Dubhacas

A moment of weakness...

Last night the Dubhcas tempted me.

In a shameful time of weakness I wrote this;

  I nearly lost it today.

    Which is the bad thing , I, almost cared about being Alone.

I cant allow that to happen.

    I cannot allow myself to care.

    Because if I care, then it means that being alone matters, and if being alone matters, then I matter.

    I cannot believe I matter.

    I mean nothing.

    I am merely a means to an end.

    I have no worth or value, only what I provide, what I give, what I have to give holds any significant meaning or value.

    Every woman in my life has  worked diligently to ensure that I know that I am worthless, meaningless, insignificant.

My mother was first to instill that lesson.

My wives were next.

Even my daughters…

This is the reality of being a man, a father, a husband.

    I am at best, on my best day a stepping stone and a paycheck.

    Nothing more, nothing else.

    I almost screwed up today and cared about that reality.

    Can't have that happening.

    Can't be allowed to feel, to desire, to care.

    Because, I am a man.

    If a man desires anything for himself, he is selfish and greedy.

    If a man desires comfort, compassion or God forbid, Love, then the man is weak  and useless.

    If a man desires recognition, or demonstrates any shred of dignity, self respect or confidence then that man is a narcissist.

    If a man dares to say no, to being used, abused, put down, cast aside ...

    That man is accused of being an abuser.

    So,

    All considered it is better to be alone.

Being alone and pretending not to care.

    Should I post this?

    Is writing this a surrender to caring?

    Am I being narcissistic, weak and pathetic for caring?

    Does it matter?

    Does what I think or feel matter?

    🤔

    No it doesn't matter.

    Some will read this and secretly agree.

    I think most will shriek denial of the facts.

    The shriekers being precisely those interested in the status quo.

    Can't have the stepping stones getting above themselves now can we?

    And Why do I care about the shrieking horrors?

    Why do I care what they think or demand of me?

    That,

    That is the mystery isn't it?

Now in this, the light of day, Coffee in hand I peer at these words I wrote in the hour of the wolf.

And find once again the strength not to care and hit the post button…

What I think, as a man means nothing after all.

Merely meaningless whispers lost in the winds.

How much of this is sarcasm? How much truth?

I honestly do not know.

It was the thoughts that plagued me at three am.