It has to be oneself – yourself – myself – but I don’t know if I can. How did I become so lost and reliant? These men – thank God for these men. When I’m with them, I forget my worries and doomed predictions. But can they smell my sadness, my pessimism that life is only getting worse, and not better? And I know that it’s because for the last two years nowhere feels like home. Not my apartment, not friends, not family. And when nowhere feels like home where else is left to go? How did I become a man of 40 who requires so much help, who struggles so profoundly with sadness? I am left needy. Needy, needy, needy. Needy of other people’s generosity and, oh how I hate needing generosity. Life is a power structure of needs, and those who can quench desires are always coveted above the rest. Which means I must make myself, my body, feel like home. And if I can do that, if I can feel safe and settled that life will be okay no matter where I am, perhaps I will be able to live a long life. Otherwise…I just don’t know.