Prologue
Google defines a friend as “someone you know well, like, trust, and can rely on, who shares a level of understanding and communication with you, and who is there to support you through good and bad times; essentially, a person you care about and enjoy spending time with,” and staring at the definition is really eye-opening for a lot of people, but recently, it’s been eye-opening to me, someone who always thou she’d have someone close in her life to chat to.
I’ve always had a few great friends in life. I’m thankful to those close few I’ve coined throughout the years that I will always have someone nearby to hold close to my heart. But life has balanced my long-lasting good friendships with some horrible ones, ones I could see from a mile away and ones that caught me so off guard that pulling me from the moment was challenging. Of course, some of these friendships served as a matter of perspective; I’m not at all implying I was an angel and the friends I had a feud with were the enemy; in fact, some of those explosive friendships had rekindled to a point where we are either close again, or we are at some point that we can be friendly with each other, and not in some fake, twisted, competitive way.
As my world changes and grows, I’m constantly at a fork in the road. One side offers me the chance to continue the path I am on right now, to keep pushing through, and on this constant. Are these actually my friend’s train of thought? The other path leads me to start over, leaving the comfort and safety of my little fragmented friend group, a different group altogether again; I stand there, looking back and forth between the two options. I call myself stupid, saying why would I ever leave the comfort of my current life for something that may not even work out? What is so appealing about trying something new when I don’t find trying new things fun in the slightest?
Then, as my head veers back to the first pathway, I ask myself the all-too-familiar question of any teen girl: Do my friends really know me? Do they like me?
I did not want to bombard them with a million questions to satisfy me, but more often than not, if I were to ask my best friend what my favorite color, celebrity, clothing item, or even food was, would she have the correct answer? Have I put myself out there enough for her to have solid evidence that she knows the answer? What if I asked one of my older, closer friends I had fought with? Would one of them know the answer?
Did I even tell anyone the answer? If I did, would anyone care enough to listen?
It’s this kind of back-and-forth I, and most others, get caught up in: the need to know what people think of them if people’s opinions of them line up with their own views about themselves. Really, what is it that makes people worry about what others think of them? As of 2024, there are 8.2 billion people standing on this planet in some way. Indeed, if you are yourself, someone is bound to like you.
I don’t know why I sit here and preach to be yourself when I am guilty of faking my personality in some way to amuse others. Guess what, folks?! I’m not a funny, unserious chick 100% of the time. I like having deep conversations and getting to know people’s emotions. I would rather sit under a blanket with someone and yap about life for hours than go out and have fun at social events. I like to really get to know someone. The problem is, as I’m finding this out, I’m wondering if I’m still compatible with my friends I have or not. I’m wondering if it’s worth faking it anymore.
I’m at that age where life is catching up, and the idea of not sitting in my room alone anymore on various social media is horrifying but becoming true. I guess I’m just starting to rethink a lot of different things in my life, and my friends seem to be a major part of it.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for every friend I’ve ever had, and I acknowledge that I am a problem factor in every situation. There are always two sides, but things change. As I change, I wonder what other choices I could have made and if that would have made me happier.
