Tag Archives: loneliness

Friendship and Me

Sometimes I wonder if friendship is a real thing.  I find myself looking back over the years and seeing who has been with me through and through.  Truthfully?  Only my immediate family.  And even then, only as much as I allow.

I variably keep in touch with childhood friends.  My best friend from my teen years is still someone I hold very dearly, but we have spent a lot of time apart now and don’t connect as often as we used to.  And people I consider friends today… well I actually have a hard time coping with my understanding of them as friends at all.

What is the criteria?  What kind of things can and should I expect from a friend?  I like to think nothing.  I don’t want to–nor do I know how to–expect or anticipate anything from anyone.  I don’t trust anyone’s feelings towards me.  I don’t expect anyone to regard me as a friend.

Whose to say I don’t quit my job?  My only two friends in the city were met through work, and one of them has already become very distant from me since she left.  If I leave, what makes me feel safe enough to trust that someone should want to spend time with me outside the realm of convenience?

I wonder of this has always been a problem of mine.  If I just grew up expecting that people weren’t drawn to me so much as they were drawn to formality.  Heck, I can’t even keep myself interested.  Why should I anticipate any better from these strangers?

Over the years, people have changed, and I have not.  I have found that it is impossible to become a constant in another person’s life if I continue to remain a constant in my own.  How long before I have no one left at all?



I’m not really sure what this is going to be about; I’m not really sure how I feel.  But I need to write.  It’s been a long week.

I decided, after a year of putting it off, to start watching season 5 of Breaking Bad.  This was after the finale, so I could watch all 16 episodes marathon-style.  Breaking Bad has for whatever reason become something I strongly identify my relationship to my ex with.  It was a show we watched together.  It was a story he brought into my life.  I was so bitter to it without him.

I taped the first 8 episodes for us to watch together last summer.  We were broken up, but I hadn’t anticipated him moving on so quickly.  I thought we would keep in touch, and I would come back to the city after we had some space and watch it together.  And we did.  5 episodes or so.  I couldn’t really tell, because we weren’t watching the show so much as it was playing in the background as we’d brought our own struggles to light.  He left for good and I gave up on it.  I deleted all the episodes.  Thank heavens for Netflix.

Maybe it’s silly that I get so emotional over something like this, but I feel like this show had seen us through everything.  It didn’t seem fair to me that a television show was granted a finale–a conclusion–and I wasn’t.  I didn’t get closure.  And in a way?  I identified with Walter White.  Not in the sense that I’m a drug kingpin or lust for murder, but I identify with his sense of loneliness and defeat.

I feel so self-destructive.  I feel like I have inadvertently gone out of my way to destroy everything in my life.  And for what?  I don’t even have the motive.  I don’t have any money, or any sense of thrill in taking the risk.  I’m not breaking bad.  I’m not bad or good.  I’m just alone.  I feel like my life has come to a cataclysmic halt and there’s nobody left for me, so I sit in my cabin in New Hampshire and slowly rot to death.

Now that I am finally finished the show, I am at a loss.  I don’t even know what to feel.  I mostly just want to know what my ex feels, in regards to the last season obviously, but really just life in general.

So farewell Breaking Bad.  You will always be a part of my misery.  And in a weird way, I’m grateful for it.  I’m now going to dissolve into nothingness and adopt your conclusion as my own.