fucked up men

Fucked up men are my favorite.  Why is that?

My dad was a fucked up man, certainly.  That’s part of my domestic violence baggage set.  Hahahaha.  Yeah, I have the large suitcase with wheels, the garment bag, the medium suitcase, and some kind of bathroom bag.  The carry on, for sure.  But it must be more than that.

Pondering fucked up men intently last night, I had a conversation with my spouse.  We were in the car.  My spouse was driving to drop of Thanksgiving food for a stranger who asked for leftovers on a social media group.

My spouse has a great heart.  But he also has a lot to work around and cope with.  Disabilities, quirks, and patterns of poor choices that make trouble in our lives to this day.  In some ways, he could be seen as fucked up.  He definitely has his challenges.

But he is not a man.  He doesn’t act testosterone poisoned, and he doesn’t push anyone to get his way.  He doesn’t use force out of selfishness.  Showing up to nurture me and others is fun for him, not a chore to avoid.  He knows how to love and enjoys it.

I do not have the same problems with him that I have with fucked up men.


A good friend is having a problem with a fucked up nonbinary person who she’s in relationship with.  The nonbinary person is avoidant, not a good communicator, withdraws a lot.  They’re polyam with multiple partners they treat like crap, as I see the situation from here.

My friend was upset about the latest painful betrayal and is analyzing the relationship.  As she cries, she tries to figure stuff out.  She bemoans herself and others.

She recently realized she had wanted to save the avoidant partner.  It was a big deal to admit.


It made me wonder about me.  Do I want to save the fucked up men?  Is that why I keep getting mixed up with them?

No, I find the whole idea of saving people repulsive.  It’s not for me to seek out a lost cause or rescue anyone.  And who am I, to think I know better how to live.  I’m trying to figure out how to live myself, all the time.

But I am motivated by care, and I do want to help.  I see pain and want to ease it.  I see folly and after some time will point out a notion I think might be helpful.  Being helpful is part of my nature.

It’s part of my spouse’s nature too.  That’s why we were driving downtown to a random apartment complex across from a hotel, to hand off stuffing, veggies, and other holiday foods to a stranger.


I want to be helpful to just about everyone.  But the difficulty is when the person is very charming and beautiful, and I start acting stupid.

Beautiful not like male models in GQ magazine, but my own weaknesses.  Hippies, long haired anarchist activists, vulnerable creative addicts with gorgeous handwriting.  You know me.  A dommy fem-dude with a caring veneer and gay mannerisms who has some of the language of emotional skills, but doesn’t really show up for anyone.  That’s my danger person.

Yes, my drive for helpfulness is not the problem.  Getting super attached to someone with low skills is the problem.

melted heart

Charm is how I get confused.  I see the gleam of love in a genius’s eye, and my heart melts.

Well, I should put my heart back in the freezer, so it can re-solidify.  It’s not appropriate and will be my demise.

Please, dear Nest.  His care is fleeting or an act to begin with.  Don’t let your heart melt for men with low skills.  You don’t need to put up with excessive bullshit, in order to get petted.  The world is full of people who know how to love, and you are friends with several of them.  They will pet you.

Please give your energy to your spouse and to friends with skills.  Don’t give your energy to a sharp-as-a-whip cranky ass who will use you as you for all you have.  And please don’t endanger your housing.


There’s a beautiful man we live with who has chronic shoulder and neck pain, like me.  When he tells me he hurts, I want to go to him and put my hands on him, massage his neck and shoulders, and help ease his suffering.  I could learn where he likes to be rubbed.

It’s almost painful for me, to hear he’s hurting, know I could help, and not touch him.  But I know!  If I put my hands on him, and he responds with pleasure, I will not want to stop.  I will respond to his moan, learn how hard and where to touch, and love him more than I already do.  We will begin to need one another.  Things will get complicated, and he will hurt me.

Yes, that is inevitable.  And I will not want to live here anymore.  It will become too stressful, to see him in the kitchen and eat dinner with him.  I know myself well enough to know I will be in love within minutes, and he will not.  He doesn’t have the skills to do love the way I need it.

No, I can’t ruin my housing.  I need to keep distance from these people we live with, especially fucked up men.  Please say a prayer for me.


I’m sorry touch is so sexualized in our culture.  Then in my own body, it’s sexualized also.  I wish I could touch everyone without falling in love with them.

In a way, I wish I didn’t fall in love with everybody.  But in another way, I like that about myself.  I interpret the bonding cues as well as I can, pay attention because I can’t turn it off, remember and care because I can’t turn those off either, and hope for the best.

I can’t control how I feel, but I can mostly control my behavior.  Once touch is involved and the oxytocin starts pumping like mad, I’m lost.  As long as I can keep my hands off these people, I should be ok.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

5 replies on “fucked up men”

Thanks for being real, Nest. Personally, I’m a dropout with diy collectives because of these dynamics. A lot of people need a lot of self care and a lot of professional care, and often getting those needs met comes tied to capitalism that sometimes can offer more resources than diy and communal spaces can offer. Predation or lack of reciprocity seems bound to happen in these spaces because not enough resources and emotional labor is available from the get-go. When I took a look at my own ability as an at-times toxic male, or as an inconsistently emotionally available person, I decided to lower the bar with trying to jump in these sorts of situations where I just I knew I couldn’t reciprocate as I once hoped and others hoped as well. I hope some of these men you speak of can realize this and find the self care they need if they cant give something back to someone that is needing or wanting it. I commend you for your efforts to work in these spaces and follow your heart, and I hope you can follow it without feeling it’s necessary to take too big of a risk with people that aren’t worth your efforts. Then again, maybe trial and error and learning from each individual is inevitable in your deeper questions of how to cultivate consistent love in community? Thanks for letting me take up a little time with my thoughts and rantings. 🙂 Hugs

good morning. thank you for these thoughts. I enjoy learning how it is, from your perspective. I don’t want to engage diy care that fails, or professional care that fails. both have their hazards, but at least the diy mental health, for example, is cheaper.

thank you for your good wishes and for your appreciate of how I do community. yes, the learning experience is valuable.

Sorry about going off about my personal disenchantment with attempts at counterculture Nest. I was mostly speaking to your example of sensitive idealistic hippie men who seem to maybe cause more problems than actually help in these spaces, and their motives for being in those spaces, even if innocent and aloof enough as opposed to downright malicious. I just wonder if they could have more agency elsewhere in the larger society or they could get care through insurance rather than take up space from people who opt for DIY care because it’s cheaper and they absolutely need it.

o ok, thank you for clarifying. I hear you about available resources. and I hear you about malicious vs clueless or confused or just having a different project. thank you for chiming in, and good luck with your needs.

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