he talked about how men should treat women, how it was just wrong not to do certain things for women… hold open her car door for her, and hold other doors for her to enter first… and he did those things he always fussed about other guys not doing. how did i not see that those were the only kind things he did? how was i so blinded by them, that i missed the part where he was using me for sex, even though he had a good few other women regularly there for his “needs”, as he called it?
that’s what he said, you know. the he had needs; and I just couldn’t help him.
that was the accursed phrase that had me climb into his bed and offer myself to him, say that i wanted to be able to help him. that moment when i gave up on myself, in order, as i saw it, to care for this other in need. more like a full castration and a jaw wiring would have helped him (and the world) with his “needs” and his problems… and sometimes I wish I had had the sense to do that. it couldn’t have been too hard, to pull out some scissors or a chopping knife… right?
huh. the things these sorts of things do to us, to our minds. that i even have that idea is ridiculous. the pain i must have endured to want to cause such harm to another. as much as i may have wished to want to be compassionate, i couldn’t even spit out the words to ask for the ability to be compassionate – i didn’t want to have compassion; i wanted him to suffer that almost-unbearable pain.