Giving my heart -- Selfishly

"I've learned what it means to really love your job and to truly take everything to heart in that regard.” While damaging at times, his…dedication [is] awe inducing.” That’s what Lizzie said she learned from me this year while working with me as an RA. These words made me cry. They filled me with such emotion – yes, joy, but some other emotions that I’m not sure I can put words to, only tears.

I’m not even sure why this particular thing got to me so much – in a good way. Maybe it’s because this, the fact that she got that out of me, shows me how much Lizzie really understands me. Some people don’t understand how I can genuinely love something that hurts me so much – and the RA job has hurt me at times. There is nothing more painful than walking into the middle of a conversation about how much of an asshole you are. The day-to-day grind of coming home to work in a place where people aren’t your friend and instead are scared of you, it’s taken its toll on me. While at first, walking into the lounge and a hush falling over the crowd is a feeling of power, it loses its novelty quickly and I just wanted to be treated normally. I wanted to yell at people and say, “I’m not an asshole, I’m just by the book. And trust me, the discipline you think you’re getting here, it’s nothing compared to what the real world has in store for you when you pull this shit out there.”

I’ve been told that sometimes people hate their RA until years later when they are removed and see what he’s actually done for them. The funny thing – I don’t care if people see that in a few years. Yes, I’d like them to, but I never did this job for them. I never did this job to “better the world” or to “make better human beings” out of my residents; I did it because I’m selfish. And no, not because of the money and selfishness of free room. I’m selfish because my biggest fear in life is to be forgotten, and I cannot fade to the background, and in a position as visible as I was (and am), I’d like to think it will be hard for people to forget me. I’m selfish in the fact that I did this job because I loved the job. (And still do. I’m just ready for it to be over.)

I’d like to consider myself a loyal person. In fact, I pride myself on my loyalty. And the only things I ever ask of my friends is honesty and loyalty. And I’m willing to let honesty slide as long as they’re loyal. And this job, well, it was my friend. I was loyal to it, and it to me. I loved it, and parts of it loved me. (How a job can love a person, I’m not entirely sure, but it’s the intangibles…I know it did.)

The point that I’m failing to find a segue to is that what Lizzie saw in my job is what I see in the way I handle relationships, both romantic and otherwise. Sometimes they hurt me, but I have an undying dedication and love, and yes, loyalty. People have hurt me, a lot more than I’ve ever talked about, in the past, and yet I still have a loyalty and dedication towards them. And I know I haven’t been hurt for the last time in my life, and I know that I’m going to continue to walk into oncoming traffic (proverbially speaking) over and over in my life, but I do it because I’ve never been good at pretending I don’t love something.

Y’see, when you give your heart to someone, they never give all of it back. They always break it a little, and it never fits together perfectly again because they’ve kept a piece of it. Some people never get over this pain and won’t ever give their heart again, or when they do, they take it back before it can be broken. I’m the opposite: I’m an emotional masochist. I’ll give you my heart if you ask for it. And I’ll give it completely. And when you don’t return all of it, I won’t get mad.

Maybe it’s because I’m so afraid of being forgotten, I figure that when someone has a piece of my heart, I cannot be forgotten no matter what. So when people try to cut me out of their lives but they have a piece of my heart, I get (some) solace in the fact that they still have a piece of me, whether they want it or not. They took it, and it’s impossible to give back. And y’know what? I’d never ask for it back. It’s worth the pain for me.

Is it selfishness? Perhaps. Am I so vain that I am willing to hurt myself just to be remembered? I’d like to think I’m not that mentally ill. Am I doing it to try to make the world a better place and to try and “fix” people? Hell no. I’m too selfish to want to fix people, and I’m smart enough to know it’s impossible to fix someone, especially when they don’t want to be fixed. So why?

Because it makes me genuinely happy to see other people happy. Because I’m such a hopeless romantic that I believe in the power of love. Because it hurts me to see the pain some people will put themselves through to keep others from hurting them.

But mostly? It’s because I’m afraid. I’m afraid to blend in. I’m afraid to be forgotten. And while my khakis and grey fleeces aren’t going to make me stand out on a street corner, my personality will. Because while people may never understand why I love things that sometimes hurt me – a lot, the fact that people understand that I love them makes all the difference to me. Because, well, I’m different, and I want to be remembered as that.

I guess in the end, it’s because I’ve never done anything for the recognition it may or may not get me, but dammit, it feels good to be recognized. And in recognition of what I do, I feel like, especially with Lizzie, I haven’t given my heart, but rather I’m sharing it.

So while giving your heart will never get it returned in one piece, sharing it – and having another heart shared with you – will make it stronger, since two people are caring for it instead of just one.

Lizzie, and everyone else I’ve worked with this year – and even though I don’t know if they read it, I will name David, Monica, and Matt – thank you. The fact that I’ve shared my heart with you four this year while it’s been broken by my job and by the rest of my life, there have been so many people helping me look after it that it’s stronger than it’s ever been.

I guess it was a selfish endeavor. I just hope that there’s someone out there for whom it was mutually selfish.