Friends

I've always thought of myself as a good friend. I'm proud of the fact that at 47 years old, I have friendships that have lasted for well over 40 years. I love my friends, they're important to me.

Many of my friendships were alive and well way before Social Media was even a glint in Mark Zuckerberg's eye. During my uni days, some of my school friends and me would actually write each other letters (yes I'm that old) to make sure we were in touch and our friendships kept going.

We made an effort to be in each others lives, trusting that if we arranged to meet up at the Wild Orchid at 8, we'd all be there, sat with a pint of cider and a packet of Brannigans ham and mustard crisps (god I miss those crisps) You couldn't send a WhatsApp checking that your mates had turned up, you had to walk in and wait, praying you weren't going to end up a Billy.

Social Media has definitely made it easier to re-connect with people I might have lost touch with over the years and in some cases, it's helped create and strengthen some friendships and develop new ones.

But friendships are so much more than just giving a thumbs up to the odd status every now and again. During Lockdown, I'd send my friends cards and little bits through the post and they did the same, you can't beat a bit of lovely snail mail (well unless it comes in a brown envelope, I'm not a fan of those letters!)

I always try and make an effort with my friends, messages, phone calls, checking in to see if they're OK, meeting up. I hope my friends know that if they ever needed me, then my kettles always on and there's biscuits in the tin, if I miss their call I'll always phone them back and the spare bed is always made up, just in case.

One of my oldest friends isn't on any form of social media, and he lives a few hours away from me. Our busy lives mean that we resort to the "hey how are you?" texts and we probably exchange these every few months. I haven't seen him in person for about 8 years.

About eighteen months ago, I noticed that he wasn't replying and I started to worry I'd upset him, so I asked if we was OK. He eventually replied that he'd been suffering from depression, he'd split up with his wife and generally was finding life a bit rubbish. I told him I was there if he needed anything. He said he wanted to be left alone. I said I would respect that, but every now and again, I'd check in on him, because he was my friend and if he ever did need me or wanted to talk, I was there. I promised I wouldn't bother him, and I didn't.

That's what happened, every few months, I'd text and he'd reply that things were the same. Deep down, I was really scared he'd hurt himself, I was frightened for him.

I text before Christmas .... no reply.

I knew he didn't keep in touch with any other mutual friends, so I had no one else to contact to see if they'd heard from him, or just check he was OK.

On Friday, I text again.

Saturday morning he replied.

The text told me, that he felt like he owed me an explanation. He'd been in a relationship with someone for a while and he'd told her about me and she'd decided that our 30 year friendship and one drunken shag when we were 20 made her feel uncomfortable, so therefore he had decided to ..... AND I QUOTE....

"withdraw from the friendship"

He realised he should have told me, but it was what it was.

I read the message and at first, I thought "oh OK, no worries, at least he's OK." and I very nearly typed a reply, but one of the dogs wanted to go for a wee and I got distracted and didn't reply. I'm really bad at not replying to messages, so I re-read the text so I could reply and I thought, no actually that's not acceptable in any way shape or form.

I told my sister and she advised me not to reply, be like the Queen she said, "never complain, never explain."

But the text grew in my brain like a worm. The thing I hate more than anything in the world is being lied to. I don't care what the truth is, just tell me what's going on. I just couldn;t shake the feeling that he'd lied to me about being depressed, when all the time he'd been in a relationship. A relationship, I'd have been happy to hear about, I genuinely would have been pleased for him.

So, I messaged asking if he'd lied about the depression.

Eventually he text back and said, no and that he didn't want to hear from me.

I just didn't believe him and having had other friends who have genuinely struggled with depression, and other mental health issues, I was really angry that he'd use this as an excuse. So in a very un-Katie like way, I told him that he was a horrible friend and that I deserved better. I said I had never been more disappointed in someone than I was in him.

I then blocked his number.

I had a good old cry - several times.

I felt really sad.

30 years of friendship and he'd "withdrawn", like he'd closed down aour friendship bank account.

When I woke up today, that feeling of being easily discarded and unimportant is nestled in the bottom of my tummy and I can feel it there now as I type, but I am determined to not let it win.

This morning, I went out with the dogs, I know a morning walk sets me up for the day, it makes me happy being in the fresh air, watching my dogs play, Flo-Flo does everything she can to avoid puddles, whilst Mabel comes back looking like she's been on an episode of "SAS Who Dares Win".

I have a busy work day, a few appointments and my work makes me happy, I'm writing wedding scripts and planning weddings.

Tonight, I'm off to see Josh Pugh and he really makes me laugh, if you've never seen any of his stuff, check him out.

I'm also proud of the fact that for once, I told someone how I really feel, so whilst he may have "withdrawn" from the friendship, I have exited, I've shut the door behind me and locked it and whilst I can't say it's permanently locked, the key is in a pot on the mantlepiece and I wont be the one to remove it.

Locked door