“Need was like a weed, a virus, a mold. Once you admitted to it, it spread
I wish I were more like Joy. She thinks that love should always win. Though I can’t bring myself to cosign, I have always believed that there is a particular strength in that mindset, a certain hopeful fearlessness, that very few people have the cajones to posses, let alone govern their lives by.
Least of all, me.
See, I am less familiar with the land of Faith and more comfortable in the land of Real; people lie. They cheat. They steal. They fall in love. They get married. They get divorced. They spend the rest of their lives hating themselves and the other for ever loving the other. Real people have regrets. Things fall apart.
That isn’t to say that I believe that Joy is anyway immune or naive to these things. No, instead she possess a certain balance, if you will, that I cannot seem to ascertain myself.
And kinda don’t want to…?
I have never been particularly comfortable with having needs. Or rather, certain needs. The need to eat? Of course. Sexual needs? I’m all over that. But my life has been engineered and lived in such a way that has taught me the inherent danger in needing certain things, in needing someone.
Personally, I’d rather not.
“Need was like a weed, a virus, a mold…”
It kinda takes over you, doesn’t it? Needing? Not to be confused, of course, with needy. But it always seemed to me that the danger in needing was not necessarily the possibility of being disappointed; any and all interaction, even that of a non-emotional nature, bears the possibility of that. And moreover, it’s simply just stupid to think that avoiding interaction with people will protect you from disappointment. That isn’t gonna happen.
But rather, the danger always seemed to me what happens after a need isn’t fulfilled…
How do you deal with the possibility that your needs may not be being met by the very person that you need? And how do you reconcile that with the fact that not only has the need not been met, but you still need it?
I will cop to resentment (of myself mostly) when I feel as though there is something I need that I cannot somehow satisfy myself. And while I recognize that being a completely self satisfying creature in and of itself is improbable, if not impossible, I still feel that way. But what I resent even more is catering to the needs of others, no matter how unhealthy or hurtful, and still not having my needs met.
I resent that shit.
So much so in fact that it makes me question why I even bother.
I recognize, in my more objective moments, that I bother because it is my nature, because it is human to desire to be both needed and to need someone else. I know intellectually that I try because I am a good person, because I am, by the design of life experience, a nurturer who wants more than anything to provide a place where the people that I love can feel free to be themselves, no matter how ugly themselves may be at the time. That is important to me. It is a part of who I am. And maybe I have no always done enough to maintain a balance in this endeavor, but it’s a part of me. And one that I am proud of.
I know, even more than that, I try because it matters to me and it’s important.
But some days I just wanna be like, fuck it.
At this point, I can’t think of much I have to show for it.
Unless you count my weight in gold in the currency of resentment, of course.
“Once you admitted to it, it spread and ruled.”
Admittedly, I have always struggled with a deep seated fear of admitting to needing someone or something. Mostly because, when I was younger, I believed that doing so gave someone else a certain amount of control or power over you that I have never been altogether too comfortable with relinquishing. I recognize as I get older, that this isn’t really the case unless you are dealing with a controlling and superbly flawed individual. (Which I have been known to do.) But rather I find, that in the instance of gambling on the possibility that the people in my life can somehow serve the needs that I expect them to, I am losing far too much. I keep losing the gamble.
And I can’t afford that shit.
I wish I were more like Joy. Not in the way that I wish we were more similar, but more so that I could bring myself to believe that the gamble was always worth it. Because I don’t.
And more and more, I start to believe that I am right.
Love always wins…it’s the lovers that sometimes lose.