There’s a reason that at the core of every male fantasy story…whether it’s an action/adventure, rpg-lit, harem fantasy, animal companion…literally all of them…no matter the other trappings…the core of the story is a confidant…an unquestioned friend…immune from that “inevitable betrayal” in so many stories, perhaps a psychic animal companion that knows one down to the core…and has your back nonetheless. Whether it’s a psychic connection, friend forged in battle, a lover (or lovers), whatever…the core of the fantasy is someone or something that knows everything about you and stands by you anyway.
The reason it’s a fantasy is it doesn’t really exist in the real world for most. Problems? Uncertainties? Lost? Are you a grown man? Then suck it up. Plaster on the smile. Work harder. Nobody gives a shit.
-Most of our friends aren’t that close.
-The “battle buddy” trope is rare beyond counting…most of them are more broken than you.
-The childhood friend that could have been a confidant grew up and has their own serious problems and concerns, or a long separation of time and distance inevitable in adulthood have stolen them away.
-The psychic sentient animal companion doesn’t exist.
-And our lady lovers, no matter how close or long term, do NOT want to see the weak side of our soul or try to answer the unanswerable or worse yet, get tainted attempting to fight the ever persistent dark we keep at bay. It’s not that they *won’t*…they *cannot*…and trying to force it would indelibly alter the relationship…and not in a good way.
-Professional help is a dangerous trap. Firstly, there is no fix. You’re normal. Second, they only care as long as the insurance check clears, and if you really opened up, well, there’s an entire class of law that requires them to explicitly report those things to the authorities that can and will deprive you of your lifestyle, your property, your rights, your freedoms, and indeed on occasion, your life. Then of course, they wash their hands of the issue, and go on to the next sucker. The males among them that have survived more than a few decades will be silently thankful *they* didn’t open up…even as they forget you. That’s if you’re normal. God help you if you aren’t.
Nobody that can…gives a shit.
And so we suck it up and work harder. Some of us lucky ones find release in our passions, and pushing ourselves right to the *very edge* in a number of pursuits. We’re the lucky ones. The rest? Well they litter the streets of every city in every industrialized nation. Unless they killed themselves…there’s a reason 70% of suicides are men. Nobody that can…gives a shit about that either.
Find your peace. Pursue it with passion. Fight to keep it.
And let me know if ya find one of those physic/sentient animal companions. I may need one.
Meanwhile I’ll just keep talking to my motorcycle.
I’ll see you on the road.