Zinger

I swear if I didn't need my friends to keep me anchored to the world of the normal, I would have left many of them years ago.

As much as they believe that what I think and write (therefore what I am) vexes them, they do not realize that what they do incenses me. I am always the basket case to them, always the weak one, always the wrong one. And what is their claim to their morality? Their success. Their money. The fact that they simply (stupidly) cannot imagine a world where people like me exist.

Leaving is often how they relate with the world. "You are of no use to me, therefore I will leave you. So f_ck off!"

I'm not them. I'm better. If they need my help I'll be there as much as my time will allow.

There is, of course, a limit to how much of their crap I will swallow. That I'm here at all means they're lucky: I still have a deep well.