I know that I am not a good friend.

I’ve had the nagging thought for a while that I am not a good friend. Finally, this week, I was able to allow my mind to contemplate that thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is true: I am not a good friend. It certainly is not my wish or desire to be this way. For the longest time I thought I was a very good friend. But the evidence speaks otherwise, and it pains me to admit this about myself.

The first example I can think of concerns my former best friend, Faith. We parted ways this past May. I got triggered from something she said, and then things were made worse when her partner got involved and triggered me further. The whole thing was a hot mess of misunderstanding on all of our parts, but the sad result is that we are no longer friends. I thought we would be life-long friends.

We did apologize to each other via text, and we wished each other a happy birthday when our birthdays came around in September. But she is not open to restarting our friendship. I can only guess why, but I think it’s a pretty good educated guess on my part. I think the whole experience has her scared of being my friend, scared of inadvertently triggering me again. I can understand that. It’s painful, but I understand it, nonetheless.

I also tend to disappear on people. It frustrates me that I do this. It seems like it’s some sort of dysfunctional defense mechanism. Sometimes I disappear because I am not doing well, and I don’t want to scare a friend with how I’m doing, and other times I disappear if I sense that I’ve scared them or burdened them. Then there are times that I disappear for no discernible reason. It perplexes me probably as much as it perplexes them.

The end result is that I am alone a lot of the time. I do have friends, but I am especially careful not to tax them or get too close. Screw it. I’ll admit it. I’m lonely, plain and simple.

But then I have days like I had this week where I felt so dissociative that I felt like I was walking through huge swaths of cotton, and it just solidified my idea of how I’m not fit for friendship.

It would be fab if I could have real friends, a serious relationship, children … or at least one of those. But those things feel like they are not for me as I am too sick, too unwell. I’m stalling at what I really want to say: too mentally ill.

My dream: a best friend, a dog, a child and a relationship. At this point, just one of these would make me happy.