I have had many best friends.

The first was Emily, in kindergarten. We talked on the phone.

The second was Elizabeth, in second grade. Then I met Jackie, Desi, and Miranda, and in third grade the four of us were sort of inseparable.

In fourth grade, I met Vanessa. We were best friends all the way up until 8th grade. Even when she moved to Panama during our 5th and 6th grade years, we still kept in touch, and when she came back to Connecticut, we continued to stay in touch. We were best friends again in 8th grade, but lost touch during high school.

The summer before 8th grade, it was Leugim.

During 8th grade, it was me, Vanessa, Jessica, Reshma, and Sandra.

My freshman year of high school, it was Lauren and Ryan, interchangeably. When sophomore year came, I met Sandy. We were best friends up until maybe a year or so ago.

Now I consider the cat my best friend. Or Mike, depending on how the day is going.

I scroll through Facebook status updates and Facebook pages, read old journal and blog entries, cycle through memories. Each of these people were once a huge part of my life, but they aren’t anymore. And I don’t get it.

I don’t get why I can’t seem to hold on to anyone that I care about. I don’t get why the relationships I think are precious to me end up not being precious to the other person. I don’t get why distance, time, and differences ebb away the closeness that once was. I don’t get the petty backstabbing. I don’t get why I move through life like a ghost, passing by people but never sticking to them. I once thought that it wasn’t me, that it was them, but maybe it really is me.

I think about inviting these old friends out for a cup of coffee or some lunch. I can see us sitting at a table, catching up, sharing the years that passed without a word over an hour or so. A simple message over Facebook could arrange this. But then I hesitate. What if we don’t have anything in common anymore? Or even worse: what if they say no?

Then the moment passes and I feel like an idiot. Normal people don’t cling to the past. Normal people move on through the future. Normal people make new friends.

I am not normal. I don’t make friends. Everyone I ever knew or cared about just drifts away. And I find that I have to look at myself, very closely. I once thought I was a good person, that I was a great friend — the kind who would bend over backward for my friends. I thought that I was fun to hang out with, that I was interesting enough to keep around.

More and more, I feel like a hermit. I fear that I will be alone. I fear that these friends from the past don’t think of me anymore. Maybe I meant nothing to them. Maybe I will never mean anything again.

Is this normal? Or should I just suck it up?

Read my Batman/Harley fan fiction! Harley Quinn decides she’s tired of Joker’s bullshit and decides to take revenge…