My back is sturdy, and strong.

Don’t get me wrong: I accept responsibility for this situation, such as it is. I know that I made my bed, and that really, I have no choice but to lie in it right now. But hell. The realization that it’s my fault doesn’t make it any easier to stomach the consequences in the present. I mean, that’s like telling a guy who runs a red light, causing an accident that kills his best friend, that he doesn’t have the right to mourn his best friend’s death since he’s the one who caused it. Jesus.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m mourning the situation I currently find myself in. Cut me some slack. I’ll get up and get over it eventually, and then I’ll start making some other bed, which will ultimately be more comfortable to lie in.

See, for whatever reason (nature? nurture?) I’ve lived my life wholly and without hesitation offering myself up to the people I care about. I can’t imagine it any other way, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. As a result, my nearest and dearest regard me as “Good ol’ dependable P/O,” or “Loyal and loving P/O.” Good qualities, all. Nothing to be ashamed of there, that’s for sure.

But see, the mistake I’ve made (of which I am somewhat ashamed and have only in the recent past begun to realize) is that while I’ve spent my life willingly bending over backwards to meet the needs and demands of others, I’ve also made it a habit to render myself as needless as possible, thereby demanding little to nothing from them. This is a problem. It’s inhuman. And I even think that for many years I took some perverse pride in shouldering all my burdens alone—as if sharing a load would be a sign of incorrigible weakness. And so now I find myself here, wishing I could do some sharing, and knowing that it’s my own fault that I can't.