Help, I’m Becoming a Misanthropic Arsehole

I don’t know when it happened precisely, or why it happened, but sometime last year, just as I passed my mid-twenties, I snapped, and my tolerance level for bullshit shattered into a million pieces.

I was done, and I made it known to everyone I was done. I was no longer emotionally available at extensive rates to listen to peoples’ perpetual self-pitying parties and dramas which were clogging up my phone Inbox, my coffee meet-ups and social media feeds.

You have an issue with me which you won’t tell me about, but instead, hint about your issue through passive aggressive messaging and behaviours? Okay, bye then, I genuinely can’t be bothered.
Oh, you want to involve me in drama? Cool, I’ll just ignore all your messages and block you on social media.
Don’t like my opinions? You can scream your profanities into the void for all I care (you’re muted/blocked).
Want to tell me how much you still hate your job even though we’ve had this conversation at least every week for the past six months to where I’ve run out of things to say to you? I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than I already tried, you’re going to have to go elsewhere.

That makes me sound horrible, doesn’t it? But without context, most people would regard this stance as someone who is…