It’s been said that they would rather hear about memories than enemies; they would rather hear about what was or will be than what is, they’d rather hear about how you found you than how you lost you.

These last few years at Texas High, I’ve severed ties and burned bridges. I know there are people who don’t like me, and that used to really kill me inside. I used to be so desperate for reassurance, for glorification, even just acceptance.

High school is like the ultimate elongated exaggeration of every summer camp you’ve ever gone to. Freshman year, everyone is a stranger. You get off the bus at camp, and immediately feel the pressure to be accepted.

As time passes you become more comfortable, make new friends, and finally graduate leaving you with a sadness and certainty that you may never see these people again.

My best friend through middle school was my best friend until my sophomore year. Whilst the friendships of others crumbled thanks to the pressures of high school and social politics, our bond grew only stronger.

My insecurities and fears were always disappeared when we hung out. I didn’t have to impress anyone, I didn’t have to hide under a facade, a mask that I wore to try and gain favor with upperclassmen. It didn’t matter what other people thought, we were cool to each other and completely worry-free.

A few years passed, we were no longer boys but young men. Our bond seemed as strong as ever, but I knew something within him was changing. We stopped hanging out as much on the weekends. It became harder for me to get in contact with him.

I lost my best friend the summer after my sophomore year.

The laughs were lost in a cloud of smoke.

Memories melted and fused with chemicals in the pipe.

The pain and trials that we’d helped each other through were erased from his brain by the snorted snow storm.

Suddenly I was alone. Who knew me? The closest person to me chose a needle over me.

Bitterness consumed me, my ability to empathize with others’ problems faded. Why should I care about your problems when I have no one to help me with mine?

Two years later, I rarely see him anymore. Whenever I do, I can barely recognize him. The bloodshot eyes, the whiskey breath, who are you?

New friends, reliable friends, real friends have come into my life. But I still remember. I hate him.

We were brothers, man.

Don’t you remember?

I bet you don’t remember a lot of things these days, right?

The anger of being betrayed by a friend isn’t reserved for females. Yeah, it’s dramatic, and yeah it hurt me. As a person who only wants to see the best in others, who only wants to trust others, it was a slap in the face

High school doesn’t change people, they just become the person they’ve always truly been. I’m not a pessimist, just a realist. When I leave this camp, I’ll remember the good times, in fact in the future I may yearn to return to some this place and relive some of the good times, but I won’t miss it.

It’s been said they’d rather hear about you got it than how you lost it. They’d rather you make this an open letter about struggles and ties that you severed. There’s no doubt in my mind, my pain will make you feel better.