How Do You Know When You Are Over Her?: The Loss of a Friendship

Everyone has that one friend that they’re closest to. It’s this friend you hope you’ll see at your wedding, it’s the friend you want to spend your 21st birthday with, the friend you want to turn grey with. This friend isn’t the romantic kind, but rather, a best friend. But life has a real funny way of screwing with us. Especially when it comes to relationships.

We met in second grade. She was nine, I was eight. I ran into her on the playground and we were inseparable ever since. I picked up art because she loved it, and I wanted to be just like her. I idolized her in every way. She was everything I wasn’t: she was stubborn, and strong, and fearless, and untouchable. She was beautiful! With long brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. She had the most amazing smile, and cutest little nose. She was the best artist I’d ever known. I remember trying to copy the dragons she’d do, and when she noticed, I’d get embarrassed and demand I wasn’t copying her.

But let’s be honest, I totally was.

We grew up together, going from 2nd grade up to 7th. Our group of five friends who ran around like Anime characters at recess, and hated P.E. and wanted to stay inside and draw all day. We were a family. A tight-nit, insane family; and like a family we had our fights, and our bickering, but at the end of the day we loved each other, and would do anything to protect each other.

Then seventh grade hit. All these insane hormones bouncing around, people changing, opinions developing, we were becoming new people. And she left… The details are a bit fuzzy at this point, but I remember her getting into a fight with her mom. The last text I got was from her in a new state somewhere far away, saying how she wanted to die. And I thought she did… With that being the last I had heard from her I tried calling her, messaging her on every social media platform I had. Nothing. I remember going through a spike of depression.

I changed schools in 8th grade, losing the friends I’d had since I was eight- it was hard. Especially since my best friend had basically disappeared off the face of the earth.

It took some time to adapt, but this new school felt like a dream. It was an arts school, so I was surrounded by people who loved to draw, and sing, and play music, and dance. It was amazing! It wasn’t long till I found a few people to call my new family.

Boy, were we a crazy bunch. A blonde haired goth, a cute but insane pyromaniac, and a few other interesting characters. But it worked. We clicked, we fought and bickered just like a real family, but we were devoted as hell. I found my passion for performing with them, and became a whole new person.

Fast forward a year or so, and it’s summer break. I’m reading the most god awful rendition of King Arthur ever, (600 pages, 6 books in one, and 8 times new roman font), and I get a text. It feels like I physically can’t breathe. It’s her. She’s alive, she’s messaging me!

I was sobbing. I missed her so much, and she was fine! I was a mixture of all sorts of livid and relief. We talked for hours, catching up, and discussing our new lives. She let me know that her mom had allowed her to come to my high school, and we would be reunited as soon as possible.

Life was balanced once more! We would be friends again, and we would have late school nights, and disgustingly early mornings, and draw and be family once more. It was a dream. I tried to contain my enthusiasm as school quickly approached.

And when it did I realized how much we both had changed… She had a boyfriend and she loved him. She wanted to be a cosmetologist, and was an animal rights activist. I honestly praised her so much more. I grew a back bone, I wasn’t so shy and quiet anymore. I could fight for myself, and I knew what I wanted in the world…

But we made it work. We always had…

Fast forward to junior year; I got a phone call late at night. She’s crying. Her mother and her had another huge blowout, and she was moving in with her father. Despite her mothers warnings, and pleading, she could not stand being with her anymore. So my best friend, stood up, and left the only home she had known, to live with a man who came and went as he pleased.

Two months after, it’s 10 o’clock at night. I get a text saying to come get her, she can’t stand being in that apartment any longer.

A few minutes later, my mom and I pulled up next to the stairs and spent 2 hours emptying this man's apartment, and loading it into our truck.

By midnight we are in my house, and she had moved in. Two grown girls in a 15x15 room was probably an awful idea in retrospect. But who cared? My best friend was living with me, and she had left a horrible home…

It was probably the most amazing thing in my life. I finally had a sister! Being the oldest of three and having two little brothers was hard. Yet with her, I felt like I could conquer the world! No matter what I did she supported me! She would get up early with me and do our makeup, we’d stay up late watching dumb videos, and giggled about the people we hated.

Life was…. awesome.

Then senior year came around...and it started to go down hill… We would fight, and bicker. I’d go to work and be exhausted, and hang with a few other friends. We were at each other’s throats half the time. I didn’t like her current boyfriend, she started going back to her mom’s place more often. We just started drifting…

One thing led to another and I told her to leave… I told her to pack up her things and be out by that night…

And let me tell you, I regret it. Every ounce of it. In a moment of anger, I lashed out and hurt the one person who knew me better then I knew myself. We would’ve died for each other. And I destroyed that. This one thing that people could only hope for.

No weddings.

No kids growing up together.

No late nights and early mornings.

No more breaking into city parks after hours.

No more doing makeup at 2am just for a quick selfie.

No more.

It was gone.

I still text her on her birthday. Although I’m not sure if she gets them. She’ll be 20 this upcoming October. I love her still. To this day, I still consider her my best friend. She still knows me best, and although we can’t make new memories, our old ones are more prominent than ever as I write this.

If you ever get the chance to read this, (because at this point you definitely know who you are), I’m sorry… I’ve never said how sorry I was. How sorry I am. I don’t ask that you ever forgive me, because it’s unfair to ask that after everything I have put you through… Just know that I love you, and I will always have a place for you if you ever need it again.