So I went to a housewarming party for my friend last night. It was small, and quiet, and really actually very nice once I got used to the idea that I was probably not going to be getting shitfaced, and I would not be meeting anybody new. Two things I would have hoped for a quality New Years eve.
But still, it was good to see some old friends. It's funny how we say that, when really these people are old friends at all. They are in fact, barely friends. I used to be part of the "group" and since the quite conspicuous split of another friend and I, have seen little of them in recent months. Like six or seven. They hardly know me, and the thought struck me when I showed up to the house last night, looking like I did and acting like I did (both of which displayed more confidence than I actually had) that they wouldn't really know to expect any different of me. They don't know that I was entirely insincere, trying my hardest to stya until midnight, not go into the bathroom and cry because I had again sunk to some new low inside myself that no one, not even the people around me, or those that could actually say they are closest to me knew. And I don't know which part is saddest: that I expereienced all this, that they couldn't tell, or that we call ourselves friends. Because I know they genuinely care. But they don't have to time to be interested. And I'm sure there is a way to better articulate that, so I will search for it as I continue with my day.