Fraudulent friendship

What defines friendship? Is it two people who share a common interest, or something deeper—like soulmates who aren’t bound by romance, but by loyalty? One sounds more poetic, maybe even cringey to some. But the truth is, the more “cringe” it sounds, the more meaning it tends to carry. I’ve never had the best history with friendships. And when it comes to relationships, I have no history at all. I’ve always been more of a bystander—watching people form connections, drift apart, fall in love, and sometimes fall out of it. Some of those bonds were genuine. Others felt like performances. And from where I stood, most of it looked painful. Isn’t finding the “love of your life” supposed to be beautiful? Isn’t friendship meant to be comforting, safe, joyful? Why does it often look like people are trying so hard to hold something together that’s already slipping through their fingers? I used to think love was supposed to fix things. That friendship was supposed to feel like home. But now I wonder if people are just trying to find pieces of themselves in others—hoping someone will understand the parts they don’t know how to explain. And maybe that’s why it hurts. I’ve tried. I poured everything I could into a friendship that ended up feeling like a scam. I gave my time, my energy, my heart—hoping it would be enough. Maybe I gave too much. Maybe they felt suffocated. But I was just trying to matter. And when it ended, it didn’t feel like closure. It felt like betrayal. Like I was the only one fighting for something they never truly valued. That’s why I’m distant now. I don’t talk to people the way I used to—not because I don’t care, but because I’m scared they’ll run away again. Run with my feelings. Leave me behind, I gave everything to be seen. They left before they even looked. Funny enough, the only connection that feels real to me isn’t even with another human being. It’s with God. Because He’s the only one who never made me feel like I was too much. And maybe that’s why I struggle to imagine what a human, honest relationship looks like. Because I’ve only known the kind that asks for pieces of me, but never offers anything back. I want something true. Something safe. But I don’t know how to trust that it exists. So for now, I stay quiet. Not because I don’t want love— but because I’m still healing from the kind that pretended to be.

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