Without giving away her name, we were best friends for most of our lives. I ruined things by turning her home into my refuge — a place where I could escape the people I didn’t want to face and drink exactly how I wanted to. Naturally that meant getting thoroughly and repeatedly intoxicated. She drank too, but never nearly to the degree I did. She had a couple of small children, and I was hardly the kind of example they needed. I was wrapped up in my own selfishness, tipping the poison down my throat without thinking about the consequences. Her husband didn’t drink at all, and the contrast between us made everything more painful. Eventually it became unbearable; it reached the point where I never visited her sober. I miss her and their company, but the damage is already done. It’s been years since I last saw her, and far too much time has passed to rebuild what we once had. This isn’t the first time she pulled away — we had a six-month stretch once when we didn’t see each other at all — but this feels different. After everything, there’s no coming back from this. I even lived with them for six months or so. I became unwell and went into hospital again, I came out and shifted back into the folds again.

I have never blamed her for cutting me off. I deserved it. I wish she knew that I am sober and doing better now, but the stage for reconciliation long since passed. So what sparked this degree of absence? Mostly it began when my dad broke down with me, though much of his anger was aimed at secret girl. I had just finished rehab that day and met up with that woman; we drank together. We got back to my place and I invited her in. Big mistake! It didn’t take Dad long to realise I had been drinking. and was understandably upset. She left and messaged that she wouldn’t see me again until I started selling my art and moved out of the house… again. She said she would never set foot in that place again. She left, and that was the end of it.

I wasn’t very popular during that period — a fact I brought upon myself. I miss her and wish we could patch things up. The last time I saw her was in a pharmacy; we didn’t even make eye contact. Another time was at Nan’s funeral, where we acted like strangers to one another. The damage has been done, and there’s no coming back from it. How much do I care now? Not as much as I once did. As I’ve written in previous blogs, I don’t need friends, and I value my solitude.