February is nostalgic. There’s something in the cold air, along with a red heart around Feb. 14 that, if you’re single, makes you question what went wrong with your exes. Although, this year, as I reminisced, I realized that the heartbreaks that stuck with me most weren’t from romantic partners, but from the people I thought would stick by my side regardless—my friends.
With romantic relationships, you always consider the possibility of it not working out. But with friendships, especially female ones, after a certain time, you think they’re going to be bridesmaids at your wedding. Though eventually, those relationships often sour after unanswered texts build up and no one has time for each other anymore. And while everyone expects you to mourn a failed romantic relationship, the grief from losing a friend feels strangely invisible. Maybe it’s because we are convinced that romantic relationships are the most important. And that’s why friendship breakups happen so silently.
After I moved to Emerson, I began to analyze my friendships in depth. Some felt like nothing had changed. Some faded away naturally. And then some made me realize we were never compatible to begin with. I went from sharing my frustrations with these people to realizing they were my frustrations.
Throughout freshman year, I tried to avoid a friendship breakup with one of my closest friends. And despite mutual reassurance that things were going to change, they never did. I agonized over her feeling excluded in our group all while she was secretly spending nights with my ex-boyfriend. But somewhere between feeling used, to being ditched for someone “more exciting,” and repeatedly trying to understand what made her go from being my best friend to a stranger, I realized that I was holding on to a relationship that no longer existed.
I went back and forth on this for a year. I wanted to believe that the problem was me. That maybe a part of me had unresolved feelings and I just needed to get over it. But even if that was true, her behavior proved that she couldn’t give a shit about how I felt.
Despite more conversations full of seeming resolutions and reassurance, things didn’t change. So, as a social experiment, I decided to test a theory. I did what every girl does at least once in her life—I impulsively texted my ex.
And my “friend” was angry. She framed it as protecting me from getting hurt, twisting my story until he thought I was still in love with him, backhandedly talking to him about it and saying that he should “take into consideration” that I never got over him.
That’s when I knew—this isn’t how friends should treat each other. So I spent the next four months cutting her off. When we were close it felt like we were on top of the world, but when we weren’t it made me feel like she trapped me under it. Doubting myself, I retraced every step, trying to find what caused this, wondering if I was actually the villain in this story I created. I treated it like research, collecting opinions, asking friends and family to reassure me that I wasn’t losing it—that my feelings were valid, that my choice was the right one. I spend nights resisting the urge to reach for my phone to text her. I went back and forth from feeling hurt to disrespected. It felt like I went through five stages of grief. But after months of ignoring the signs, angry morning runs, sleepless spirals, and teary nights, I finally let go.
We didn’t have a talk. There was no final scene. But slowly she felt me fading away. And judging from the fact that we haven’t really spoken much since then, she’s okay with that.
Just when I got over one heartbreak, another followed. When I went back for winter break, I lost another friend. Ironically, it was our mutual friend who she practically did the same thing to. After months of mourning my first friendship breakup, expecting a supportive environment after I went home, I was met with indifference and unfamiliarity. The kind of indifference that makes you question if you actually knew the person at all. It turns out I didn’t, because the day before I left she texted me, not to explain or apologize, but to say that with new college experiences, her priorities had changed—and our friendship apparently did not make the cut.
The reasons behind her frigidity were unclear but I do believe there was a domino effect. Maybe she viewed our friendship as a group thing—and since the group dissolved she didn’t really see me as her friend anymore. Maybe she thought she had to choose sides and she did not choose mine. Maybe this was some cosmic karma—I broke up with a friend and got broken up with. Or maybe it was just me seeing people for who they actually were.
In my head, if my life was a TV show, it wouldn’t be just about me—it would be about all of us. And when I moved across oceans, I felt disconnected from those episodes. So I tried my best to hold on, to the point where I forgot that my life was about me.
In the end, people change, relationships don’t work out and sometimes all you are left with is yourself. And that’s okay, because whether it’s a lost partner or a lost friend, you must want to spend the rest of your life with yourself first.