That title reminds me of a lot of TV crime procedurals. The neighbours describe the deceased that way. I think of that occasionally. It’s me. I don’t really talk to, or know the people next door.
Getting to know somebody comes with risk. The chances of clashing rather than clicking are great, and if you do find a new friend, then it hurts when one of you leaves.
Friendship can be an effort. The obligation to hold up a good front and not be a burden can weigh heavy on the depressed.
I have given up on friendships because the mental labour of maintaining them was too much. This in one toll of my drug use that is subtle and sad. It can be hard from their side to remain supportive of a friendship with someone using drugs. Mixed emotions can complicate things. It’s hard to watch a friend follow a path you disagree with.
Leaving the friendship behind can be justified in my brain as a gift. I release you of your obigation to care, as I have done so of myself. We no longer need to keep in touch and struggle with conversation. Be free.
Then I end up friendless, which people will describe one day as; a quiet man. He kept mainly to himself.
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