Who's Gonna, . . . . .?

Last night, I found myself helpless, for the moment. I really needed some help last night. I needed the assistance of a man. No, NOT that kind!
I was really upset and I called on not one, or two, but three men for help. Know how many helped me? Zero. One was asleep, one never responded to my 911 text and the last one never answered his phone.
While I gathered my composure and got the job done on my own, I thought, "damn, not one of these men cared a damn about me!"
That is worse then a kick in the gut and I know this because I've been kicked in the gut before.
How did this happen? I've been there for all three of those sorry ass futhermuckers and not one cared enough about me or my emergency situation to help me.
My professors and my mentor are always on me about not asking for help when I need it. This is why. You get crushed most of the time. I'm fiercely independent. I like to think that I can do anything myself and last night was no different. Without so much as a pause, I went into survival mode. You'd be surprised at the things you can accomplish when you have no choice.
I cannot even remember the last time someone was there for me without conditions. Trusting is hard to do. I don't expect the world, but I expect that when I'm broken down enough to ask someone, a so-called friend to help me, that I receive that help. People let you down at the worst possible moments, no? I learned a lesson and I passed it on to my daughter. Your 'plan B' for life better be YOU, doing it all on your own.
Think about that the next time you get a phone call from a friend who really needs your help and you choose your selfishness instead. I'm out.