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Some of the worst things that have ever happened to me have happened this year.

And yet even as I struggle to turn my inner dark goo into words so that I can pull it out of myself, I’m aware that I’m about as mentally well as I’ve ever been. Not happy exactly, but well.

I attribute this in large part to the army of brilliant, loving, supportive friends who came charging out the the woodwork to my rescue. I love and appreciate them so much my heart hurts a little to think about them.

And I’m having the realisation I have every time I am stunned by the people around me. They make my older and past friends look bad.

This year has shown me where my real friends are. And, sadly, where they aren’t. It’s good – that I can recognise notsogood friends for what they really are. I can meet their indifference with a healthy dose of “well fuck you then pal”. It’s difficult to admit that I overinvested in people and relationships that ultimately were never going to be what I built them up to be. Promoted people to “best friends” just because they were all I had at the time. My mistake, not their fault.

I currently don’t have any best friend. Nobody loves me best. I’ve not known anyone long enough. But most of my friends now are still much better friends than those I’ve called “best friend”.

It’s a bittersweet kind of mood.

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