When I give, I give myself.
This is a truism of what I am. A fact. The reality of me. For better or worse. Actually I’m learning it’s for the worse. All for the worse.
There seems to be not a person in existence who can understand this of me. Nor will there ever be, it is becoming abundantly clear, for the rest of my life. Not even the one person in the world who I thought would understand this and value it … no, not in the slightest. And this non-understanding hurts more than any broken back (and I know, I’ve had one). Heart vs back … heart hurts way more.
When I give, I give myself. Whether that be an antiquarian book, a simple favour that was asked, or a piece of poetry written specifically for you, I give you me. Dismiss the giving, the gift, as trivial and insignificant if you wish—it is your right to do so—but understand in so doing you trample on my heart. Even if it is a crappy poem, I poured my soul and my heart into it and it is offered to you with everything I have. *I* am offered to you. Even if it is only something I purchased, I searched and chose it specifically for you, with you in my heart, and I give you my heart and my soul along with the gift.
When you give me a gift, I treasure it. Whether that be a handwritten note, a poem, something purchased, a hand-made card, flower petals in an envelope, something silly from the joke shop, a bookmark, a burned cd. I treasure the gift. I treasure that you have thought enough of me to do it, I treasure the act of it having been given to me, no matter who you are. But if you are someone dwelling in a spot of my heart, even more so.
And so the inevitable is that I am crushed, because when I give, I give myself. And when you take, you take of me. And when you dismiss the gift and the giving as nothing, you dismiss me as nothing. And my heart will break, every time. Because you have taken a part of me (a part of my heart and my soul) and thrown it away
Am I very weird for being like this? Am I an anachronism? Is this one of those arseholey traits of gifted adults along with the horrid extreme sensitivity, the overflowing empathy? Am I wrong for this?
Here I am, trying to work it out in words, as usual, and I never, never will. The cycle will continue on.
And the one person who I want more than anyone in the world to understand this, won’t even glance at this. Pointless.
It’s all pointless. The giving, the explaining, the hurting … not worth anything to any other being in this entire universe beyond me. I don’t know whether the hurt is worth the bother.
When I give, I give myself.
I wish someone could understand that.