You're fat. Not physically - socially. And it's disgusting.
You carry around dead weight disguised as friendship. People who text you their problems but disappear when you have yours. Friends who celebrate your failures more than your wins. Humans who exist in your life like tumors - growing slowly, consuming resources, contributing nothing.
You know who they are. The college friend who peaked at 22 and wants to relive it every weekend. The coworker who mistakes shared misery for bonding. The high school buddy who treats your success like a personal insult. The "friend" who only calls when they need something, then vanishes until the next crisis.
You keep them around because cutting people feels cruel. But cruelty is letting cancer grow because surgery hurts.
Most people are NPCs in the video game of life. They follow scripts, repeat patterns, and add nothing meaningful to the story. Yet you treat them like main characters, giving them prime real estate in your mental space and emotional bandwidth.
This is social obesity. Consuming junk relationships until you're too heavy to move toward anything that matters.
The symptoms are everywhere. You dread social events instead of anticipating them. Your phone buzzes with messages that make you tired, not excited. You say "we should hang out soon" without meaning it. You attend parties where everyone talks but nobody says anything. You're surrounded by people and completely alone.
Your great-grandfather had five real friends. You have 500 fake ones. He built things. You manage feelings. He solved problems. You absorb them.
The internet promised connection but delivered collection. We hoard people like vintage records - accumulating contacts we never actually use. LinkedIn connections who wouldn't recognize you at Starbucks. Instagram followers who like your photos but wouldn't loan you twenty dollars.
We've confused proximity with intimacy, availability with friendship, and politeness with caring. Your Uber driver shows more interest in your day than half your "friends."
The worst part? Junk relationships crowd out real ones. When you're constantly managing other people's drama, you have no energy left for people who actually matter. You become everyone's therapist and nobody's priority.
Real friends are like protein - they build you stronger. Fake friends are like sugar - a quick hit followed by a crash that leaves you weaker than before. Most of your social circle is diabetes in human form.
Here's what nobody tells you: ending friendships isn't cruel. It's surgical. The friend who drains your energy without adding any is a parasite, not a person. Cutting them out doesn't make you heartless. It makes you healthy.
Quality people don't need constant maintenance. They don't require emotional customer service. They add value automatically, challenge you naturally, and support you without keeping score. These humans are rare. They deserve your full attention, not the scraps left over after you've fed everyone else.
But you won't find them while you're socially obese. Quality people avoid energy vampires. They can smell the desperation of someone who accepts everyone because they're afraid of being alone. Scarcity creates value. Abundance creates worthlessness.
The most successful people I know have tiny social circles. They're selective, ruthless, and unapologetic about it. They'd rather be alone than in bad company. They understand that your network isn't about quantity - it's about quality multiplied by depth.
Stop accepting friend requests from your past. Stop maintaining relationships out of guilt. Stop pretending that being available to everyone makes you a good person. It makes you a doormat.
Your time is finite. Your energy is precious. Every minute you spend managing someone else's dysfunction is a minute stolen from your own potential. Every conversation that leaves you drained is energy you'll never get back.
The people who matter will understand when you disappear to focus on yourself. The people who don't matter will complain about it. Their reaction tells you everything you need to know.
Go on a social diet. Cut the dead weight. Stop feeding relationships that don't feed you back. Block numbers. Decline invitations. Cancel plans. Disappoint people who disappoint you.
The loneliness you feel after cutting toxic people isn't a bug - it's a feature. That empty space is where better humans will eventually appear. But only if you stop filling it with garbage.
Your real friends - the ones who make you better instead of bitter - they're out there. But they can't find you while you're buried under a pile of people who don't deserve your attention.
Stop being social fat. Start being social fit.
That diet begins now.