An old friend from college called tonight. She was her usual chipper self and asked how I was doing. I told her okay. She replied, "Okay?" I then replied, "Well my grandfather did pass away a week ago." Her response, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Of course not, because we've become disconnected. Partly my fault, partly her's. She's busy planning her upcoming nuptials and I've been busy moping and complaining about how terrible my life is. I don't blame her for not calling as much as she used to. But honestly, it makes me sick to hear how fabulous her life has been the past couple of years, so I haven't called either. I rarely talk to any of my old friends anymore. I hate that. But I hate hearing about how well things are going for them, because it makes me feel worthless. I think what I hate more though, is how miserable I truly am. Sure, I can hide it from day to day, but it's there and I am rotting on the inside. I hate that I hate my life.