Dear Anna, 

Feels like I’m using you as my private agony aunt. Not fair on you, but I don’t know who else to turn to.

I had a fight with a friend today. Well, it wasn’t really a fight since I didn’t fend for myself. I defused like a good girl who’s been taught not to escalate, let his words leave little papercuts on me instead. And he isn’t a friend either. He used to be one, but lately I don’t even know why I’m picking up the phone. Yes, I don’t want to live in an echo chamber. Yes, sycophancy makes me suspicious. And yes, our mutual belief in challenging each other is what’s kept our friendship alive. But maybe I’ve mistaken cruel for facetious.

What started as an innocuous question quickly turned into scaremongering masquerading as concern. ‘You must find a job,’ he ordered. ‘I’d be worried sick if I were you,’ he went on. ‘You don’t have the money to live like this,’ like he’s my accountant or knows anything about my finances. I had to assuage him, carry his feigned worries about me on my shoulders, too? ‘You’re a waste of space,’ he quipped, like we should all be bemused by his wisdom and wit. 

I didn’t chuckle or pretend to enjoy our chat. But, as I said, I didn’t fight back either. Not because I care about the friendship or value his input, but out of sheer exhaustion. His antics have been wearing me thin, and I don’t have the energy to play his outrage game anymore. He thinks friendships should function like a Fox News segment, and frankly, I’m done taking the bait. So I’m consciously distancing myself.

I have this warped view that giving up on friendships is a modern ailment. We’re brainwashed into thinking that better friends are just around the corner. One right turn and there they are. That’s why we’re never truly invested, just consuming what’s convenient while it still is convenient. It’s like playing musical chairs; we end up befriending whatever chair we’re closest to when the music stops, and then moving onto the next one. That’s why I feel like a hypocrite for wanting to distance myself. Can’t we just talk it out like adults? Can’t I tell him his words were a low blow, and I wouldn’t stand for it? Instead, I choose detachment, I choose convenience, hoping that it will quietly go away, so I won’t have to deal with it.

Why did that half-joke, half-jab stick with me? Maybe J was right. No home, unemployed and childless, 40 in three months, isn’t that a waste of space? How do I contribute besides squandering my limited savings? It stuck because part of me does believe in that narrative, part of me worries that I may be a waste of space. And hearing it from someone who’s supposed to be on my side feels like a dagger. 

How can I pick people who are on my side when I’m not even on my own side? 

All my love,

Dummy