When my best mate Tom just vanished last year, I didn’t see it coming at all. One Tuesday he canceled our weekly pub quiz night saying he was busy, then poof – ghosted me cold turkey.
The Immediate Aftermath
First week felt like food poisoning in my soul. Kept checking my phone every five minutes like a twit. When his birthday rolled around, I actually drove past his house like some creep. Saw his lights on through the curtains – stung worse than stepping on Lego barefoot.
Digging Into the Feels
Started writing down everything swirling in my head:
- That hot shame when remembering our last argument
- Weird jealousy seeing him tag new mates on Instagram
- Sleepless nights replaying our decade of inside jokes
Realized it’s not about missing him exactly – it’s about my old self dying with the friendship.
The Turning Point
After three months stewing in misery, I did two things:
- Wrote an angry letter burning with all the unsaid stuff – then ripped it up instead of sending
- Forced myself to join that hiking group I’d been eyeing since 2019
First hike felt like dragging concrete boots up the trail. But breathing actual fresh air instead of resentment fumes? Game changer.
Where I’m At Now
Eight months later, it still twinges when I pass our old burger spot. But the gut-punch has downgraded to occasional heartburn. Learned that friendship grief hits different because:
- There’s no funeral to make it “real”
- Society expects you to just “get over it”
- You mourn both the person and who you were together
Still wonder sometimes if I’ll ever have that easy friendship magic again. But my hiking boots? They’re properly broken in now.
