I had an abusive childhood, it was a very dark time for me.
In primary school I had a best friend, she was the only light I had for years.
We had a book we were obsessed with, danced, wrote songs, she was the only good and happy place I had.
We drifted in secondary school, and I turned to all the usual awful stuff to see me through, drink, drugs and boys.
As it turned out she also had a lot going on and she also turned to the same things.
I sorted myself out, and then some years later Facebook became a thing. She and I got back in touch.
I lived a fair distance away at that point so it was all online.
Eventually I moved back and she and I started seeing each other in person again, and it became very apparent that she was still drinking a lot. I tried my damndest with her, but I really couldn't have that around my children so she couldn't come to my home.
She then ruined a particular event for me and I had enough and told her I couldn't cope with her drinking dominating everything and causing constant dramas and so we never spoke again.
Sadly she died a few months ago.
Still young, and just a wasted life.
I feel so sad, but I feel like such a hypocrite.
I'm sad that she died, but I'm also sad because of how her life turned out, the dreams we had as kids, all gone, the person she could so easily have been, came to nothing. Her life was so sad, and I know that I was as special to her as she was to me, and then it got ruined as adults because she was an alcoholic and I couldn't cope or be the help she needed.
I am sad, but there's another feeling there I can't quite put my finger on too.
I've written a long letter all about our friendship as children and bought a copy of the book (her child was named after 'my' character in the book) and I would love to share it with her child (well the dad at this point as chikd is still fairly young), but I don't have the right to get involved or be sad due to how things ended.
It's just such an odd feeling