The unbearable loneliness of friendship & other relationships
How relationships of varying natures slowly broke me
For a TL;DR scroll all the way to the end
A while ago (but still fairly recently) a TikTok creator posted a video of themselves telling how, from childhood onwards, they had been told they were “too much” (making air quotes with their fingers) and not until they were well into adulthood learned they were neurodivergent. The video seemed to resonate with a lot of viewers who each commented to share identical or similar lived experiences. So I jokingly commented “brb updating my online bios to say ✨too much✨” with no intention of actually doing what I’d just commented… except then I actually did decide to update several of my online bios/profiles to include the descriptor “✨too much✨” (the sparkles included to denote sarcasm).
Am I neurodivergent? Possibly. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I don’t care to know. In my drafts is a long elaborate piece delving into this that I may publish another day—or not.
Am I a lot or even “too much”? Abso-effing-lutely—and while I am less apologetic about that nowadays than I used to be, it’s not something I am proud of either. All throughout life I’ve done a lot of work attempting to become a better person, but I doubt I’ll ever be normal or good enough for most other people. At best I’ve changed from someone who was almost universally unlikeable to someone who is likeable enough for some. I am still awkward, socially inept, weird, obnoxious, unintentionally antisocial… still trying to grow, still finding I am too much. And I am sorry.
Most days I can’t even stand myself, so I certainly don’t expect others to put up with me. And I am truly grateful for those who do, because I appreciate it’s no easy feat. But I’ve also chosen to withdraw more, mostly for fear of overburdening true friends (and possibly losing them), but also prevent a repetition of damage done in the past.
For better, for worse
There are a few people in my life who haven’t stopped reaching out, even as their own lives threw them challenge after challenge and dealt them blow after blow. They never stopped being there for me, even though I haven’t been able to be there for them as much as I would like to have been, or couldn’t be particularly helpful or supportive to them (either due to my circumstances or because of my too-much-ness and/or other flaws). And I know friendships aren’t (or at least shouldn’t be) transactional, but I feel guilty and I don’t want to call on them when I have little or nothing to offer in return. So I find myself pulling back from the best, kindest, most beautiful human beings I know.
If you are one of those wonderful people and you are reading this: I am sorry. You do not owe me anything. I love and appreciate you more than I will ever be able to express to you and, knowing the harm I can do (even though I never mean to) I need to protect you from me, especially while worse and until better.
It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me
Most – not all – of my failed relationships (familial, friendships, other) likely failed because of me, for reasons touched on above and in other posts; I recognise that. It doesn’t matter that I never intended to hurt anyone: some people got hurt as a result of me being me. But most – not all – now former relationships ended simply because over time people fell out of loving/liking me for being unexciting, uninteresting, and… too much.
For lack of better
Nothing of what I am about to write is about assigning blame. It would make no difference.
I truly believe most now former friends or partners did at some point like or even love me, but sooner or later found they no longer did (though few ever admitted this). Again, I understand that. But I also think that for several former friends or partners I either always was or at some point became a means to an end or someone they hung onto for lack of better. And that’s something I’m not here for.
One aspect of life that I’ve always struggled with is how normal people – people who, unlike me, aren’t labelled weird and haven’t ever been told they’re too much – tend to maintain friendships with people they don’t like or stay in relationships with people they don’t love. In my naiveté it took me way too long to realise that for several people, I was that friend or partner. And with that came the realisation that it’s unlikely I’ll ever be anything more than that to anyone.
In every serious romantic relationship I’ve ever had, I was cheated on (and blamed for being cheated on). I’ve casually dated men who earned more than me and paid for our dates, but I’ve never had a spouse provide for me, cook me a meal, or share household responsibilities with me; in some of these relationships I was the breadwinner and they fell apart as soon as I was no longer able or willing to be. I was only ever good enough in the absence of something or someone better—which I think is the foundation of many relationships but not any one that I would want to find myself in again, so I stopped dating.
