In the great masquerade of modern life, acquaintances wear masks and sip cocktails, while true friends are the ones backstage, holding your emotional hair back as you emotionally vomit your life’s truths.
But what really separates a true friend from a casual acquaintance or even a regular ol’ “friend”? Let’s dig in, with gloves off and hearts open.
There’s an old saying that blood is thicker than water. But no one talks about how sometimes, that blood runs cold.
There’s a dangerous illusion that gets passed down in families like a tarnished trophy: the "Golden Child" role. At first glance, it looks like praise and privilege. But peel back the shine, and you often find emotional manipulation, unspoken expectations, and a gnawing void where self-worth should be.
I know. I lived in that house.
There’s a certain irony in being the one who sees the storm coming while everyone else insists the sky is clear. You warn them. You show them the dark clouds, the incoming thunder, the way the air changes before the lightning strikes—and they still insist on planning a picnic.
So, you stop shouting over the wind and let them bring the potato salad.
Ah, judgment—society’s favorite pastime, right after scrolling endlessly and pretending we're not all just monkeys with anxiety and Wi-Fi.
We don't just judge; we judge harshly. But why? Why do we pile on with such venom and fervor? The short answer: it makes us feel safe, superior, and in control. The long answer? Let's dive into the psyche, the programming, and the patterns behind society's obsession with passing judgment.
Some people fake niceness so well you almost want to give them an award for Best Performance in a Lifetime Role. Others? They’ll casually admit they’re two-faced—like they’re reading off their Tinder bio.
And that’s when you know you’ve wandered into a very special kind of human hazard. Because if someone is comfortable telling you they play both sides, it’s not a confession—it’s a sales pitch.
It’s a strange feeling, talking to someone and realizing they’re not really there. Their eyes might be on you, but their mind is orbiting Planet Me — charting internal monologues, rehearsing their next line, or running the ever-important “How does this affect me?” calculation.
There’s a question that tends to simmer beneath the surface of quiet rooms and loud egos: Is it better to earn respect, or to take it?
There comes a time when your soul quietly — or sometimes violently — demands an intermission from the performance you've been coerced into your entire life. For me, that time is now.
There’s a grief that doesn’t come from death, but from absence — the absence of emotional safety, of real connection, of being seen. This blog isn’t about vilification. It’s about truth-telling — the kind of truth that’s been locked behind closed doors and polite family photos for decades.
There’s a unique kind of emotional calculus that unfolds when your adversary isn’t a stranger but your own brother. Zachary Mitchell — a name that once simply meant “sibling” — has become an emblem of everything I’ve chosen to evolve beyond: manipulation, ego-driven leadership, emotional avoidance, and a penchant for performance over authenticity.