You cried out in the middle of the night. I answered your pleas and helped to the best of my ability.
A few days later, you beg for help once again. I come to your aid and held your hand a second time.
The third time you reached out for help, I reached out and wanted to help, but you ignored me.
I sat and worried until I saw a status update on social media, then a sigh of relief escaped my lungs.
The fourth time you reached out, I again offered comfort, yet you continued to ignore me.
My mind screams, I want to help you, but I can only meet you halfway.
Finally, after rejecting my help many times, you ask me for the one thing I refuse to give, money.
I know your past and your warts; I know what tempts you.
I'll fill your fridge, I'll fill your tank, I'll let you shop in my pantry, but money is my hard limit.
I'll give you a safe person to talk to. I'll never let you go hungry. I'll listen even when I'm exhausted. I'll pay you for work you do for me, but I won't ever give you a handout.
You respond by calling me names and tell me I'm the worst person in the world.
I know that's not true, but it cuts my soul like a knife.
Weeks later, you cry out again, begging once again for help. I reach out, only to hear nothing from you.
I've given all I can until you reach back.
Please stay safe and know I'm here when you're ready to accept help, not handouts.