June 7th, 2001

sleepy

(no subject)

Most people who know me know that I try to help . . . if I see someone in pain, I try to help them. That's just all there is to it.

But . . . I don't know that I can help. I seriously doubt it at times. I mean, my ex . . . I did everything I could for her, and still she said I just hurt her.

And people say that was just a fluke, that she's rewriting history, that she forgot all the good I did . . . except, back then, she said I was helping also. And I know that she would have said the same things if I'd been talking about someone I'd tried and failed to help before her.

And, yeah, I realize that this is perfectly consistent with the rewrote-history/forgot-what-I-did theory . . .

but how can I *know*?

How do I know I'm not just hurting those I care about? Again?

Now, when I want to help someone . . . I stop, and I think. Is this the right thing to do? How do I know this won't just hurt?

Do I dare risk it?

And more often than not, I conclude, no, I can't risk it . . . if I can't help, at least I can keep from doing any more damage.

And I don't even know if *those* decisions are hurting people.

I just . . . don't know. When do I talk? When do I listen? When do I offer support? When do I hug someone? When do I brush their shoulder, to let them know I'm here?

I used to know. I think. I don't anymore. It's all so indistinct . . . because I know that what I did before didn't work, and I don't know what to do anymore.

I don't even remember what it was like to know what I was doing.

Sometimes . . . sometimes if the person's really hurting, that all just breaks down and I do what I can and it all flows instinctively again. But then, after . . . I go over it again and again, and try to assure myself that I didn't just damage someone I cared about irreversibly. And I never know. What if this word was wrong? What if they were uncomfortable with me and I didn't know it? What if they don't feel like they can trust me anymore, but are trying to keep it hidden so *they* won't hurt *me*, and I'm too dense to notice?

Things My Ex Took From Me:

$200, which she insists she paid back, which I don't believe since it ain't in my bank account.
Several dozen good sci-fi and fantasy books.
My self-confidence.
Another $7 because she didn't get around to taking her phone bill off my credit card for a few months.

Hah. I just realized that my entries have been mostly relatively happy for a few weeks, and that chances are that that's all most of my new friend-list people have seen. Well, surprise surprise . . .
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