Venting: Sick of Being the Convenient Friend

I don't even know where to start with this post. These past few days feel surreal, and I'm caught between happiness and frustration.

Yesterday, I said "screw it" and bolted to the damn beach to clear my messed-up head, and now, everybody's got their panties in a twist. Why? Because I took one damn friend with me and didn't broadcast it to the entire fucking universe. Seriously, like I need to justify myself, but here it goes. Had a godawful day—a super shitty, fucking day. This friend's one of the damn few who bothers to engage with me and actually makes plans. The beach day? Unplanned. Spontaneous as hell. I was pissed, and as always, he's there for me. Plus, he's practically my neighbor, so it was a quick 2-minute drive. Dude was ready in 5 minutes because I randomly said, "Let's hit the damn beach." No planning involved whatsoever. Hell, we didn't even have our damn bathing suits; we had to buy new ones. That's how un-fucking-planned this shitshow was.

Do I really need to spell it out why the hell I didn't invite anyone else? Why waste my time inviting those friends who can't be bothered to shoot me a damn text? I get it; we don't need to be joined at the hip 24/7, but let's cut the crap. They're out there having a grand old time with other friends, and I'm here, practically invisible. They only crawl out of the woodwork when they want something. But oh, heaven forbid I go out without inviting them; suddenly, it's a damn crime.

And guess what, I'm the proud owner of the only car in this sorry bunch. It's like they've got me labeled as their personal chauffeur, and now they're throwing a fit because I drove 40 freaking minutes to the beach with someone who actually knows how to be a damn friend, even if I haven't known him as long as I've known those ungrateful pricks.

I'm sick and tired of being their friend only when it's convenient for their sorry asses, and then catching a tsunami of crap just for existing. I've got my own damn places to go, solo picnics to enjoy, and when I post a picture on Instagram, they can't resist the urge to respond in their snarky, accusing tone with, "Oh wow, thanks for the invite." Well, when was the last time they invited me anywhere?

Seriously, when in the hell do they ever extend an invite my way? And when we do go out, who's the poor schmuck stuck picking up the tab? Yep, you guessed it—yours truly. I'm fed up with this garbage.

Can you believe these clowns are actually pissed at me for this? What did they expect me to do? Perform some magical teleportation trick? I live right next to the damn road that leads to the beach. But no, they probably wanted me to traverse the entire freaking city, pick them up, twiddle my thumbs while they got their act together, and then drive to some other godforsaken spot, all before embarking on another 40-minute odyssey to the beach. And as the cherry on top, they don't even have the decency to chip in for gas. What do they think I am, their private chauffeur, available at their beck and call?

Let me make it crystal clear—I have zero qualms driving across the entire city or even enduring a four-hour trek for people who actually give a damn about me. But this pathetic excuse for a group? They don't. So, they can take their drama, their entitlement, and shove it where the sun don't shine. Fuck off.

And I am not your damn chauffeur.