In the final week of February I waved goodbye to my independence as my first car was sent to auction for parts. During this time in my life, people asked me if I was okay physically but only one person cared for my mental wellbeing. During the following weeks, I had to ask for lifts to accomodate the fact I couldn’t get to and from basketball training locations. Fast forward to this present time and I’ve since retired from basketball and still don’t have a car.
I guess what this letter is tying to get to, is that I’ve declined – mentally. My sanity levels have been worse than a pregnant woman’s hormones over the past few weeks. I’m certainly not having the time of my life and I’d like to specifically point out the lack of support from you, my so called friends.
I know I’m writing this as if it were directed at a sole person, but there a few people to which I’m speaking to – they’ll just have to work out which paragraph is there’s.
I am the friend who pays, you could almost say I buy my friends – or at least this friend in particular. Just last year, her car was written off. I went out of my way for weeks to ensure our friendship was maintained by driving to the zoo or simply out for brunch. I understand that you returned the favour following one of my other previous injuries, but I pulled my weight and paid for meals and coffee because basically, you’re the friend I pay for. For years, our zoo trips have only occurred because I paid for breakfast or I paid for lunch. You’re the friend that can never afford to go out, but you always afford to buy the same clothes as me even though we have completely different body shapes. For the past month of my life, I have had two conversations with you; one following my car accident and one offering me a lift to a basketball game. That’s a whole month and only two conversations. Of course you won’t remember this following your own recent accident, but I’d like to point out that you are a shit friend and I’m so tired of paying. I’m tired of your boyfriend being a better friend and I’m tired of being your bloody sugar mama. I’m disappointed in myself for only realising it now and for that, I’m sorry it took me so long.
I am the friend who was useful because I had a car and a license. It’s great to see how disposable I am, it truly is. The minute I retired from basketball following my injury, I received one message of best wishes in a group chat purely because everyone else was sending their own wishes. You drove me home from training a few times prior to my injury but for the several months you had no licence or car, I took you out for coffee or dinner – but you never returned the favour. I’m annoyed with you if you couldn’t tell, I removed myself from Facebook group chats purposefully for you, I got your attention. But you didn’t care, you simply sent a few screenshots and more or less complained about the notifications – like I care? Tonight, you barely spoke a whole sentence to me and more or less avoided me or ignored me. Tonight I buried our friendship because it’s very evident that I’m nothing to you.
If it takes for you to read this blog post to message me, then you’re too late. I’ve had a muted group chat for our basketball team for weeks, you both drive past my house – neither of you offered to ever pick me up to come and watch a game. I shouldn’t have to organise coffee dates or lifts anywhere, it’s not my vehicle. It’s up to you to offer, take the initiative to be a friend because you both let me down and I’m a fool to have considered either of you to be a friend.
I hope you take a small section of this away with you, but for now I’m completely unable to tolerate being the disposable sugar mama. I’m suppose to be a friend, but I’m less than that now.
Goodnight, sleep tight.