Ramblings - On Friendship

They grew up not understanding how to connect with people, observing a world that was not theirs and where their participation was forbidden. Their trials at communication all in vain, left them ostracized.

They later developed mechanisms of sociability by mirroring people’s behaviours, a process never fully integrated that had to be relearned at every interaction. Acting as a chameleon, blending in every environment, getting along with everyone yet never as lonely.

In group settings even with people they regularly met they feared taking too much space. As a result they retreated into their mind and ended up dissociating. Either by falling into their imaginary worlds or by having unreal and foggy experiences of viewing themselves and their surroundings from an outsider perspective and hearing every sound but muffled.

In one-on-one interactions things were easier. They were fully present, found exchanges fulfilling until doubt crept in followed by the inevitable conclusion. They were just delusional and had to distance themselves.

After the fact they had to replay every interaction and conversation in their mind until they found a satisfactory ending. If there were none, they felt the need to apologize.

They preferred being invisible as they worried people would see the turmoils inside their mind fearing both rejection and acceptance. They saw the different versions of themselves as the mutilated characters in the painting Die Skatspieler of Otto Dix.

Years later they somehow managed to meet a few people they could call friends unless they were figments of their imagination. For the first time they did not feel overwhelmed and experience a strange sense of belonging and safety. A fleeting moment it was. Upon realization, the idea of loss became so unbearable that they acted in the one way guaranteeing it; viewing their own presence as a hindrance they disappeared without a trace.

A recurrent pattern over the following few years until they became aware of their actions. At which point they were convinced of being undeserving of friendship. Punishing themselves through years of isolation and refusing to get close to anyone. Any emotions during that time were thoroughly suppressed. To avoid feeling empty they drowned themselves in endless work, justifying its importance over their life.

To friends of years past they hope life is treating them well. They sometimes think of reaching out but do not as they would only intrude. To those no longer of this world they would give anything to go back in time. Perhaps if they were present fate would have played differently. Now all that is left are old memories and the visceral guilt of still being alive.

Only recently thanks to the encouragements of a new friend have they started to meet new people with the intent of making deeper and more meaningful connections. On some days they seem to make real progress, on others they have to actively fight their old daemons to regain control.

All they wish for even if they would never admit it, is a true friendship not too dissimilar to the one between Montaigne and La Boétie. One that could be described by a sentence that says nothing but expresses all: "Because it is they, because it is I".