I think my best friend hates me. I’ve been back in New York for 4 months now, and we’ve only hung out once… 3 and a half months ago. When I text him to ask questions about whether or not he hates me, he says “no, of course I don’t hate you. Are you back on medication yet?” I think this is mean! For one, my medication is my own business. For two, medication sucks away all of my energy and personality and imagination. For three, well no… one and two were enough.
Last time we hung out, we were over at his apartment drinking breakfast tea and smoking cigarettes. It was the first time we’d been in the same room together for approximately five years. It was nice to see my old buddy. At one point, we moved down to New Orleans together, years ago. And then we went seperate ways for a bit. And then reconvened back in New York. And then parted ways again. And then and then and then. But we’ve always managed to stay in touch. And everytime we talk, we slip right back into our last conversation.
That’s why I call him my best friend. And the last time, at his apartment, it was no different. We had long talks with all four of our eyes excitedly standing on stilts. We laughed our balls off. Good times. And then… the ride home happened. he drove me because I hate cars. He needed gas, but didn’t stop. Proceeded to run out of gas 100 yards from my house. Now, I have an autoimmune disease called rheumatoid arthritis. And he knows this. I told him there’s physically no way I can walk with him to the gas station because it’s 2 miles away. I can not do this without paying for it for a week.
I offered to hang out with him while he called/waited on a cab, even offered to pay for it. Blah blah blah, this is getting too wordy again. Point is, when I called him a few days later, he was totally pissed at me. Because I didn’t call him that night to make sure he didn’t get raped on the walk to the gas station. Well. So that’s that. Now he doesn’t like me. And when I ask about hanging in the future, he asks me about the medications I take for my neuroses. I can’t believe this is about the gas incident though, so I’m assuming he just hates me for how I’ve been over the years. I don’t know what to think though, because he won’t say anything either way.
I’m only writing this because I miss my old buddy. Do other people have stories like this? Does this happen to crazy people all the time? Hmmmmm. To be fair, there’s tons of backstory that I think would be boring to too many ears… but yeah, he’s probably right to hate me.
You know, a couple years ago I almost started a support group for ex-friends/ex-girlfriends of mine. To bond over what a wannabe cult-leader asshole I am. But the logistics man, they’re all too spread out. Maybe I should arrange for a weekly conference call for these people. It’s probably the least I could do.