For too long I've had the idea that I'm somehow responsible for helping others overcome their issues when it's something that I understand. Ego problems? I'm here. Feeling worthless? Sure, let's talk all day long. Feeling like the whole world's against you somehow? Here I fuckin' am, my dear. Let me comfort you, make you feel good about yourself, even if I feel like crap afterwards.
I'm done with this. Fuck it. I've just had one too many people crawl up my ass hoping to find a nice warm spot there, with me to feed their egos because I'm so damn accepting and tolerant. And... I'm done with this. I'm not going to take any of this crap anymore. Helping isn't worth it. Must I really give myself away to those who aren't willing to lift a finger about their lives?
I'm not going to "help" like this anymore. I've had enough. Patience has nothing to do with this - it's the people that suck, not the progress. I'm not longer a part of this brewing pot of self-pity and self-loathing, and I wish I could really help those who are still - but I can't: there's nothing I can do, despite how much my heart yearns to. It's a struggle to get out, but maybe it's true that the flower grown in a struggle is the most beautiful one. Maybe it's why people should just do their best to get out on their own.
I don't know... It sounds too Nietzschean to me. Too cruel. But maybe it's the truth. The world is a cruel place, after all, wherever we turn to. It doesn't diminish how much beauty we have in the world: true love and true friendship are born out of struggle.
I know one thing, though: I'm done with it, whatever it is. Next "broken bird" is getting ignored. I don't want to be anyone's mentor, or teacher, or something similar - not just because they're in deep shit. I climbed out, with barely any help; I'm proof it's possible, so anyone telling me it isn't is getting left behind with no regret.