I often ponder why I am no longer seen as a reliable friend, and it’s a conclusion that feels both harsh and accurate. The reality is that I have become more of a transient figure in the lives of those who once counted on me. I may appear helpful or supportive at the outset, but I’ve come to realize that this help is fleeting, superficial, and often leads to disappointment. I’m not someone you can depend on for the long haul. Instead, I am a temporary presence—here one moment and gone the next, leaving little more than a fading memory. This has cost me dearly, leading to the loss of not one but two entire circles of friends. Both collapses stemmed from my selfishness and spiraling into depression, which triggered an apathy that became insurmountable.

At my core, I’ve become apathetic. While I might still seem like a good listener, it’s more of a facade than genuine engagement. I can sit and absorb the words of others, but I no longer connect with them on a deeper level. I listen, but I don’t act. I hear, but I don’t care. It’s as though I’ve become numb to the experiences and emotions of others. Conversations that once moved me or prompted me to offer advice now wash over me, leaving no lasting impression. I lack the drive to extend myself beyond that superficial interaction, making me unreliable in moments when real, meaningful support is needed.

My selfishness has further eroded my capacity to be present for others. I have prioritized my own struggles and feelings over those of my friends, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes out of sheer exhaustion. This selfishness has created distance, and I’ve neglected relationships because it feels easier to retreat into my own problems than to confront the needs of others. Depression has played a significant role in this, but that doesn’t absolve me of responsibility. It has dulled my empathy, and in doing so, it has made me an unreliable figure in the lives of the people who once valued my presence.

Even my creativity, once a defining trait, has waned. It’s not just a matter of not having ideas; it feels as though the spark has diminished altogether. Where I once thrived on finding creative solutions and offering new perspectives, I now find myself struggling to offer anything at all. Conversations that used to inspire me now feel monotonous. My energy and passion for innovation have been replaced by a mechanical, autopilot-like existence. I go through the motions of life, but there is no deeper engagement, no effort to push the boundaries of thought or offer something fresh. This lack of creativity has made me predictable, unhelpful, and ultimately, someone who can no longer inspire or support friends in the ways I once did.

The most unsettling part of my transformation is how my logic has deteriorated. Once sharp and analytical, my thinking has become clouded, slow, and disorganized. I used to pride myself on being able to offer reasoned, thoughtful advice to friends, but now I find myself struggling to even articulate coherent thoughts. I’ve lost my eye for detail, the ability to notice the small but significant things that used to make me a valuable friend. This loss has left me feeling hollow, incapable of providing the depth of care or understanding that real friendships require.

I have become someone who operates on autopilot. Every day feels like a repetition of the one before, with no real engagement or intention behind my actions. I wake up, I go through the motions, I speak when spoken to, but there’s nothing behind it. It’s as though I’ve checked out of my own life, and in doing so, I’ve checked out of the lives of the people who once considered me a friend. There’s no conscious effort, no attention to the needs or emotions of others. I’m merely existing, not living.

In recognizing these flaws, I am not asking for sympathy or understanding. I am simply stating a fact: I am unreliable as a friend. I am not the person you can count on for emotional support, creative problem-solving, or even consistent communication. I am a transient being, passing through the lives of others without leaving a lasting imprint. I might be helpful in the beginning, offering a listening ear or a word of advice, but that help is hollow, and it won’t last. Eventually, I will retreat into my own world, and when you need me most, I won’t be there.

I’ve lost two circles of friends because of this pattern, and while the loss stings, it feels inevitable. My selfishness, my apathy, my diminishing creativity and logic, all lead to the same conclusion: I am not someone you can rely on. I am not a friend in the true sense of the word. I am a temporary presence, and once I’ve passed through your life, I will leave behind little more than a fading memory.