Exhausted. Really upset by the fact that people I considered my friends- who I've spent hundreds of hours with around the table, haven't reached out at all to me post-attempt and shuttling myself off into social isolation. I'm bitter that I introduced them, and they've become fantastic friends with one another and a new spouse- it just feels like once more, I've been cast off to the side once I've become inconveniently mentally ill, and they're able to walk way with shiny bright connections and hundreds of thousands of words of writing, without giving me a second glance in the rear view mirror.
What's so wrong with me that I'm able to connect other people well, and they all end up shunning me in the end? It just sucks. It's hard not to feel disposable. It's even worse when people confirm what they were offended to know you already believed, because how could you think that of me? How could you be so cruel in your assumptions? And yet, you know, it always pans out that way... I was talking about it all with my brother recently, and he said it's because she's the textbook example of a fairweather friend. Which, sure, I knew deep down- but it still hurts. I'm still sad that people I spent so much time with couldn't give less of a fuck as to whether I was dead or not.