While I’m naturally prone to melancholy, lately I’ve been finding myself in the thick of one depressive episode after the other. The kind of depression where you lay in bed for hours on end, turn off your phone, and forget to eat because we’re all dying anyway so who cares, right?
Wrong, actually. I cared.
I spent so much time caring what people were thinking about me, wondering why they slighted me or mistreated me. Trying to pick apart their motives, and looking within myself to try and figure out what was wrong with me, because it just had to be me. I’ve let people control my mood, control my actions, and take up residency in my mind rent-free.
Well, that ends now. Ok, technically it ended last weekend, but you get it. I’ve finally learned how to stop giving a f***.
Break ups aren’t reserved for romantic relationships only. Friends break up too and often the heartache is worse.
I’ve had my fair share of fading friendships in the past but, back in school when we were bound to cross paths (ie, a lecture hall, classrooms, the library), it was much easier to mend a rift. It was also easier to become mortal enemies, but that’s a post for another day. Now as a full-fledged post-grad adult, when a friendship goes South it usually slaps on some sunscreen and stays there.
Maintaining friendships at this age is hard. Unless you’re work buddies and can catch up at lunch, you have to actually put in some effort to spend time together. Between work, bills, and romantic dating, friend dates seem to go from every weekend, to once a month, to “girl I’ll see you when I see you” real fast. And when the friendship is over, it’s really over. It’s not hard to avoid someone you would have never seen anyway.
Regardless of the waning time spent together, friends still hold a special place in your heart. After all it was your friend who helped nurse you back to health after a f*ckboy sucked your soul from your body, and it was a friend who gave you her last spare tampon when your cycle popped up much earlier than expected at an event. Losing a friend for whatever reason can leave you with a gaping hole in your chest. If you find yourself with one less friend, here are a few ways to recover.
F*ckboys are the enemy of all women. These not-so-elusive creatures prey on confusion, tears, and broken hearts. They find solace in building you up then tearing down your self esteem, leaving your homegirls to pick up the pieces. You must avoid f*ckboys at all cost.
But that’s easier said than done.
Before we get started here I want to let you know that I hate being an adult with every fiber of my being. There, I said it. Call me negative, call me jaded, just don’t call me because I’m probably busy doing something adulty like budgeting or eating kale and I don’t have time to chat. Really, I feel like I don’t have much time for anything these days, well, except for happy hour- but we all know as adults that happy hour attendance is mandatory.
Besides exposing me to the beauty that is champagne mixed with orange juice, adulthood has done me no favors. My metabolism has slowed, I’m more depressed than I’ve ever been, and I’m losing friends at record speed. I know these things are “natural” “growing pains” and they “happen to everyone” but really, is that supposed to cheer me up? Knowing we’re all becoming soulless zombies who live for the weekend, stunt on the ‘gram, and Tinder swipe til our thumbs go numb?
This is not what I signed up for.