As for several now former friends… For some time I served a purpose, I guess, compromising my own integrity in my desire to be their good friend, covering for affairs and purchases and doing other things that need to remain secret; nothing illegal, but also nothing I would ever expect a friend to do for me. Then when I reached out for support – nothing illicit! – I found my numbers and messaging and social media accounts abrupty blocked.
Was I foolish? Yes, I was. Did I learn? Yes, I did. Did I repeat my mistakes? Also, yes. Because no friendship should be transactional I don’t look at who gives back. And it’s not about what someone is able or unable to do. But I learned to take notice of those who never even show any desire to give unless there’s something to be gained.
Brexit, COVID-19, cozzie livs
Brexit made its impact (again). Then the COVID-19 pandemic took hold. Almost every friend or acquaintance who lived (reasonably) local to me moved away, either to a different region of the UK or a different country altogether.
One former colleague tried to tempt me to leave the UK and follow where he’d moved to, and at least part of me wanted to but the timing wasn’t right. By the time it was, I no longer could. I had trapped myself in the country I once deeply loved that has since made it clear it doesn’t want me anymore. I mention this because the grief I’ve felt over that is similar to the grief I’ve felt after bereavements and breakups and over lost friendships.
I had been making a rather good living and built up savings again, but the pandemic caused my livelihood and mental health to implode, so I did what I’d done after the 2008 crisis: take any job I could get and do whatever it takes to pay the rent. So I went from accumulating a comfortable income through office contractor/temp jobs and home-based freelance gigs to depleting my savings and maxing out my credit while working manual jobs on starvation wages. I mention this because I can tell you from my lived experiences that any shift you make from white collar work to blue collar work is a guaranteed way to lose friends. Because that’s when you find that you have supportive friends who will say they are proud of you for doing everything you can to survive, and horrified friends who will tell you that you that certain types of work are beneath you (when they likely mean that the work and anyone doing it is beneath them).
Meanwhile it seemed nice to suddenly be contacted by friends, former colleagues and acquaintances I hadn’t been in touch with for months or even years1, people who suddenly found themselves with fewer commutes and in-person social events, thus more time as well as more loneliness. But soon it took a turn, and I chose to disassociate once people started espousing toxic positivity revival, conspirituality, and… fascism.
First I blamed it on being in a different headspace: Forced to take health risks, I had less time at home and was physically and financially exhausted. My struggle was clearly different to other people’s and the wellness, toxic positivity and spiritual hoohah they clung to for support felt naive or tone-deaf at best and offensive at worst2. It’s easy to ignore from strangers, not so much when it comes from family or friends.
I would spend an eleven-hour work day in uncomfortable low-quality PPE and come home to messages warning about supposed dangers of face masks (ignoring centuries of medical history). I would attend my clinical appointments as an unpaid volunteer in successive SARS‑CoV‑2 vaccination trials and come home to public social media posts and private messages confidently screeching that vaccinations would do more harm than good. People I once held dearly, whose public online presence to this day includes rainbows, flags, and BLM hashtags started sending me private messages sharing ableist, racist and transphobic talking points.
And then the cost of every-day survival started really biting, which opened another way of losing friends: MLMs, (coaching & other) side hustles, and other grifts. People sending emails, Zoom/WebEx/Teams invites or getting into my DMs on various platforms, asking me how I was doing and seemingly showing genuine interest, until they get to their reason for contacting me and I learn I’m nothing other than a business opportunity towards helping them pay their energy bills, groceries, and maybe a family holiday3.
Dreams of a life
For a period in my life, over a decade ago, I lived my life rather reclusively. I enjoyed it. It reduced the overstimulation and overwhelm that triggered the worst of my weirdness and obnoxiousness. When I was alone I still had my tics and was likely still ✨too much✨ but besides my cats there was no one present to be bothered by it.
