people feel that they have sensed such things from me, it was in truth merely me trying to save myself; trying to survive like any person or ape or fish;

I don’t know how to protect my own needs, other than to protect them, how to draw a line without drawing a line, how to describe a feeling without describing a feeling;

I grew up with women; I know only women; I have been called a woman; I only feel comfortable with women; and all I seem to do is hurt and be hurt by women, who always let themselves depend on me of all people to be just that measure more understanding than I actually can be, thinking me to be a father rather than a person, a brother rather than a soul;

It is my right to feel sorry for myself if I hurt, and to protect myself if I am in danger; It is my right, the same as it is anyone else’s;

I am not a priest or a father, a savoir or a friend; I am just a man, lonely as any, needy as any — a good man, a kind man, a gentle man, a man who will give the shirt off my back or the tongue from my throat when asked;

So please don’t ask unless you really need them, because **I will give them** without a second thought and hurt forever afterward for having done so.

and don’t be shocked at — or at least don’t resent — my shivering, or be angry at my convulsions and my bleeding —

it is you, after all, who asked, no matter how cynically you decide to rationalize about my gullability and immaturity afterward.

And for God’s sake, if you don’t need them, please spare me and just don’t ask; there is nothing more painful than realizing that you have given up your shirt and your tongue thinking that both were needed, only to realize that they have been little more than unserious folly for bored, mischevious fairies only too happy to then gamble them away in the company of rogues, whom they prefer, anyway.

(And no, I cannot stop this business of giving so much that I ultimately have to stop unexpectedly and protect myself from destruction; I am and always will be, for the rest of my days, powerless to refuse anything at all when asked by those about whom I care, and I wouldn’t have it any other **fucking** way.)

—

In short, I have always been a shoulder to cry on; but when I have tried to cry on shoulders in return, they have inevitably run, amused and annoyed and “smothered,” taking lightly the expectation for equitable exchange that I so took for granted.

Time and time again, I have rearranged my days and my weeks, my dollars and my bed, to be there at a moments notice when a crying voice found its way to my phone, when a face with smudged makeup knocked on my door. All of these moments have taken their toll; it isn’t easy, and it isn’t without its consequences — but I generally don’t complain about them. “No,” I say, “it’s okay, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll always be here for you.”

And I always will, for all of you, to take your calls at four in the morning or drive two hundred miles to fix a flat, even if it ruins my week, ends my job, destroys my finances. I have never turned any loved one down who asked me for help, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the cost. **Ever.**

And for that, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard the words “thank you.” I’ve been called wonderful, special, great, unique, not like anyone else, understanding, amazing, and any number of other words. But when I have come to the phone crying, or when I have knocked on a door, I’ve never met anything other than resistance, annoyance, the suggestion that I come back in a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a week, or a month. I expect too much, I’ve been told, though others invariably come to expect it from me.

And, they tell me, it’s not a matter of exchange — I should give only what I can give without expecting anything in return; if there is the slightest chance that I will resent it if I find myself to be the one in need who asks of anyone else and receives nothing, then I should simply not give in the first place — keep to myself and ask of nothing in return.

If I am not prepared to be Christ himself, they seem to suggest, then I shouldn’t ever agree to help at all.

I am tired of being blamed, above and beyond all else. I’m tired of being told by everyone that I’ve ever been there for, by everyone I’ve heard cry while I sat on the phone for hours with them, that I’m childish, needy, selfish, oppressive, immature, silly, uncouth, unadult. I was good enough for you when you needed me. Why can’t you be the same?

I will die young, and no-one will do anything but blame me for it for not having thought of myself more often.

As always, I forgive all things
so long as I am asked;
but I am unable to forgive
that about which I must not know,
and thus am powerless
to save anyone who needs me so badly
as to hide from me.

the one thing worse than being ignored:

being forgotten

Someone very important to you that you haven’t been able to talk to as much as you’d like (you very much hope they want to talk to you), when you finally get them on the phone, says they have something important to do for a moment, and will “call you back in five or ten minutes, okay?”

You say okay and set down the phone, doing nothing because you’re waiting for them to call back.

You sit there for five minutes.
You sit there for ten minutes.
You sit there for twenty minutes.
You sit there for thirty minutes.
You don’t quite know what to do.

Finally, wondering if something bad has happened and bored from sitting on the step waiting for them so that you can do the next thing, you call them instead, worried simultaneously that something is wrong and that you might be interrupting something critical by calling them when they clearly said you should wait for them to call you. When they answer your hesitant call, they sound surprised, and you can hear people conversing in the background. They tell you “Oh yeah. I’m glad you called. Sorry, I totally forgot you were waiting because I was hanging out with so-and-so.”

Then, when you’re hurt (even though you try to hide it) and sad, they get annoyed at you, accuse you.

Multiply by ten when it’s your girlfriend and she’s far away and you want her to miss you as much as you miss her and the voices in the background are all male, one of which she shares every day and every night with. Multiply by twenty when she says she “has to go” again a couple of minutes later, this time without the expectation of a call back in “five or ten” minutes.

Someone says “I’ll call you back in five to ten minutes, okay?”

You say okay and set down the phone, doing nothing because you’re waiting for them to call back.

You sit there for five minutes.
You sit there for ten minutes.
You sit there for twenty minutes.
You sit there for thirty minutes.

Finally, wondering if something bad has happened and bored from sitting on the step staring at your phone, you call them. They sound surprised and you can hear people conversing in the background. They tell you “Oh yeah. I’m glad you called. Sorry, I totally forgot about you.”

Then, when you don’t know what to say and sound sad, they get mad at you.

Multiply by ten when it’s your girlfriend and she’s far away and should be missing you as much as you miss her.

Things are getting into my head again. I have to fix this somehow, but I don’t know how. Sometimes I really hate how my life looks right now.

And also: “I’ll call you when I can?”

That’s not true. It’s not that I’m mad, it’s just that it’s 2.00 and I want to go home and I wasted my break for that two minute phone call when there’s no reason that it couldn’t have been a proper chat except that she just doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t really want one more than she wants other things, or chats with other people. I can hear her saying, “well then, don’t waste your breaks on me, just don’t answer.”

I don’t know, it’s just everything put together. I just hate being a low priority. I can’t match it in the other direction. I mean, it’d ruin my day to ignore the call, too.

I’m tired of this shit. And it’s not about “being okay in myself” because the whole thing is that I want to play a vital role in something that matters to me, like the live of a loved one. Right now a lot of people care about me, and a lot of processes need me, but I’m not indispensable, day-to-day, in anything or to anyone.

People would miss me if I disappeared, sure, but it wouldn’t actually change much of anything. I don’t just want to be missed and cared about. I want to matter.