I donít want to talk about it;
it feels intrusive to answer questions.
I donít want your commiserating pity;
it feels too condescending.
I donít want reassuring hugs:
they feel constrictive and confining.
I donít want you to protect me:
it makes me feel weak and pathetic.
I donít want conciliatory agreement;
it feels like you are humouring me.
I donít want your words of sympathy;
they sound fake and belittling.
I donít want you to be understanding;
there is no way you could ever know.
But there was once a little boy
who needed all those things above.
He didnít ever get them, though
and now he always feels that hunger:
to be kept safe, to be fixed, to be held,
for someone to know and understand
and intervene and make it all right.
I know that he still needs it all
but his needs and my wants
are working at cross purposes.
I think Iíd like a little rage;
maybe he would too.
07 Ė 16 Ė 13
We are often troubled, but not crushed;
sometimes in doubt, but never in despair;
there are many enemies, but we are never without a friend;
and though badly hurt at times, we are not destroyed.
- Paul, II Cor 4:8-9