I destroyed the best friendship I ever had, and I can’t forgive myself for it.

I don’t even know how to start this, but I need to say it somewhere because the guilt is eating me alive. I feel like I’ve been carrying a ghost on my back for over a year, and every time I try to move on, it drags me right back into the same place of regret and heartbreak.

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More than a year ago, I had the most beautiful friendship I’ve ever known. She wasn’t just a friend she was my person. You know that rare kind of connection that feels like you’ve known someone forever, like your souls recognized each other before your minds even caught up? That was her. We used to call each other twin flames, not in a romantic way, but in that deep spiritual sense where everything just fits effortlessly.

She was my bridesmaid, my daily call, my emotional safe space. The kind of friend you imagine growing old with. She knew me better than anyone else. I never thought anything could break us.

Then came one stupid argument. It wasn’t even that serious just heat-of-the-moment frustration. We both apologized the next day, hugged it out, and said we were okay. That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

There was this middleman her childhood friend and my husband’s close buddy who decided to “be helpful” by telling me all the awful things she supposedly said during the fight. Words said in anger, exaggerated emotions, things people say when they’re hurt and not thinking clearly.

And I let it poison me.

Instead of protecting what we had, I believed him. I let someone else’s version of her replace the truth I already knew. I stopped trusting her. I let that anger fester until I became someone I didn’t recognize defensive, cold, cruel.

I confronted her, but not with love or understanding. I came at her with bitterness, with pride, with all the wrong energy. And I shattered her. I watched her cry and break, and somehow, I still walked away. That moment replayed in my head a thousand times since then, and every single time it hurts more.

She wasn’t the one who betrayed me. I was the one who betrayed her.

Now it’s been over a year, and I still can’t let it go. I was watching my wedding video recently, and there she was right beside me, smiling, laughing, holding my bouquet, looking at me with that sisterly love. And I lost it. I realized that she should still be here. She should’ve met my baby. She should’ve been in my life for all the milestones that came after. She should’ve been the godmother. The auntie. The person I could still call at 2 a.m.

Instead, I pushed her out. I let my insecurity and someone else’s manipulation destroy the one friendship that actually felt divine.

And now I don’t know how to forgive myself. I grieve her like a death, even though she’s still alive. That’s the part that hurts most she’s out there somewhere, living her life, and I’m the reason I’m no longer part of it.

Sometimes I replay everything and imagine calling her, telling her how sorry I am. But then the fear kicks in the fear that she’s moved on, that she’s healed without me, and that my apology would only reopen old wounds.

I don’t want pity. I just needed to let this out. I destroyed something rare, something pure, something that most people never even find once in a lifetime. And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop grieving her or the version of myself that she loved before I let everything fall apart.

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