I Thinned Out Our Herd Of Friends

I hate when you’re nice to me but don’t mean it

Talking to insincere people when when I know they’re faking being nice makes my head want to explode.

During the last nine years of caregiving for my traumatic brain injured husband, I’ve had the displeasure of finding out who his true friends are. I had no idea how thin the herd would be afterwards.

I learned which ones tried to take advantage of his generous nature. I know who made fun of him because he can’t think as fast as he used to. I know the assholes who talked him into doing things that are unsafe because they think it’s “funny.” I even know the ones who saw how hard he tried to play guitar and sing like he could before his accident. They talked about how terrible he sounds. I have four words for them.

Screw all of you.

He was in a coma for 21 days. Many of his “friends” told me, “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know and I’ll make it happen.” Guess what? When he finally came home eight months later from three hospitals, I needed help and asked for it. I heard nothing but crickets. It was magic!