My best friend is going to college a few hours away while I stay in my hometown for who knows how long with my dad. I tell myself it’s because I need to get my shit together - I need to figure myself out, and figure out what it is I actually want to do with my life.
But if I haven’t figured this out, how is it possible that she has? I just don’t understand her anymore. I thought I knew her so well. I thought she wanted me to be part of her life. But as more time passes and fewer attempts at any sort of communication with me are made, I’m beginning to realize maybe she isn’t my best friend, after all. Maybe all of the people who I think have been my best friends are really just the only people I’ve ever been able to hold a conversation with; the only people who will tolerate who I am and the things I do. And eventually, I’ll push them away. I always do. I did it with Elizabeth, and I’m doing it to Alex, now.
Maybe this is why I feel so lonely. I find myself with plenty of things to do to pass the time, but very little enjoyment in doing such things. It’s weird. I just have this tiny, miniscule hole somewhere and I didn’t know what it was until right now. It’s me. Feeling lonely. It’s my mind telling me that I need friends. I need companionship. I need someone other than Christopher to talk to about my life. I need someone who will support me and help me come up with new ideas and I need someone who will inspire me and I just
have that person anymore.
Maybe I never had that person to begin with. Maybe I’m destined to be friendless for the rest of my life, drowning in shallow puddles of friendships with people who will eventually move on to something greater than me or what I have to offer, like so many of my so-called friends are already doing. I feel like everyone around me is moving so fast onto better things and I’m just stuck in park (or, dare I say it, reverse). It’s a terrible feeling to have, to be nearing eighteen rotations around the sun and finally realizing that no one really cares about you and your business even a fraction as much as they care about theirs, if at all. Even the people who say they care, don’t really care. It’s easy to care in the moment and show concern or happiness or whatever emotion is appropriate, but when the sun goes down and comes back up, it’s a new day and the problems of other people are memories.
And that’s how I feel my “best friend” has regarded me and our general relationship for the past two years. I’m here when she has no one else to talk to. I’m just a brick wall that she can spout her problems to. And that’s only if she can’t find one of her other friends to talk to. She has so many. Even when we’re hanging one-on-one she’s talking to someone else. I’m just the entertainment. I’m just the cushion: the sponge. The one who soaks up all of her words and holds them in until she forgets about me and I squeeze them back out.
And she forgets about me a lot.
So where’s my sponge? Where’s the person who’s always readily available to listen to my woes? Who can I shamelessly, guiltlessly, recklessly abuse when it’s convenient for me? Who can I contact at any random hour of the day to tell them that I’m low on affection and I need someone to tell me that I’m worth something? Who can I call when no one else is listening? Who’s the person who I know will always listen to everything I say, no matter what it is or when it is, whenever I actually feel bothered to talk to them?
I guess sponges don’t get their own sub-species of sponge.
I guess I’m just destined to be her sponge until she finally gets rid of me for good.