Everyday Social Friction — Perceived Injustice and Entitlement
Early in our marriage, we lived in a family-oriented block of flats.
My partner would not greet other residents when passing them in the corridor or sharing a lift. To me, it often felt as though other people simply did not register in their awareness.
Each time this happened, I caught a brief flicker of surprise on the other residents’ faces. I sensed it immediately, and it left me feeling deeply uncomfortable.
My partner was particularly severe towards shop staff.
I remember a visit to a department store to buy a travel bag. Unsure whether the item we wanted was included in a sale, I asked a nearby male shop assistant. He replied, “I think it is, but I’ll check to be sure,” and went to confirm in the back.
When he returned and said, “I’m very sorry, but this item isn’t part of the sale,” my partner suddenly snapped.
“You said it was,” they said sharply, directing a surge of anger and frustration at him like a child losing their temper, before walking away.
The assistant stood frozen, his lips pressed tightly together, caught between shock and apology. I apologised to him and then hurried after my partner.
Similar incidents happened repeatedly in supermarkets and restaurants. Even over matters that could easily have been let go, my partner seemed to feel they had been treated unfairly.
Whenever I tried to calm things down, they would often insist that they had a right to complain.
Because they were constantly focused on who was at a disadvantage or being wronged, everyday life could suddenly become tense without warning. I never knew when the mood would shift. I often found myself wondering how society and other people appeared through my partner’s eyes.
One day, as we were walking together along a narrow pavement, someone pushing a pram approached us from the opposite direction.
By ordinary social convention, we should have stepped aside. But my partner showed no sign of doing so and continued straight ahead. In the end, the person with the pram moved out of the way for us.
I couldn’t let it pass. I spoke to my partner sharply. Just as I had expected, they insisted that the other person was the one taking up the pavement and should have moved.
Social Indifference and the Absence of Empathy — A Growing Sense of Unease
Although we had lived together for many years, I can hardly recall ever seeing my partner watch the news or read a newspaper.
Given how often they said things like “I don’t like people” or “I don’t understand how others feel,” it may be that their attention simply did not turn outward, towards society.
For example, when a serious incident was reported in the news, I might quietly remark that it was a distressing event. The response I received, however, was not sympathy, but words that seemed to place responsibility on the victim.
“The victim must have behaved badly in everyday life.”
“They probably did something wrong in a previous life.”
When I tried, indirectly, to convey that this way of thinking felt off to me, my partner showed no sign of reflecting on it. It was as if they had made a firm decision never to extend empathy to others.
Their sense of responsibility towards work also appeared weak. I began to wonder whether a lack of interest in other people, and in society at large, lay at the root of this.
Several times a year, they would take an entire week off work, citing poor health. Apart from eating minimal meals and using the bathroom, they would not get out of bed even during the day. They quite literally spent the whole week lying down.
Watching this, they reminded me of a machine that had completely run out of power — inert, as though their senses had shut down. I found myself worrying whether someone in that state could really function in working life at all.
“Something feels fundamentally wrong.”
“There may be something I don’t yet know.”
“This doesn’t feel like a simple difference in values.”
These thoughts became stronger year by year. As I have already mentioned, it took more than a decade before I even began to suspect that the reasons might lie in their upbringing.
Self-Image, Money, and Distorted Values in Everyday Life
This may sound contradictory to their lack of interest in society, but my partner was highly concerned with appearing important.
At one point, they worked for a large company on a fixed-term contract, making use of their qualifications and experience. Although it was a temporary role, they regarded it as a significant step in their career.
When the topic of work came up at a family gathering, they spoke as though they were a full-time employee of that major corporation.
When one relative remarked, “That’s impressive — working for ◯◯,” my partner did not correct them by saying that the role was only temporary.
Standing beside them, I felt deeply uncomfortable. I considered stepping in, but could not bring myself to do so. I did not want to embarrass them or cause them to lose face.
Money was another subject that revealed a striking intensity. They became noticeably meticulous when finances were discussed, and at times even described themselves as “greedy.”
Money, of course, matters to everyone. Yet their attachment to it seemed unusually strong, and I once asked why. Their answer was simply, “Because I’m anxious.”
They did not mean anxiety about immediate financial hardship. Rather, the implication was that money was the only thing they could truly rely on.
There was also an incident involving renovation work on the flat where we had lived for many years. A dispute arose, and my partner proposed several extreme forms of compensation. I felt the demands went too far and tried to rein them in.
On another occasion, when we were walking along a narrow road and a car approached, my partner did not step aside, even slightly — something pedestrians would normally do. They would remain standing until the very last moment, close enough that contact seemed possible. Each time, I would cry out, “Watch out!” and pull them out of the way.
Trying to imagine what was going through my partner’s mind in those moments sent a chill through me.
