I'm a bad friend

please don't try and make plans with me

“The thing about Cary,” James said once, when we were up late and commiserating over our hopeless men, “is that he would walk over hot coals for you, but he won’t commit to lunch plans.” -The Rachel Incident by Caroline O'Donoghue.

I’m a bad friend.

I say this with no irony, no plea for you to understand. Just the simple, uncomplicated truth that I, not unlike our friend Cary up there, am not a good friend.

When I read this line in the The Rachel Incident, I felt seen. This book is fraught with the coming-of-age woes of an early 20s existence, the kind of self-indulgent trauma I love to sink my teeth into. In this scene, Rachel is head over heels for her boyfriend, the much older, much less available Cary. She spends months texting him with no reply, waiting for him to make plans that he’ll never confirm, and wondering if he still likes her.

As someone who’s been at the receiving end of this kind of torturous communication, I felt for her. How many hours had I wasted waiting for a boy to text me back? To show me my worth? But as a friend who tends to act like Cary, I get it.

Now I know, a romantic relationship isn’t the same as a friendship. But also, isn’t it? By most standards, a friendship will outlive a romantic relationship. Certainly, our friendships are meant to be more understanding, forgiving, bendable than our romantic entanglements. So why do we give them so much more priority?

When I was dating, a text from the guy I liked would always rank as The Most Important Thing in my life. He would get a response within the hour, two if I was playing hard to get. I would type and re-type the perfect response, maybe send it to a friend for feedback, then finally hit send and watch with bated breath for those three little dots to appear. I’d cross my fingers and hope he’d respond in less time than I had, and that I wouldn’t have to stalk his Twitter or Instagram or whatever to make sure he wasn’t seeing someone else.

But as a friend, I go days, sometimes weeks without responding! This might come as a surprise given that I’ve talked about the demise of my own best friendship and the role texting played in that. But here we are. For context, this morning I answered a text from someone I consider a close friend from nearly FOUR weeks ago. Sure, it was long. It required a lot of thought and concentration to respond.

But even still.

In what world is that acceptable? After all, I adore this person. She was at my wedding. I hope to one day be at hers. And yet, I couldn’t find ten minutes to respond in the four weeks stretched between her text and mine? She probably would have wondered if I was lying there half-eaten by a pack of wild dogs if not for my sporadic Instagram updates and responses to her story!

I’m not proud of it. But the truth is, more often than not, this is the case. I’ve been known to go three+ weeks without responding to a text, to run circles around making plans until we’re both so exhausted we give up, or to just stop responding altogether until one day, many weeks or months from now, I feel the strength and energy to send a short but apologetic reply in which I will sincerely regret my disappearance but also desperately hope you understand and never ever ask me to do anything again. Unless I ask first. Or the mood is right. Or I happen to be in your neighborhood.

I know. I’m a mess. I’m sorry.

—

I don’t know when this happened. When I was younger you could count on me for anything; a people pleaser to my core there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for those in my life. I suppose it started then, with boundaries. Good for you, bad for other people, as they say.

I suppose this is also why I’ve always preferred long-distance friendships. Texting, although I’ll take an undisclosed amount of time to get back to you, is my preferred method of communication. I don’t want to talk on the phone, and I definitely don’t want to see you in person. Not because I don’t love you, but because it’s exhausting and there’s traffic and I don’t have the energy to be on for five hours straight.

It is so tiring to be in my head.

But I know, this is all incredibly selfish. The only redeeming part is that like Cary, I will always walk over hot coals for you. If you call me at 2am crying I’ll pick up and talk to you until you fall back asleep. I’ll check on you the next day, send you a basket of your favorite foods, make you super niche and personalized gifts, write you postcards, and encourage you to talk circles around the same problem until you feel better.

I’m good in a crisis.

Heartbreak, fear, and nostalgia are my bread and butter. I was born to nurse you back to health after a bad breakup or take the role of leader in a stressful situation. I’ll always make sure you know how very loved you are.

I will walk over hot coals for you. Drive hours out of my way to be there for you. Put my whole life on hold to make sure you know how special you are. I will be there for you when it feels like the whole world is falling apart.

But please, for the love of god. Don’t ask me to get lunch.

—