A Quiet Death of a Friendship

I wrote this six months ago and left it sitting in drafts.

At the time I was too close. Too tangled up in the moment.

Time has passed. The distance has done its job.

So I’m posting it. Not to reopen anything.

I messaged them tonight - that friendship is stone cold. I just to acknowledge it happened and it’s finished.

A Quiet Death of a Friendship

I used to talk to you every day, in the way people do when they are part of each other’s lives.

Not a quick check in or the occasional message, but a steady rhythm. Calls without planning. Voice notes because typing felt too small. Moments shared in real time because we trusted each other to hold them.

Now your name sits quiet on my screen, and our silence has a weight to it I wasn’t prepared for.

“Some losses do not arrive with goodbyes. They arrive as absence.”

What We Were

We were friends who loved each other. Not casually. Not lightly. Platonic love is one of my favourite types of love.

There was warmth, closeness, and the kind of safety that makes the world feel less heavy.

I thought we would always be in each other’s lives in some form. Not everything. Just something steady.

The Thing I Was Carrying

What broke us wasn’t sudden. It was slow.

I was holding secrets I was never meant to hold.

I knew things you didn’t. Enough to understand something in your world wasn’t right. I had spotted the bad guy.

And I knew people around you were choosing to ignore it. Choosing comfort. Closing ranks. Keeping things neat for themselves, even if it meant you stayed in the dark.

“It is one thing to be hurt. It is another to be hurt while others help by pretending it is not happening.”

I sat with that every time you came to me.

I didn’t speak. Not because I didn’t care. Because some truths aren’t mine to hand over.

Being a Refuge Instead of a Person

When things were hard, you came to me. For steadiness. For support.

When things settled, you stepped back. Our connection shrank. I stayed quiet so it didn’t interfere with what you were holding onto.

I became a refuge instead of a person.

The Boundary

At some point, I couldn’t ignore what it was doing to me.

I wouldn’t be half in, half out. I wouldn’t be the container for something that was hurting you and hollowing me out at the same time.

It was never about punishing you. It was about protecting myself.

What It Cost Me

Keeping my mouth shut cost a dear friend. Opening it would have cost a dear friend their world.

I also lost the version of the future where you were there.

Grief isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s the absence of something that used to feel constant.

What Still Sits With Me

What’s left isn’t confusion.

I know you will still get hurt. I know the lies continue.

I think, deep down, you do.

But knowing and acting are not the same thing.

What I Don’t Regret

I don’t regret protecting my integrity.

I don’t regret refusing to turn what I knew into something destructive. I don’t regret stepping away instead of becoming part of something that didn’t feel right.

“I lost a friendship. I didn’t lose myself.”

Where We Are Now

Now we’re distant. Not strangers. Not close.

There’s space. I needed that space, even if I didn't want it.

ADHD does something useful here. When something isn’t in front of me, it creeps away. I can get on with things. And then sometimes it comes back, sharp and immediate. I've written before that ADHD people often don't miss people and it's almost true.

A Living Goodbye

I didn’t walk away because I didn’t love you.

I walked away because loving you while betraying myself wasn’t something I was willing to do.

The door is closed. But it isn’t locked.

If you ever walk through it, you’ll need to walk all the way through. Not half in. Not half out.

Until then, this is where it stays.

Not unresolved.

Just finished.