There is a certain state of mind I would never wish on anybody and it is one I have been suddenly struck by. It is simply an idea, the idea that the singular reason behind everything - and I mean absolutely everything - is selfishness. And not just the petty acts of selfishness that one can catch oneself doing, but the kind that is so deep it is perhaps rooted in our biology as a means of self-preservation. Through such distortion the resultant underlying truth behind every action and reaction is the concern for solely oneself. The term friends with benefits takes on a whole new meaning as all friends now collectively fall into the new definition, now defined as “a person or persons who are willing and capable of providing any service needed by an individual”. Whether it be conversation, consolation, money, sex, hugs, laughter, or lunch, the question is not the cost (unless it is a one time monetary deal, in which case such a transaction would probably save you from emotional ties with the person), but rather, “When will I get a return on my investment?” “When will all that time spent being your ‘friend’ pay off for me?” “What can you do for me that I can’t do for myself?” In other words, why do I need you around? I need you because you can give me something I want. Your intelligence. Your creativity. Your practicality. Because you make me feel better about myself. You cure my loneliness. Your body. Your love. Your acceptance of my need of someone to outlet my love to. Your gifts. Your appreciation of my gifts. Your help in accomplishing a task I could not do so alone. Your hobbies that are also mine. And the list goes on and on maybe even to the point where the selfish heart pumps blood to the body because it needs to keep its vessel alive so as to not die itself.
Such is the idea wrangling around in my head. It’s no surprise really, that such a revelation, if I should even call it so, would spring forth. Sometimes all you need is a catalyst when the reagents are already present. When friends talk behind each others’ backs, it’s only a matter of time before you turn around to check your own. When the only hole in a surefire plan is the possibility of a friend defecting, everything becomes a game of the prisoner’s dilemma. When friends belittle one another over a supposedly fun time, you start to question where they stand. And all this leads to the simple, terrible idea, a conclusion from which I seek respite and with a cloudy mind am desperately trying not to accept. Yet even then, putting these thoughts into a physical form is conceivably my own act of selfishness.