- You're not the type of person who spends a lot of time on social media, and you're certainly not the type of person to lurk on people's pages, but every now and then, you just like to check in on the people you used to know. The irony is that even before you log in, you know it's a bad idea. It's always a bad idea. Not once has this ever left you feeling happy. Not once has this activity proven itself to be worthwhile. But you do it anyway, convincing yourself that you just want to make sure everyone is doing okay.
And they are. Of course they are. They always are. With each profile you check on, every name you type in, you're bombarded with posts and photos and videos that prove that they're happy. They're smiling, and laughing, and getting on with their lives. They're out there, doing things. They have new friends. New memories. They have all of this without you in it. That's so nice, you think, forcing a smile. Look how well they're doing. They don't...they don't need me at all. They don't miss me at all.
There's an old wooden box inside of your head, tucked away for sake keeping. Just in case, you tell yourself. Just in case it's needed again. The box is filled with old memories. It's full of these faces you know. Their voices, their laughter. Favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite memories. Countless do you remember's and remember that time's. You couldn't let the box go even if you tried. Sometimes you dig it out and blow the dust from the lid, sifting through the old images and soaking in the nostalgia. You smile, you laugh...you cry. All these keepsakes from relationships gone by, and no one to share them with.
You hate checking people's pages. Every time - every single time - you're hit with the melancholy realization that maybe...maybe they meant more to you than you did to them. How else could they drift off so easily? How else could they leave without a word? You were always the one to message first. Ironically, it also meant you're the one who messaged last. Your hands tremble slightly, as does your bottom lip. You're a good friend, right? You message to ask how people are. You put so much thought into birthday presents. You bring baking to the meet-ups. You offer your hand, your shoulder, your companion ship. Why was it never enough? Why am I never enough?
Now here you are. Still here. Craving friendship, but too scared to try. Lonely. Always lonely, it seems. Which hurts worst, you wonder - a friendship ending without you knowing why, or being rejected when trying to forge a new one?
You swallow hard and put on an episode of Friends, the one where Phoebe has the triplets. If you're going to cry it might as well be about something nice. For a moment you give in to temptation again and check your other social media because maybe, just maybe, but - no. No new messages. Not from friends old, not from potential friends new. The urge to keep busy is suddenly overwhelming. The need for distraction, to push away those bitter feelings. You log onto Toyhouse. Hey everyone, you think, trying to sound cheerful, but there's a strain in your internal dialogue. Who's up for some character development? They don't reply, obviously, but it's so much easier to imagine that they do.
