Like walking a tightrope across two skyscrapers after downing a bottle of bourbon. No one cares, and who can blame them? When the symptoms are always the same, how many variations can you expect words of encouragement to take? Their patience is not endless. I must learn to endure my depressions on my own. We live in a selfish world, a world in which you have friends only so far as your happiness and your unhappiness are entertaining to them. And it is entertaining, and empowering, to offer comfort to friends when they are down. But when they are perpetually down, then you will realize these same friends will soon find your complaints boring, repetitive, they will tell you to get over yourself. You are no longer entertaining, you don't make them feel good about themselves. Their inability to pull you together spoils their own self-importance, your whining infringes on the gossipy mood of their concurrent conversations on messenger, and so they shut you off, and you are alone in your darkness. I will not deny, it came as a shock, how cruel friends can be. Especially those you had carved a place in your heart for. But it is only human nature, and I am still naive and old fashioned, for I drop everything when a friend is in need and I forget that the world has changed. I suppose I must change along with it, learn to be as ruthless as you are, Reader. Counting off what you have read, treating books as though they were victims of a serial killer. When my eyes are open, I see you, Reader, as truly feeble, checking them off, one by one. You, will never, experience as I experience, you do not have gifts as I have been given, your mind has not the agility of mine. I cannot believe I loved so beneath myself. Whored myself to the unworthy. Check.