The first time I met them I knew I had made lifelong friends. These are my real friends. They have the ability to make me laugh until I cry. We love dancing and talking, sometimes just sitting next to each other, completely silent. I can’t imagine my life without them. We go on adventures, running the bike path, late nights at the football field, trips to town for coffee and ice cream. They know my secrets, holding on to them as if they were their own. We sing songs together, talk about the things that bother us. They make me so incredibly happy. We watch Disney movies on the floor of our rooms, remembering a simpler time where we thought we would grow up to be princesses. I wear their clothes, and they wear mine, to the point we don’t know who the original owner was. We join the same clubs and sports, wanting to spend as much time together as possible. We have sleepovers, staying up into the early hours of the morning. We take pictures together, wanting to document the history of us. If you ask me what I would do for them, the answer would be anything. Simple as that. These are my friends, my family. 

A part of me never wants to see them again. To be in the same room as them, listening to their voices would hurt too much. They were not my real friends. They betrayed me. They watched from a distance as I self-destructed, never once asking if I was okay. They turned their backs on me when I needed them most. All of those amazing memories are forever tainted by the bad. They are memories I will hold on to for the rest of my life. How can people be so cruel? How can people who claim they love you,  treat you so horribly? Maybe I’m being dramatic. But again, maybe I’m not. I know I shouldn’t hold grudges, and that I should probably just forgive them. In the end, maybe they didn’t know how to help me. Or maybe they didn’t care enough to help. I delete our pictures and cut them out from my life. With just one click, they are blocked. Erased from my life. The only reminder I have of them is the pain in my chest every time I think of them, think of all of our memories. They didn’t have my back and now I’m too scared to have theirs. Sure, they were friends at the time, but now I know that they were not my family. Maybe they never were at all.