I’ve known a number of damaged people in my time. Mostly they were the victims of narcissistic or religious parents and many of them also suffered early loss of a sibling or other close relative with no opportunity to talk, grieve, or understand.

They all tend to be rule-followers. It’s rather obvious why, to me anyway. All kids misbehave, so it’s natural for a child to conclude that his or her misbehavior contributed to the tragedy. “If only I hadn’t …” is not a province exclusive to adults.

Maybe they like me because I don’t follow rules. Or perhaps it’s the disinterested counsel I provide (I’ve been told I can be a tiresome acquaintance but a good friend). I’ve had years to love and observe them.

Sadly, I’ve met a few whose self-protection is so extreme that they aren’t really having lives. They made decisions when they were young, decisions that closed doors to strong emotion, faith, hope and heroism, a choice which helped them survive their youth but which was never reviewed in the arena of maturity and latitude.

After awhile in a relationship with that sort of closed person, I just have to withdraw. It’s too painful for me to continue to witness it, and the future becomes too obvious, too sorry for me to stay to watch.

Here is a 14-line attempt to capture what I’ve seen:

I know a man who won’t allow a laugh
to leave his lips, although he’s been advised
to be amused. He really isn’t half
that serious; in fact he’s paralyzed
by fear of what more pain can do to him,
of what more life can take from him, of why
if God exists and rules He rules by whim
and how, no matter what, I too will die.

He knows a million words and makes no wit.
His gravity sucks every yawn or sneeze
back in, contracts his chest, his knees, his face,
and leaves a pursing mouth appropriate
for nothing but complaint. He cannot tease.
He will not play. He wants his own embrace.