Relationships are tricky.
Friendships, situationships, relationships—all the ships—have the power to shape who you are in ways you don’t always notice right away.
That’s why it’s important to pay attention.
Some people are drawn to you not because they genuinely admire you, but because they want to keep you small.
Today, I’m going to tell you a story about a friend who shall not be named.
Let’s call her Cici—because I could never see the signs.
At first, we clicked. We didn’t have much in common, but somehow, she made the ugly parts of me feel safe. And at the time, I thought she was the funniest person I’d ever met.
Me and Cici did everything together. I’d go to her house every weekend and disappear for days. We’d talk for hours, laugh until it hurt, get coffee, green out, take pictures—just do what girls do.
Me and Cici had always been a little on and off—mostly because of my flakiness and her overbearingness. Still, we always found our way back to each other.
One day, she invited me down the Shore for the weekend to help throw a party with all of our friends. And of course, I said yes.
Guys, it’s the Jersey Shore. How could I not?
It was also my last month home before moving out of state—how could I say no to one last summer memory?
AND LADIES, When I tell you we prepped for this party… we prepped.
We had a DJ booked, enough booze to put Alabama’s entire Greek Row in the hospital, and of course—a big beach house right next to the boardwalk.
We were ready for hangovers, tan lines, and blurry memories.
In the first round of shots, we all did matching henna tattoos, the boys grilled up a storm, and we went swimming until the sun was down. It felt like the kind of weekend that would last forever—full of laughs, good vibes, and zero worries.
But sometimes, the moments that look the happiest on the surface are the ones where things start to crack.
Me and Cici ended up getting into a fight at the party—about God knows what. It was some stupid, minute thing that blew way out of proportion. Mind you, this girl has seen me at my worst and my best, been there through everything.
We took the argument to another part of the house so no one on the roof could hear us. Back and forth, we went, blaming each other for ruining the weekend.
At one point, she made a comment about my outfit, and I shot back, “You shouldn’t care—you’re not the one wearing it.” Then we both stomped off in opposite directions, drifting into different crowds at the party.
She ended up talking so much shit to everyone that night, it was embarrassing. The next day, people I barely even spoke to were coming up to me like, “You need to stop being friends with her.”
Saying she was making me look awful behind my back.
Dragging me.
Her best friend.
And the craziest part? I defended her.
Over and over and over again.
First, I said she was drunk, or upset, or just going through something. I gave her the benefit of the doubt—because that’s what you do when someone’s seen you at your worst. You assume they’d never be the reason you feel worse.
But when I finally grew the balls to bring it up, she didn’t deny it. She didn’t even flinch.
She looked me dead in the face and said,
“I had to bring you back down to reality. You were starting to act like you were above me.”
Like hurting me was some sort of fucking favor.
(WHAT A C R E A T U R E)
Like I was the one who needed to be put in my place.
That’s when it clicked:
It was never about friendship or loyalty.
It was about control.
My jaw was on the floor. Not even out of anger—just pure shock. I wasn’t yelling, I wasn’t crying, I was just… stunned.
She looked irritated, almost bored. But honestly?
That made everything make sense.
The eye rolls. The backhanded compliments. The way she’d get weirdly competitive anytime something good happened to me.
It was never about being my friend.
It was about keeping me small enough so she could feel big.
And I let her FOR SO LONG.
We stayed friends for a little longer, but ultimately grew apart because what the f*ck.
I haven’t reached out. I’m sure she’s out there figuring herself out.
It was a lesson—for both of us, probably. And while it hurt, I’ve moved on. I’m not holding onto anger. But I am holding onto clarity. Now I know what I expect from the people I have around me. Respect. Support. Real friendship—not ego battles dressed up as loyalty. I won’t beg to be treated right.
I won’t ignore red flags just because we’ve shared history, history isn’t shit.
Losing her sucked—but choosing myself felt so much better.
Love, P
Leave a Reply