Am I bitter? Yes I Fucking Am.

Sometimes I hate my friends for thinking I'm fine, though I spend all my time pretending I'm fine.

Mystery has been calling me for the last couple of weeks, and I've not even tried to hide the fact that I'm ignoring him. Mystery has always been very good at being supportive (when he's not drowning in his own self-indulgence) and he knows me well enough to know when things are really affecting me. Or so I thought.

About half a year ago, Looney Toon, my flatmate and best friend for the most part of 10 years moved out, and we came to be on immensely bad terms. She spent months hurting and dismissing me, and didn't care enough to see it, choosing in the end to, without even a moment of deliberation, believe every word of her cheating racist liar of a boyfriend over her best friend who has taken care of her in every way possible for years. Am I bitter? Yes I fucking am.

Anyway when everything went down the pan with her, I very deliberately proclaimed very loudly to anyone who would care/dare to hear, my immense anger and contempt (which were perfectly legitimate, and let me assure you, perfectly potent) and brushed aside any friendly sympathy in very much an "I don't want your pity, I want you to remember this anger and make sure you never give me reason to direct it your way" sort of manner. Everyone was too busy dodging my warpath to see how absolutely crushed I was. Except Mystery, who after a brief mention of what had happened, booked a train straight down from Bristol to give me a big hug.

He was great actually, and totally understood the heartbreak of losing a best friend in any capacity - and I was so touched at how good he was and dare I say it, a little surprised. Empathy has never been one of Mystery's strong suits. But he kept a little eye out for me, and checked in on how I was doing for the next few weeks - and even though we never really talked about it, and I brushed it aside, he knew to be a bit delicate with me.

But when he found out about the breakup with Darcy, he could not have been more unsympathetic. Sure, he made all the appropriate mmm's and ahhh's, but I got one "Yeah, that's shit, don't worry you'll get over it" and that was it. No checking up to see if I was okay, no little "if you need anything.." text, in fact no acknowledgment of my possible pain in any way. He just literally, forgot about it. And I knew why - because he didn't relate to it. He didn't see his own past or pain in it, so it didn't exist as a problem. And he didn't give enough of a shit to imagine how I must be feeling.

So when he called and I sounded a bit down, or said listen I'm not up for going out at the moment, he wouldn't even push and tell me to cut the bullshit. Christ - sorry, bit of a self revelation moment here, but - is that really what I'm looking for, someone to see through the facade? Hmm. See that makes sense, from a pseudo-psychoanalytical point of view, but personally, that's always been one of my hugest fears. That someone would see through the facade.

Christ.

Well, I suppose that's part of the reason people put up walls - to see who cares enough to push them down. It's just... it's getting a bit lonely, sitting on the shady side of my wall, waiting for someone to break it down.