It’s happened again, of course. I’ve come to expect the average life span of a friendship is one year precisely. I’ve come to accept it.
It is my intention to break free of the social norms people place on themselves and each other in order to restrict, to keep in line and to suffocate. I refuse; there are no rules, except those which I make for myself. Evidently this makes me unashamedly ruthless, it makes me independent, fierce and strong, intolerant of sheep and of optimists. It makes me eternally realistic. It makes me disagreeable. And it’s acceptable to be this way, as long as you are this way silently. People don’t like to hear your opinion if it is not the same as theirs; they don’t like you doing things they’d consider to be morally incorrect, as if it will tip the perfectly mediocre balance of their mundane lives.
It’s too much effort for people to attempt to alter their views in order to see yours. It’s too much effort for me to passively smile and agree. Oh I could stop, halt my opinions and to consequently cease living and rather, merely exist. They’d certainly like it better that way; pacify the opposing, be rid of conflict and challenge. Be ordinary, as if that is some sort of a life. I love my friends don’t get me wrong but shit, at times it’s barely tolerable.
It’s up to me: Do I stay silent and “morally correct” in order to extend said friendship life expectancy? It’s easy for them to disregard me if I don’t. The answer: Fuck no.
So I go. I will be fine, it matters little to me. I will leave and they will think I’m hurt but I am not hurt, only disappointed. But disappointment fades too. Expectations and assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups. How could I have expected more from them; how dare I?
Of one thing I am certain: People love me intensely and then detest me as equally and passionately as the former. Sure, I’ve made some enemies, and good. At least I’ve stood up for something.
But oh no, what about my reputation? Oh that’s right. I don’t care.
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