Here is a tragic flaw: I quit people. Jobs, books, hobbies--what do these things matter? I am the real villain. I am soaking in a bucket of undiluted guilt. I am a people-quitter.
Oh, the collection of cast-offs isn't a massive one. I could name each one, but they would all fit the same description. I quit people who threaten me in their instability. Who frighten me with their grasping need. Who clutch at me on their way down. Who avert their eyes because they haven't told the whole truth: from fragments to chunks, from pebbles to boulders, something big is missing.
And, I argue, I am not the one who can find the missing pieces. I am not a solver of riddles. I balk at reading between the lines. I put together the borders, but someone else must fill in the middle.
Because I quit.
Quitting people is painful. But when they constantly suck up energy... sometimes you've got to let them go.
One doesn't need to tolerate constant aggravation. There is a point at which quitting is the only logical solution.
i hear your desire for self preservation loud and clear. i think quitting those who need to rescue themselves is a really wise way to be!
Sounds like those were people you needed to leave behind. A better choice than staying with resentment, perhaps?
I bow to you as you quit for very good reasons. There is no need to look back.
Quitting friendships is so hard. I find myself doing it often too, but it makes me sad. It's hard when we change and grow apart.
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