When You’re The Back-Up Friend


Ever heard of the word, “back-up” friend?

This personally heartbreaking note is brought to you by the moment I was browsing Instagram one night, alone in my little apartment, wanting to go out with a friend for a bit of air.

I’d like to think we were friendly enough, so while it was still relatively early, I DM’d her, and about an hour later got a ‘Oh I’m so tired’ reply in return. Then, a few hours later on Instagram, I see her partying it up.

What the hell?

I didn’t get angry, or screenshot the interaction to kingdom come, I just got heartbroken.

This was the girl who called me up at 2am because she wanted someone to talk to about her dying cat, this was the person who forced me to take time off (it was her off day) to drive her to a nearby beach ‘for the spontaneity,’ and had me buy her Nyquil when she had a light cold, even when the pharmacy was just right below her building and I lived two blocks away.

I came to the conclusion that I was the backup friend. Not exactly a frenemy, but not first choice either.

You may argue that we had fun times and I shouldn’t throw that away; but I would like to counter to you all the times that in hindsight, was either a series of events showing how awful of a ‘friend’ she was, or how bad a doormat I am.

How she pantsed me in the bar one time, how she told a former boyfriend of my insecurity with my bumpy armpits, how she told another girl with braces that I didn’t like the color of her elastic bands at one point and now she wasn’t speaking to me. There are more moments similar to that, but it’s too personal and intimate, and frankly painful, to me at this point now that I’m feeling like this.

Slapped with the inconvenient truth that I’m only ever somebody’s choice when there’s nobody else to choose from.

So now I’m pressing Block on her name, and I’m hoping you wish me luck for the days to come.



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