You, my friend, are a perfect example of casualties of high school. Let me explain.

I talked to my therapist about it a little bit, about social groups and the like. Guys mature later than girls, and that whole four-year period is one big shithole. There's a lot of awkwardness and whatever. The way I like to dumb it down is that you start with one social group and end with another, but the transfer is bound to be wrought with carnage.

I had trouble. Plain and simple. I expect it was tenfold for you, with your Frosh-Soph adventures through high schools. But I had trouble. And at the point where things started hitting the shitter, I was at a poor point, socially. I had two friends who I was relying on and both were in a world of shit. I had just come off a reunion with my c/o 2001 (You're rooming with Laura? What the hell?) and felt worse about my past than ever. My house was about to be ripped apart. And it was Summer, historically my worst period. Shockingly enough, this was a full six months before I started full time with the little blue pills.

It was a weird time, you know. And the next year, starting out, everything was really different. I had my new friends and my new activities.

I think what really summed it up for me, though, was a conversation with my parents. They've always been really big into my friends, which might explain why I don't talk about much to them anymore. And they asked me why we never hung out and I just said that we drifted. And their response was that we were friends.

I guess that's when I knew it was coming to a halt.

Truth be told, it wasn't that I disliked you. I mean, I heard a fair amount of shit, but I didn't dislike you for it. Maybe it just became too tiring to keep up. I could say it in the worst possible way, though. To be blunt, I got bored. I didn't feel like there was any reason to talk to you anymore, so I didn't. And... it was up. I gave your guitar to Mark Flatley and we called it a night. I really haven't looked back.

In the end, it all shat out. We drifted. I don't feel any massive regrets about it, it doesn't linger over my spectre. I don't feel like I'm better off for abandoning you. Truth be told, it was probably the most apathetic break I've had in my life, and maybe that was better.

Maybe some days you'll return, or I will. And we'll talk, and get sick enough of each other that we have a miserable break. Isn't that what we owe each other? A painful, miserable break?

In any case, maybe you'll read this letter. Maybe you won't. Our social circles are severed enough where I'd doubt it. But if you ever pick up on it, hell, the occasional message to you at Knox would be my own personal Surreal Life. I wish you nothing but the best.
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