True Friends Stab You In the Front

My worries about being friendless dominate my thoughts.
I do have friends. I just see them very rarely. Or they don't live near me.
But I have lost friends in the last year, two years that I miss greatly and feel that I will never get them back. Our lives have moved on. And often, I feel wronged, feel abandoned, so I don't make the effort to reach out.
Gosh. Such a victim complex. Is there a specific word for that?

What I realised recently is that actually I am not a good friend. I'm terrible at texting back, at communicating, at organising get togethers or catch ups.
I've never been one of those people. I have always felt as though I am intruding on other people's lives. That, if they wanted to see me, they'd let me know, and that I shouldn't impose myself on them.

I think I used to be a good friend. I used to listen much more, and definitely better. I used to be an agony aunt and the peacemaker of a group.
I used to defend my friends, usually male friends, and my right to have them against the insecurity of boyfriends. No man will ever make me choose them over my friends. Not as long as I have friends.

Not having a multitude of friends means I live a lot in my head. Or escape into other worlds. Reading, television, film, games. A crutch. An enjoyable crutch.

I keep coming across articles that attributes a lack of satisfying social life or interaction with other people, particularly friends, to depression and lack of well-being.

I lack well-being. But I need to focus on the other aspects of well-being, and when I have the opportunities to interact with people, with the friends I do have, I will make the most of them.
And the pain of loss? I'll focus on building those walls. I used to be better at that, too.

I do not want to end up like Liz Jones. I will undoubtedly become a crazy old cat-lady. But my friends can come round and cuddle with my cats when their other halves are allergic.


"You often worry about being alone?"
"I worry about hurting. Being alone comes with a dull ache, doesn't it?"


Yes it does. A bit like my headache, actually.



Update: I feel like I have written this very well, so if anyone is offended they must please tell me, and I'll try to explain. I'm not sure I've done very well explaining myself here.