Not a Man, a Vending Machine
The saddest part of a man's life is that he is loved for what he can provide. Not for what he is. Never for what he is. This provision spans everything from financial support to emotional support. You are the protector of your family. You are the financial backbone of your family. You are also the emotional counsellor of your family.
The moment you slip from any of these roles, you face your family's wrath for falling short. It's no surprise male suicide rates are the highest in the world. People refuse to acknowledge data staring them straight in the face. Imagine the plight of a man: he fucking kills himself and still goes unnoticed.
A man is never loved for who he is, what he likes, or what he wants in life. In fact, if what he likes doesn't align with what the family wants, he is the one who has to abandon his desires. And for that, he is mocked for having them in the first place. He can never figure out what he must do to be loved. So he puts up a strong persona. Tough guy. The one who helps everyone. And then he gets some acknowledgement. He mistakes that for love. In reality, that's acknowledgement of him providing something for the family.
He continues with the persona because the alternative, the one where he cries in sorrow, exhausted by the burden, is a sorry sight. That only invites disgust from his family. He has to cry in toilets. In bathrooms with the shower running so nobody hears him. He has to drown himself in alcohol just to forget his sorrow. He falls for women he shouldn't, simply because they showed him kindness.
A man lives a pathetic life if you look closely. Without a strong sense of identity and purpose, he will be lost in his own mental chaos. A man who can never cry becomes skilled at hiding it. He kills the child for the world, but inside he knows the child can never die. It surfaces when he is alone. At 2 am, when he is purchasing random toys from Amazon.
The toys aren't about him acting like a kid. They act as a catalyst, letting him experience the pure joy he last felt as a child. He isn't acting like a child, he's trying to bring that childlike joy back into his life. Because the whole fucking world disappointed that man, and nobody will give a shit if he hangs himself tomorrow. Even if he kills himself tomorrow, the first thought they'll have is who will fucking provide? Who will be their pillar?
I am not against fulfilling that role. It's a man's duty to do it, even though it's a thankless job. But sometimes a man deserves love too. Some warmth. Someone to be close to him, to listen to what he wants without accusing him of wanting it. Sometimes a man just wants someone who can treat him like a fucking human with a heart, not a vending machine.