I don’t do well with people leaving.

My best friend moved away one April day in the 7th grade and I cried on the bleachers during gym class as I watched her say goodbye to everyone.

I shed a couple of tears onto my pillow at the age of seventeen the first night I spent alone after I said goodbye to a friend who only stayed at my house for a couple of days.

I bawled like a baby in the dark, under a tree freshman year when my college roommate of two months told me that she was transferring out.

Sometimes I feel like a really pathetic excuse for a human being.

I constantly claim that I have friends but after an intense amount of thought, I discovered that I was in fact lying to myself for the past two and a half years. I have friends at home. Someone to call if I want to hang out at the mall or go to a concert but here I don’t feel I have anyone like that. I did, one point in time, but both have since transferred out.

There are a couple of people left. Two “maybes” in a sea of acquaintances. I talk to a whole bunch of people but I never hang out with them. Money is the main reason. Time is another. And then I complain about this, receive the appropriate response from people and proceed to realize I come across as someone who needs help. Someone that needs to be cared for and pitied and ugh.

I never felt that way for the first 17 (18…19…2-) years of my life why should I feel that way now? I am not that person and yet I come across that way.

And no, I don’t want to talk about it.

…

I no longer cry when people leave though. A step in the right direction.