Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here
“I ended a decade-long friendship, not out of hate, but from a quiet realization: what good is history if no one’s building a future with you? This is for anyone who’s ever been the third wheel in their own friendship — and finally chose to walk away.”
A Heavy Passing Thought
My head was throbbing, my body felt like it was burning from the inside out, and depressiveness pulled my mood down while I was at work today.
I hated that most of my (younger) coworkers were standing around, talking stories, and letting work pile up without a care in the world. They were literally next to me — more focused on their plans, their activities, their friendships and relationships — something I wanted to do too. But, instead of working so we could go home at a decent time, we finished WAY later than hoped.
Then, someone I knew briefly passed in my mind’s eye. Someone I thought mattered because of how long we knew each other, but only showed how little I mattered.
I haven’t thought about him in two months.
That’s how long it’s been since I chose to walk away from a decade-long friendship.
Not quietly.
Not with ease.
But with the weight of years pressing on my back — years I thought meant something, until they didn’t.
We had “history,” sure. But one morning, under freight that was too heavy for one person while the rest stood around laughing, I realized something:
What good is history if there’s no future being built in the present?
It hit me so hard, I wrote it down in the middle of my shift before I forgot.
When the Scales Are Unevenly Tipped
This friend — let’s just call him my “supposed best friend of 10 years” — told me he still cared. That our friendship mattered to him.
But when my family was attacked during a typical gathering, and I needed him most?
He vanished.
Not a word.
Until I reached out 2 weeks later, not about the pain, but about an anime convention we had planned to go to.
And even then, when we saw each other…
He clung to his girlfriend.
Wouldn’t look me in the eye.
Wouldn’t even walk beside me.
I would walk ahead of them and then would had to slow down to let them catch up.
But they always went at their own pace, and never did back their words up with any action. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not once. Just pretty empty words and the likelihood that I was going to accept them as I used to. Keywords: Used to.
“Busy” Was Too Big of an Ask
I was the one who initiated our texts about 70-90% of the time. Even when I texted after my friend was off from work, he wouldn’t reply for weeks or even a month later.
I asked for one thing — a one-word text: “Busy.”
That’s all. Just something to calm the storm in my head and not me assuming the worst.
But I was told I was asking too much.
Told I wasn’t imposing — even as I trailed behind like a ghost, forgotten and unacknowledged, yet in plain sight.
I Burned the Bridge Because It Was Already Collapsing
Let me be clear: I didn’t walk away because I was impulsive.
I walked away because I had already stayed too long in something that no longer respected me.
Something that stopped including me.
And once he got what he really wanted — companionship, a girlfriend, even among his already large group of successful friends and mentors and string of one night stands before meeting someone he wanted to build a life with — the friendship became an afterthought. A convenience. A placeholder.
Just like I became.
I don’t think he meant to hurt me. But he did.
And me? I was just always there, even if we lived in different towns connected by texts and D&D Discord sessions. Until I wasn’t.
Walking Away Hurts. But So Did Staying.
It took me nearly two weeks after the decision to stop myself from reaching out.
Another month to find the courage to delete both their numbers for good.
And now, two months in, I feel the silence. Still. But I don’t regret my decision.
Because silence from someone who once said, “You matter,” is the loudest answer you can get.
I refuse to hold onto a friendship that wouldn’t hold space for me back.
The Shift Was Clear and So Was My Choice
Even before walking away, I started to rebuild — after I told him I was too busy working 2 jobs, getting little sleep each night, and I’d get back to him when I could. Until I didn’t.
I was silent for 1 month, and in that time it was the most he ever reached out to me, asking how I was and how living on my own was. That was bothered me, he reached out when I said I’d get back when I could, but I ignored him and kept building my own future.
It was when I started my blog, grieving alone in my apartment after burying my grandpa and being surrounded by family who wanted nothing to do with us when he passed, while my friend got to keep having fun, being surrounded by friends, while I kept to myself and my work.
The final straw was when I confronted him when he and his girlfriend came to town for vacation. He only reached out to me because his girlfriend was hanging out with her own friends here, not because he wanted to hang out with me. I was the last resort that he reached out to and I wanted to crush my phone when I read his texts.
I was livid, I was furious, and the words spilled all over the text when I confronted him, “what are we to each other?”
He said he needed time to think and I told him he had every right to think things over and to have a nice vacation. I had his number on mute for a while, until that day arrived.
2 weeks later, he texted back, saying that he still valued our friendship and that he still cared. I laughed so bitterly I couldn’t recognize my own voice. I gave him so many chances to show up when I needed him and he never did when it mattered.
I never told him about my grandpa’s passing because of how his silence affected me prior to when I told him of my family’s assault.
I refused to tell him about my blog because experience made me hesitate. He would put some of my work down because he knew someone better equipped and skilled, but I shared a part of myself and had it broken in front of me.
So, I had enough and left. For good and without explanation.
For Anyone Who’s Been the Third Wheel to Their Own Friendship
You’re not crazy for noticing the shift.
You’re not selfish for asking for presence, for reassurance, for basic care.
And you’re not wrong for walking away.
Friendship isn’t measured only in years.
It’s measured in reciprocity. In effort. In being seen.
Not with begging to be given scraps of attention, begging your supposed “friend” to include you or accepting that they tell you how you’re “too much” or “asking for too much.”
After 10 years, and from other past friendships, I realized what I value most in a real friendship:
- Clear and direct communication.
- Reciprocity.
- Respect (as an adult), of my time, efforts, and boundaries.
- Self-improvement.
- Authenticity.
- Accountability of choices and actions.
- Peace of mind.
- Shared direction.
So if you’re holding onto a “history” with someone who stopped showing up in your “now,” ask yourself what kind of future you’re building — and with who.
Because if they’re not building it with you…
Then maybe it’s time to start building it without them.
If you’ve felt this before — the quiet end of a long friendship — this space is for you.
You don’t need to shrink or explain it away.
You’re allowed to grieve.
You’re allowed to rebuild.
And most of all — you’re allowed to walk away from the people who didn’t choose you, even when you chose them over and over again.
For Those Who Wander
To those reading this — tired, wondering, still searching — this place is for you.
I call it The Stratagem’s Archive — a place to rest, reflect, and remember that your story still matters.
No matter how quiet. No matter how heavy.
You’re welcome here.
You’re Invited
Did any part of this sit with you?
If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.
I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.
No pressure, no performance. Just space
Thank you for walking with me — even for just a moment.
We may not always know where we’re going,
but if we’re still writing, we’re still alive.
