Lost

First, a correction. I had a typo in my last post. I was also sobbing, so words got mixed up. It was completely unintentional. Only my best friend attended Wellesley—it should have read (and now does) SHE, not WE. I think it was clear in the remainder of the sentence that it was a typo, but someone reacted and almost started typing a message, so: “Kim,” no—sorry about that.

I couldn’t get into fucking Wellesley. Are you kidding right now? I had a baby at 16. I got pulled from AP classes and put into home ec, cooking, and child development. That’s what they did back then—they gave up on you. Even at that, I was more of a “sit in the back of the class and tell jokes” or “infuriate the teacher for shits and giggles” kid.

That correction made, back to my best friend…

So I texted her:

“I need to tell you something. I’ve been trying not to say anything, but it really hurts that you didn’t show up. You have a lot going on and it’s not your fault, but I have needed you for like two years. My life is still falling apart. I lost my job. I wake up screaming his name. I have no idea what to do or where to turn, and I am just so fucking lost. And it feels like no one has noticed that I’m just not here anymore. Like, I get it—life is life, and everyone is busy, and everyone has their own shit, but I’m drowning.

I don’t have any specific thing I’m asking you to do. I need someone to tell me what I do next. I feel like nobody believes me or sees the gravity of the situation because no one seems to care. I don’t know. I’m sorry I’m mad at you. I feel bad about it. You’ve always been there, and I need too much right now.”

This was her response to me:

“I’m really sorry. I hear how lonely you are and how angry and how much you are hurting. I will continue to provide you support and love in all the ways that I can.”

I am so hurt right now. That’s like a canned message from a fucking pumpkin-spice-latte-drinking, taupe-wearing, emoji-using, woke HR basic white bitch. That’s everyone who says to me, “I believe you, but I can’t do anything.”

And isn’t that a nice way of saying I’m not doing fuck-all else for you?

Like, get a fucking plane this weekend. It’s cold as balls in Boston anyways. Like, why didn’t she call me, bitch? Since when do we talk to each other like that? Since when is that okay?

And this sounds insane to people. But that’s not how you talk when you’re someone who has been my best friend for three decades. Like, you are excluded from normal if you feel the need to be friends with me—especially that close of a friend. I’m a lot to handle as a friend.

We write songs for eachother to cheer the other up  we tell jokes  why haven't we made up a cleaver nickname for {D} yet? When it was her turn we called that bitch Mayor of Crazy Town or MoCT for short  we still call her MoCT (pronounce mo-cat" there was an entire three hour long debate over the proper pronunciation). Why the fuck arent we sitting in an ihop with whipped cream on our noses? This is what I want from her. Us and I get some HR compliant response. 

If I’ve lost her, I’ve lost everything.

UPDATE: we talked a little. She apologized. I'm being hysterical. We're not having like a back and forth conversation so it doesn't feel right. It's not going to be alright. 

PS, for Kim-

I just want to tell two quick stories to the person who might get the joke.

My best friend and I graduated high school the same year as Chelsea Clinton. Clinton was in the White House, and therefore she was in our area. My friend went through practically the entirety of high school having panic attacks that Chelsea Clinton was going to take her spot at Wellesley. She wanted nothing more than Wellesley. Chelsea went to NYU. Thank God.

My best friend wears her class ring from Wellesley. And like twenty years ago or something, I made an offhand comment about how most people would be more impressed with Harvard. I told her, “You could walk around, put up a fist, and say, ‘I WENT TO HARVARD, BITCH!’” Well, to this day she will tell me to shut up randomly—fist out—“I WENT TO WELLESLEY, BITCH!”

Those are my two favorite Wellesley stories.

As an aside, she always wanted to meet you.