A long time ago in 2006, I made friends with this guy named Mitchell. He didn't go to my tiny high school, but he did find himself caught up in one of the groups of girls that I had contact with. I was never one for drama, but I was one for instant messaging, so we struck up a long conversation early that year. I must have seen something in him that reminded me of myself: wicked lonely, desperately angry and filled with an inner turmoil no one could really see the true depths of. He needed a true friend so badly, and I had no idea that was exactly what I needed to.
Had I been a more mature, learned version of myself, I would have detached and fled. But I didn't. I poured my sincerity into this friendship. I assumed that I would be returned the level of engagement and trust that I put in. Foolishly, I assumed that years of listening to suicidal rants, consoling about the fucked up family and his mother's death--well, I assumed quite wrongly that the street went both ways. I found out in 2009 that I was just as expendable as everyone else, and it hurt me so badly that our friendship ended for years.
Unfortunately, Mitchell is a manipulator, and his end goal is to serve himself. I suppose I had put so much time into our friendship that I didn't want to accept the futility of it, the truth that my work is not even for nothing but for something far worse: to reinforce the ego and fucked world perspective of a self-proclaimed sociopath.
Years later, he was lonely and drunk and sent me a message. In 2012, I thought that he deserved another chance. Deep inside, I think I was really just concerned at having lost all that work, all that nostalgia and all those memories--I didn't want them to be for nothing. Of course, I quickly learned that things hadn't changed one bit. The only thing that had changed was his level of dedication to manipulation. I cut ties again and for good. All those memories of conversations late at night on AIM are just draped in negativity now. Who knows what his true goal was?
A couple of days ago, I suppose he got drunk and lonely again, so he sent me a message on Pinterest: some rambling text about how he got some chickens and how he wonders if I like them as much as I like other birds. This is his game: he hopes that I'll just start talking to him again if he messages me first and appears remorseful. If I did speak to him again, he'd lie through his teeth about feeling all kinds of regret and empathy and whatnot. It worked once, so why not twice?
I shy away from trendy wording, but some people truly are toxic.