A Series of Unfortunate Best Friends


I’ve never had a lot of luck with “best friends.” For one reason or another, the friendships I treasured the most never seemed to last. The shows I watched on Disney as a tween impacted me just as much as the Disney movies I’d watched as a child, and I expected the Chelsea to my Raven just as much as I’d expected my Prince Charming. So as I grew, and was vastly disappointed by both my platonic and romantic relationships, I began to question everything about my life and what it would be.

 I began to wonder if I would have the happily ever after that I thought would come effortlessly. People I had graduated with in high school had had the same best friends for a decade. I wanted what they had.


I can be a really selfish, terrible person sometimes but I think that anyone that truly knows me would have to admit that I have a good heart, whether or not they want to. I’m moody, I’m judgmental, I’m terrible at expressing my feelings, I’m disorganized- long story short I can be a real C U Next Tuesday; especially if I’m hungry. But at the end of the day I do my best to treat people with respect and kindness. And while we all have our own struggles and demons, I thought that I could expect most people- especially people that I called my friends, to exhibit a certain decency. I was mistaken.


After my last falling out with a friend, I was completely turned off by the idea of “best friends.” Of course, I still loved and valued my friends, but I felt the need to keep people at somewhat of a distance. No matter how wonderful someone seemed, or how much they seemed to care about you, something would happen, and they would show you a heartlessness you didn’t think they were capable of. You would become strangers, and you would struggle for quite sometime trying to forgive someone that never said sorry.


I don’t want to leave anyone under the impression that I’m throwing myself a pity party or blind to other sides of stories. I’m not one of those people with their heads so far up their own rectums that they can’t be objective or take responsibility for whatever part they play in their own misfortunes. But I know when I’m wrong and I know when I’m right. I’m no one’s bitch, and I’m not going to blame myself or apologize for something that by and large wasn’t my fault.


I was black, hardened and bitter, like a cute angry coffee bean, and despite all of the negativity I was going through, people managed to break through and make a warm sweet latte out of me. Not in a sexual way, because I feel like that sounded sexual.

I found friendship in the strangest places this year, and I’m so grateful for it. Sometimes, I wonder where I’d rank in my friends’ top 8 if MySpace was still a thing. Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who calls you their “best friend,” or how long they’ve known you, or how often you see each other. What matters is who’s honest with you even when it’s difficult to be. Who’s there for you when it isn’t fun or convenient. Who loves you in spite of how annoying or dramatic you are.


Life happens to all of us, and nothing is forever, but maybe nothing is for no reason either. Maybe people like us and leave us so that people that love us can find us. Maybe not. Who knows. But it’s worth figuring out, hurt feelings and all.




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