We’ve been friends since we were 16 years old. That’s more than 20 years now. We’ve had good and bad times, and over long distances we still remain friends. But for a while now I’ve found myself no longer able to tell you anything about myself. I feel belittled each time I tell you about my feelings. I feel your disbelief when I tell you the real things that happened to me. Because we came across different people in life all these years, we’ve had different experiences. But you don’t seem to understand that. You seem to think that because you have met great people and not a lot of bad people, it’s also the same for me. It couldn’t have been THAT bad for me. You thought wrong. I thought maybe because we’re still single we could reach a common ground, but that’s not true. Each year we send seasonal greetings and birthday wishes without missing a beat, but the intimacy of friendship is long gone. You don’t want to talk about the “sad stuff”. But that’s who I had become. I have depression, PTSD, anxiety. So you don’t want to talk about me. That’s fine now.