Одиночество мужчин *меня покорил этот текст*)))) Иногда я...

Loneliness of men
* this text captivated me *))))

Sometimes I think with horror what it feels like to be a man.
By and large, no one thinks about him, about a man. How does he feel?
They think more about seals and fur seals.
All (we will not point fingers) think only about loves, dislikes. Does not do. Will come, not come. Change, will not change. A woman dependent on a man is like a prisoner, whose arms were twisted and tied with elbow joints to someone else. To her man. A little he stirs, she hisses- "it hurts me!" When he freezes, she yanks - why are you frozen? you are alive? Do you belong to me?
This I exaggerate, as always. But by and large, look in the mirror. A woman who can either really expect nothing from him or who he calls his mother can really think of a man.
More and more of my acquaintances men complain of loneliness. They look lonely. Choose loneliness. Sometimes they need us to just stroke them and not ask questions. To my shame, I can stroke, but in most cases I can not resist the questions. Because I'm worried about myself. Does he relate to me. Most of my women acquaintances, one way or another, do not wash so much as pulling the attitude out of men. At least some.
Meanwhile, the man gets tired and closes his eyes. He no longer wants to see neither his business, nor his woman, nor his global responsibility for everything. If he doesn’t succeed, he’s an asshole. He lives with the feeling "I'm an asshole," and he does not have the magic word "on the other hand." This is all easier with us. I'm not all right at work, but my husband is good. I have no husband, no work, but my legs. And the chest. Well, yes, I'm fat, but Katya is even thicker. For men, this "for some reason" does not work. Their rules are honest, strict and simple. You have big eggs, but no career? Well, you and asshole. You have a bentley, but no beloved woman? Well, you and asshole. Do you have a beloved woman, but no bentley? well you and asshole!
They are forever embedded in competition - once, and in the hierarchy - two. They always find out which of them is a puppy and which is the main one on the site. And sometimes, when they come home, they just want to lie face down and close their eyes. Lonely. Because if not alone, then again an asshole. Wimp and tufta. I could never be a man. I am a wimp and a bastard, and often roar under the covers. And no one will say a word to me. I won’t say a word to myself. But real heroes have a strict taboo on self-pity.
I was young, and my husband was building a business. In the 90s. He came home and lay down with his eyes closed. And I wanted him to talk to me. And he spoke. Barely alive from fatigue.
Then, already in my unmarried life, I wanted something else from my beloved men. To love. To get married. To roses. Do not hurt me. Do not move. Or not. Stir - and do me good. What do they feel? The farther into the forest, the less I understand this. And when I have enough imagination to imagine that sometimes they just need to be accepted and understood, and silent, and brought tea, and all this - not today and not tomorrow, but for a long, long time, until everything works out - then it seems to me that I understand everything. Then the floor disappears, and there are simply two adults left who can do something good for each other. Supportive. Friendly. Loving.
For the first time in my life, I seriously think about it. It seems to me that they are becoming more and more lonely and abandoned against the background of all these courses for bitch and female independence. And they cannot tell anyone about this, about this growing loneliness of their own. And from this pitiful place, from this anxiety, I no longer get anything from a man to want. Although from the point of view of successful women, I get a complete asshole. After all, I don’t have a fur coat, a husband and even a regular “good night” sms. Therefore, do not take an example from me, do not.