Relationships are bank accounts. You make deposits and withdrawals and rack up a credit history with the love and treats and abuses and the multitude of logistical criteria that are the cash-in-hand of human interaction.
Lately, I've come to understand that this metaphor also includes a lot of foreign currency. Sometimes, you can exchange what you get at an agreeable rate. Sometimes, you can't. Sometimes, your currency's no good.
Over the past few weeks, I've had a crash course in this - the fact that sometimes, people around you just can't give you what you need. My realization of this began with the most major possible forced acceptance of the fact that I simply couldn't, for love or money or prayer or nagging or cajoling or pleading or grumbling, force somebody I care about to understand and meet my needs.
We all have a tremendously convoluted backstory. We're all trying. Love is a many-splendoured thing, but it sure ain't all you need.
I guess someone either meets your needs or they don't. And it's not their fault if they can't - really, it isn't.
I've come to realize that I've just got to accept the fact that they can't, and I can't, and it isn't anybody's fault. Mismatched needs are a fact. Like not being able to conjugate in Esperanto, or being allergic to Yellow #5. And to stop lying to myself that they can, and to be honest about the needs that I have to have met and not run around looking for shysterish ways to fill in the blanks.
'Cause I can't give everybody what they need, either, obviously. I try, but sometimes I fail. And I hope nobody begrudges me that too terribly deeply.
Oh - and to get to know myself a little better. 'Cause I'm so full of self-surprises, it bowls me right over.