The Giving Me
NOTE: THIS IS NOT HOW I FEEL ANY LONGER IN GENERAL.
I wrote this during a particularly dark period of my life thus far. I'm posting another one soon that gets even more in depth, and is more...raw. I'm a little nervous about that actually. I realize there are run-ons that would make the english teachers of the world cringe, but its intended to be written as my thought process, sort of, as most of you can probably tell so I really don't know why I'm explaining it.
Sometimes I feel in similar ways still, but not to this extent. I'm happy now. I can say that with confidence. A big part of it is that I have new, better, friends, while keeping one or two of the old ones on the side.
Comment if you wish. Oh, and the title 'The Giving Me' is a reference to one of my favorite children's books: "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein.
The Giving Me
Sometimes I feel like sitting somewhere else at lunch.
My friends- people I have known since kindergarten- laugh around me. Chatter chatter little monkeys, small mouths made big with giggling, hah-hah that’s funny nice-but-mean words. White teeth and freckled faces, braces and glittering eyes.
Did you hear? Did you listen? She did this, he said that...
Maybe it’s no wonder they can’t hear me.
I sit there everyday, butt too big for small seat, elbows bowed awkwardly, bent head and slight smile. Vacant, glass eyes, stare stare stare- Do you hear what you’re saying? Even if you can’t hear me, can’t you hear yourself? Mean words, forget, unimportant, and it’s not like you notice, not like any of you think about it. Not like it matters when it’s not about you- but you don’t think like that, you don’t even realize what you’re doing, do you? You’re not evil, you’re not bad, you just don’t notice, you don’t think, don’t care enough to look deeper, because I stay, I stay, I stay even though I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you, scream and yell and ask you, cry to you why you treat others this way- why you treat me this way...
What did I ever do to you, anyway?
I thought I was a good friend, I thought I treated you right. So why did you never give back, why did you never repay?
You get what you give- can that be a lie?
It’s not like I don’t have other friends. It’s not like I don’t know what’s real. It’s not like I don’t know that you are less than a friend, a fair-weather friend, with smiles and hugs and laughter, not like me with smiles and hugs and tears and love-
And love. Love, love, love, love, love!
These other friends of mine- they’re real. I know they’re real. They ask and they look and they love and they help and they don’t want anything back! For years I’ve done that for you, asked for nothing in return- waiting, waiting, waiting, sure that you would do the same when the time came, sure that you would be there-
But you left. You left and you didn’t say sorry. You left me, never came, never bothered, just passed me by and forgot- forgot that you left me waiting there, with empty promises that I believed with all of my heart because I would have done it for you again and again and again-
And I don’t trust you anymore.
I hate thinking people bad. I don’t like to be bitter and angry, but this is too much. And it was all the little things, all piling up- little things, but significant things.
I hobbled along on crutches, could not carry my books. From across the hall there comes a friend- she spotted me alone. People crowd around but she came anyway- she came, she came, and she helped me, without my asking, chatted cheerfully and smiling, books that are not hers held in tiny arms as I walk beside and listen, and watch...
She did all that for me? A tiny voice within me whispers. And I am touched, quaking down to my toes. I want to laugh, I want to cry as I see more and more and more of those little gestures- those attempts so kind. Those hugs and laughs that feel real and don’t make me worry or wonder and don’t hurt where they’re supposed to heal-
I see you, and I struggle with my books. You notice me, you look at me, and you do nothing. Please, can you help- and I voice it out loud. A switch is flipped- and you are smiles and hugs and helping hands- ‘oh of course, of course, here let me get that, how are you today? Haven’t seen you in a while-’
And when I get in a play, I am one of the lead roles. It’s my first ever, and I practice for months. I chatter and talk so excitedly, so happy, happy, please, please come, here’s the dates and I have some extra tickets if you can’t afford them I have to do an accent and be someone older and I’m so excited I can’t believe I’m doing this will you please come?
None of you do. One of the others does, a new friend from sports. She came, she came and she said hi and told me that I was wonderful and then she has to go but she came- she came. There are six performances, and that is the only one. My family comes to nearly every night, and they give me flowers and hugs and love and they’re real-
And I was there, I was there for your plays and your awards and your nights and your days and I was there- you didn’t have to ask because I came, I came. I was happy, oh so happy and proud- look see, there’s my friend, that’s my friend, they did that, aren’t they great? -and clap, whistle hard until I can hardly breathe, and I’m laughing and crying and so happy I could make it because you smile at me- you smile and in that moment you are real because I was there-
When my birthday comes, I call you all. Sorry, sorry, can’t make it, sorry. Some of you come, but others blow empty apologies because when I miss your birthdays I get you a present anyway, or when you can’t have a party I throw you one, because I want to see you smile and hug me and love- and be there, be there, be there, like I am for you, because it’s really just that simple. Be there and be there and be there because it’s what I would do for you. Be here please be here- is it so hard to do? Am I that horrible; are you that ashamed of me? I know I’m not brave and I’m not fun but can’t you be here for me?
So why am I holding on? Why do I stay behind? I see them there; my others friends, and I want to join them in kind. They’re as real as I can get here, and far more real than you. If they could have, they would have, been there long before you. And how could I dump them like that? They deserve so much more. Why do I stay back, when I see real love there?
I don’t want to leave you all behind, though you may have done so for me. Still now I can’t think you bad- I just want you to be here for me.
Is that so much to ask? Is that so very hard?
Is it too much to ask, to get what I give in return?
When I’m whittled down to nothing- is that when you’ll finally see? When you’re old and grey and you’ve forgotten me, will you sit and have a talk with me?
Will you say you’re sorry? Will you finally care? With a wavering voice will you finally whisper, to my equally wasted ears:
“Thank you, thank you, for always being there.”
Because I will be here. I know I will. And you will take and I will give-
And I will wait to hear those words from you.
Even though I want to break away. I’ll stay, I’ll stay.
Someday, you may give to me in return.