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It certainly has been awhile. I've learned a few things. I've lost a few friends, gained some new ones. But I've pretty much been trapped by decisions I don't want to make.
I can't say I don't like the friends I've made and stuck with since Freshman year. But they could never replace my old friends; the friends I had made a promise to, bound by a contract that we all willingly signed. I like my new friends. But I always feel like I'm competing with them or missing out on something.
1. Of course, I am by no means athletic. But I'm put under the pressure to keep up with her, or be scolded for not trying hard enough. She constantly says things like "Oh, a mile in eight minutes. I used to be able to go faster! I feel old and weak." I can barely even make it under ten. Get what I'm saying? Anyone slower than her is old and weak.
2. She is proud to be a devil. Everyday, she acts as though she's naturally evil. If it were true, none of us would even talk to her. And she doesn't act that way around other people. She attempts to hide her real emotions, saying that she has nobody she trusts to show them to. I can see them clearly, because I look for them. But she doesn't willingly show them to me.
3. She's never on my side. I've known her the longest, and she still doesn't trust me. When she broke up with her boyfriend, I was one of the last to know. When they first got together, I was third. No matter what I do, I can't make her happy enough to forget something painful. She relies on guys to help her with that.
4. She wants to believe that nobody understands her. She doesn't talk much. She's very good at drawing. She likes to show off, but whether or not she does it knowingly is indeterminable. She is much like 3. She doesn't want to get on anyone's bad side, but can't have it both ways. She's too nice.

I am a writer in agony. I once showed 2 an old writing, commenting that it may be a little depressing. She said it wasn't, and that she has something much more tormented. I was pretty offended. That which I love to do most, didn't reflect any of my emotions. Maybe it wasn't good enough. "The best writers are ones who can pour their heart into their stories, and can make me, as the reader, laugh or cry as if every emotion were my own. Because of this, I want to meet my own expectations as a writer." My own personal philosophy. 1 is a writer as well. She definitely has quite a bit to learn concerning grammar and sentence structure, but she has a good imagination. She relies on that alone, showing off her awkwardly rhymed poetry and such. Even when I'm not in the mood, she shoves the notebook in my face just for me to scan it reluctantly and tell her that it's the best thing I've ever read. Sometime today, I hinted to 2 that I am a writer. She was surprised. She didn't know, even though I had said it several times here and there. When our band writes its song, I can't ever get a word in. My thoughts are scrambled by screaming with joy over an awkwardly rhymed verse.
I am two-faced. I have a burning hatred for virtually everything as much as I love virtually everything. I want perfection, even though I can't have it. I hope for the best, the closest thing to perfection, only to be disappointed with the worst. Worst case scenarios know me well. I can easily convince someone that I'm extremely happy. Even if I do let my facial expression slip a bit, I can easily answer "Are you okay?" with "I'm just tired." I'm a pretty good liar. I can make up a decent lie without hesitation unless the evidence is obvious. Nothing to be proud of.
I am broken & corrupt. I wish an early death upon some people. And sometimes pray for it upon myself. I'm trying to live as God wants. But I just can't seem to do it right. "Love your neighbor as you love yourself and as the Lord, God, loves you." What if you don't love yourself? What happens then?
I am dramatic. All of this could be something one would roll their eyes about. I know 1 thinks it's all drama. She laughs. I laugh. I cry. None of them know.