And I’d be lying if I stated I was never lonely, but even my worst moments of loneliness while alone never felt as lonely as the loneliness I felt inside nearly every friendship, relationship or family dynamic in my life. For all its challenges and not to mention the cost of navigating life solo, it felt unmeasurably and immeasurably safe.
Then one day I watched the film Dreams Of A Life. First things first: If you’ve never seen this film, I urge you to watch it. Secondly: I had and have nothing in common with nor can I relate to anyone in or subject of the film.
But this film changed me, and it changed my outlook on life. So much so that I decided to make active efforts to get out more4 and (re)build a (new) social life that wasn’t almost entirely online. And it worked out well. For years this felt great. It sure lasted long enough to forget the pain of past experiences. I even picked up the courage to try dating again.
U-turn
In my social ineptitude and awkwardness, I tend to be (too) slow to recognise when I am no longer liked or wanted for me (rather than for what I may be able to provide), but once I do, it crushes me. And I may never show that, but I will always feel it.
Trust me, I felt it. I felt it in every situation and circumstance described above, and then some. (You should have seen the draft of this post before I deleted half of it.) It hurt. So I reverted to my old, reclusive self again. I’d forgotten how safe and above all how much less lonely that felt.
What’s different on this occasion is how it happened: My previous era of solitude had come about through circumstance, this time around I have actively withdrawn.
In other aspects of my life I had already adopted a fondness of quitting early and often, because I truly believe it can often be better to walk away than to face each situation; it may be unpopular, but I believe it can prevent potential harm. So far I hadn’t applied this to personal relationships, but now I do. Consider it self-defence.
It’s important to me that I make clear that I am not angry with anyone and that I don’t lay blame with anyone else beside myself (although I must admit to feeling saddened by and disappointed in at least some people).
Having been unable to travel to visit people for nearly four years now made me realise that it’s actually been alright, that there are a lot of people that I love and who I care about, but that I don’t particularly like or feel a need or desire to spend time with. It’s fairly obvious these feelings are, likely, mutual. And that’s all okay.
It’s funny5 how I rarely if ever set expectations for others, but always burdened myself with thoughts of obligations I felt I had towards others and guilt over my inability to fulfill them all.
The unbearable loneliness of friendships & other relationships
I want to close out this piece by repeating the bit that is essentially the TL;DR of this entire post:
I’d be lying if I stated I was never lonely [when alone], but even my worst moments of loneliness while alone never felt as lonely as the [crushing] loneliness I felt inside nearly every friendship, relationship or family dynamic in my life.
Previous posts in this series:
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The one not-nice exception I feel the need to mention here is the former colleague(s) using a fake name to contact me through my website; I don’t suppose some people’s sudden departures from the company soon after had anything to do with my complaint but if it was: I do not regret making the complaint and in fact still feel I deserved a heck of a lot more than a shallow (and likely insincere) from corporate.
Side note: We’ve been through this manifestation BS back when it was still referred to as The Secret and then again when it was rebranded as cosmic ordering. You did not attract or manifest anything, you experienced privilege, chance, and/or luck. The Secret caused me and and others serious harm so miss me with any rebrand of this dangerous flavour of magical thinking.
Please don’t bother. There is no business opportunity here. I am destitute and will soon be homeless. But you would have known that if you’d taken an actual interest in me (and other people).
Side story: An early season of CSI featured an episode where the team reacts with an apparent sense of shock and horror at the body of a dead woman because of her unshaved legs, which makes them think of her as a bit of a weirdo. Those suspicions are then confirmed when they learn the character was a reclusive who didn’t have a particularly active life besides ordering takeaways and buying things online—crazy, right? Crime scene investigator Sara Sidle is perturbed, because she can relate to a lifestyle of staying in a lot (no word about leg-shaving habits, though) and colleague Nick Stokes effectively confirms that yes, indeed, she must be unhinged; not by saying she is, but by telling her to “get out more”. (Because, clearly, what led the victim to a premature death was <checks notes> that she didn’t get out much. Obviously.)
Funny as in odd, not funny as in comical.