L

The moment he told them

he was with me, the alarm bells

sounded

and our friends told him,

stop.

think.

someone should warn you.

They were right, of course.

I left him quickly, and went back

to life the next day, while

he fought to stop wondering,

did I imagine the spark

beneath her words

that draws me?

He did. But so have others.

The spark,

by any other name

is a sadness or lament or

self-loathing.

I use it to trick men into thinking I'm real.

I sometimes think that in many ways, I'm worse now than I once was. I have a story to tell about that.

It was January or February - I had recently moved into my current apartment - and I was with my friend John at a bar by my place. He and I have known each other for a few years and we occasionally speak candidly with one another, which is a rarity, at least for me.

--

Now, I once wrote about someone I met who I likened to you. There have been a few men who I've mistakenly thought were like you, but they've all turned out to be manipulative assholes and this was no exception. When I met this person, we spoke for hours about books and he told me he knew I was hiding who I really was. He commended me on the quality of the front I put up. I've since learned that this is a trick; I hope to never fall for it again. Kids, if anyone ever claims to know you better than you know yourself, run.

The next time I ran into this man I didn't know how to act. I had, hardly knowing him, introduced him to a part of myself that I didn't want others to find. I had tried to write to him to explain that and to tell him that he had disarmed me by reminding me of you, but he hadn't responded. I didn't know what he would do. He cornered me, away from everyone else, and started to lay into me. He told me he didn't like me, and he brought up all the insecurities I had confessed to him to tell me why.

This happened the next time we met as well. And the next.

--

At the bar, John told me that he had noticed the way this man had been coming after me. He added that the man had recently shared my messages to him with our group of friends, laughing at my stupidity and blind trust.

John said that the group had decided that this was unacceptable. They decided to protect me, and if necessary, to choose me over my attacker. But this wasn't what I wanted.

I hope human beings are all entitled to an ungrounded belief or two, because I had at least this one: if we could understand each other's intentions - the meanings behind the words - we would love each other. Or more specifically: if I succeed in being understood, I will be loved.

I wanted him to understand the way you did. I wanted to feel loved so I reached out to an angry and broken man who reminded me of you in your most miserable state and treated him like he could calm my turbulent mind. Of course he reacted violently. Of course I became the victim. Of course the cavalry would come.

--

My friends don't realize that I knew, or likely should have figured, that this would happen. The effects were due either to my intention or to my neglect to think things through.

I feel that years ago I wouldn't have been capable of such manipulation. My conscious would have stopped me. My sense of shame would have led me to pull out of the group. Something would have clicked.

That feeling is probably wrong. I have always been like this. I may always be like this, no matter how hard I try to become self-aware and to fight it. And I can't effectively tell John to stop thinking of my role in the conflict as passive; I'll only martyrize myself further. I can only write these words in hopes that someone finds them and understands.