Deception

I am tired of this pretense. This execrable place I am trapped in. I am expected to compete with friends and foes alike. Only, with friends it is subtle. Rivalry in everything. Why can I not be myself? Why can I not stop worrying how what I do will stand in with what they do? Why can I not do what pleases me rather than doing what will stand out and make friends and foes squirm and writhe with jealousy. Why can I not use the words I like, the style I prefer- rather than flip open the Webster for baffling words and a style that is just not me?
I am exhausted trying to be someone I am not in front of friends. Yet I continue to do so. It is because they continue to do the same with me. Why can they not admit a fault? Why do they have to adorn it so as it appears a rare quality?
Am I a pessimist? I was not always this way. Why have I changed? Why can’t I enjoy life as others do? Take joy in upping someone- and trying to up yet another someone a while after. Once, I valued friends. Went to the reunions regularly; returned all the calls- made a few of my own; got the gifts; tolerated their moods, talks- and smiled in the face of an insult. After all, I had my moments too. I got the gifts too; someone was there to listen to my mumbo jumbo when I was down in the mouth about the reading the weighing scale showed; someone was always there to make sympathizing noises about how unfair my life was.
They are still here. That is the problem. I do not want them anymore. I’d rather gulp down a valium or a Prozac when I’m down- I’d rather eat the Nandos chocolate mousse cake when the weighing scale gives me yet another heart wrenching reading; and I’d rather tell them to get a life and sort out their own dirty problems.
I have it all sorted out- yet I do not do what I want. Deep down I am a coward. And the only consoling thought that I can find in this entire mess is that everyone around me is one.