After a few months of my intense ‘neediness’ heightening (noticing my avoidant/distancing parts receding and the needy parts becoming more powerful and all consuming), I experienced my needs being expressed loudly and with agonising urgency and passion, and then experienced having the needs MET by Mark… which has been so deeply healing. And the one occasion where he missed a cry for help and we worked on it tenderly and with genuine compassion and holding. I thought I’d write a poem about the experience because it’s been so huge.
‘Need’ – turns out it’s not a dirty word,
Deserving of shame and contempt.
And maybe I’m not too much…
Just the people I was asking, had nothing to give.
All those years…
Believing I was a damn needy child.
To ask for anything, felt like I was robbing a charity…
Their need always greater than mine.
Of course they held on tight
To what little they had.
I’d give them the shirt off my back if it made them stay.
Two sizes too small but they squeezed themselves into it anyway.
Leaving me naked and wanting.
Bone dry with need.
Always so fucking thirsty.
Gasping for a drop,
Tapping their dry wells.
Trying to get what I needed,
From desert folk.
‘You were starved of what you needed as a child…’
Starved of what you needed.
What you needed.
How can a need be wrong?
Being starved is what’s wrong!
Always so fucking hungry and empty with the aching pain of it.
Hollow and gulping down the shame of the need in an attempt to fill up the gaping spaces inside me.
Who wouldn’t need, when they’ve been starving all their life.
Spent all my life pushing it down under the water.
It haunted me.
It screams beneath the surface of the ice.
Drowning in its own expansive emptiness.
It lies there like a turgid corpse,
Glass eyed face pressed against the frozen blanket of silence – full of its own want.
Staring up at me through the freezing glass.
I stare back like my life depends on it…
A sense of so much wasted time,
Urgently, impatiently waiting for the cracks, the heat of another, the thawing.
Waiting for the hand.
And this time – a hand is willingly given.
With no catch?
Some people want to help!
My needs don’t scare him.
When able, he’ll meet them,
Fill the cup,
Offer the plate,
Wrap with a blanket,
Extend a hand.
And when it can’t be met,
It’s felt through with kindness.
An open hearted kindness that’s so fucking gentle it’ll blow your skin off with it’s delicate touch.
Tenderly, tenderly exposing the naked need.
And the hand
There’s no rush. Slowly, slowly.
‘One little piece at a time’.
And I learn…
Met needs don’t breed…
Like the rapidly multiplying cells of a bacterial culture in a pitri dish.
Like flakes of snow on a river.
And slowly, slowly
The ice cracks,
The barrier melts.
A hand is grasped.
A breath is gasped
And many more!
Delicious and satiating.
And life feels a little easier to live.