Needs are funny things, aren’t they? I feel like I need a lot of things I probably don’t, and there are a number of things I absolutely need, that I wouldn’t list if asked (either because I wouldn’t think of them, or because I don’t want to admit I need them).
People need family, though. I’m pretty sure of it, anyway.
My family is far, far away, this Christmas and every Christmas… and for the first time in some years, I care less about that, than about a family I don’t belong to.
I have a friend, and all I really want is to be this person’s family…. I am not that, to him. Whatever else I am, I’m not the person he rushes home to, to tell about his day, or the person he goes to for emotional support, or the person he asks for advice. Do you know why?
Because you do that with your family… and I’m just a friend. And he keeps telling me all the things we are not, to each other, and I just refuse to listen, as if I can’t see that I mostly wear him out, as if I can’t see that, in our relationship, despite all the little things I try to do for him, it’s always him taking care of me, not the other way around.
I think I cannot do this life for as long as I’m supposed to. I threw my family away, I moved 4,000 miles away from them all, and now, I have 2 kids who are mine, but I have to share them with my ex (and at the price of the entire rest of my family) a significant other whose needs I can meet without even trying (and who is a wonderful companion, but…) somehow… 2 kids you get part-time, a partner who barely needs you, and everyone else you love always being too far away to really be like family… it’s just not enough.
People need family, and I don’t have much of one, really. And the person I want as my family, the person I go to with all my worries and troubles and issues, would rather go to his mum, with his own.
I think that says okay things about him, and lovely things about his mum… but it also confirms what I have suspected my entire life.
I am of no use to anyone. There is nothing I can do that will ever make me contribute more than I take.
What is there, for a person like that? What can the point of their life possibly be? I am of use to neither beast nor man, and in a handful of years, I’ll have outgrown being any use as decoration, either.
I’m not surprised no one wants me around–all I do is talk about wanting to kill myself–but it’s a cyclic thing. If I thought anyone really needed me, I wouldn’t want to kill myself quite so much, but no one does, so I think what’s the point of it all, so no one thinks I can be trusted to be useful, so they don’t depend on me, so I want to kill myself because I’m useless, so I talk about it, so no one wants to trust me…. where does it all end?
In the River Tyne, with my pockets full of stones and my veins full of paracetamol, I suspect.