To The Best Friends Ever

“I don't know what I'd ever do without you

From the beginning to the end

You've always been here right beside me

So, I'll call you my best friend…”

TL;DR  Listen here instead.  Follow this YouTube link:  To The Best Friends Ever

When I was a child, I didn’t have many friends. But I wanted friends so badly.  I watched the other kids at school laughing and playing together, wondering what it would be like to be part of their world.  I imagined sleepovers filled with games, playing dress-up, painting each other’s nails, eating popcorn, and watching Disney movies late into the night.  I come from a big family, so I wasn’t entirely isolated from love and connection, but I longed for something more—the kind of bond shared between friends who chose each other.  I just wanted to play and have fun every day, like everyone else seemed to do.

Sometimes, a friendly kid or two would join me, but their kindness often depended on the moods of the schoolyard bullies.  One girl, though, stood out from the rest—Elizabeth.  She was in the second grade, like me, but unlike the others, she didn’t care about what the bullies thought or their attempts to control the playground.   Elizabeth had fire-engine-red hair and a face sprinkled with freckles.  To me, she was beautiful.  She often wore this red dress with white polka dots and ruffles that made her look even more vibrant.  We weren’t in the same class, so I’d only see her during recess, and she quickly became the highlight of my days.

Most of the time, I hid beneath one of the big trees on the playground to avoid being noticed by the bullies.  But on one particular day, I didn’t make it to my usual spot.  Instead, I sat on the grassy hill near the chain-link fence, watching the other kids play under the sun.  That’s when Elizabeth found me.

“Play with me!” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

I hesitated.  My past experiences with other kids had left me wary, and I instinctively said no.  But Elizabeth wasn’t like the others.  She didn’t try to trick me or lob insults at me.  Instead, she stayed and kept urging me to join her until I eventually gave in.

She reached out her hand, and I took it.  We skipped down the hill together, laughing as we ran back to the top of the hill.  At the top, we collapsed into the grass and rolled back down the hill.  Then we did it again.  And again.  Giggling the whole time.   After that day, every time Elizabeth saw me, she’d invite me to play.  And I’d always say yes.

Our friendship didn’t last long.  The following school year, she was gone.  I don’t know if she moved away or simply transferred to another school, but her absence left me feeling lonely again.   Still, I was grateful to have known her, even for a short time.  Elizabeth showed me what true friendship looked like.  She never hit me, called me names, or ditched me for someone more popular.  For those brief, wonderful moments, she made me feel like I belonged.  I felt that one day, I’d be worthy of genuine friendship. 

Overcoming the trauma of childhood bullying was a journey that began when I was thirteen.  For years, I wrestled with painful memories and a deep fear of judgment, which made it difficult to trust others.  Then, in seventh grade, I met Karla.  She was determined to befriend me, much like Elizabeth had been in the second grade—persistent and unwavering.  Looking back, I realize both Karla and Elizabeth seemed to have an intuitive understanding of my pain as if they could sense my grief and relate to it.  Once again, I found myself giving in to that persistence.

Over time, Karla taught me the value of embracing my authentic self.  With her encouragement and empathy, I decided to take small, cautious steps toward change.  At first, the idea of opening up was terrifying, but gradually, I allowed myself to be vulnerable.  To my surprise, I discovered people who genuinely valued me for who I was.  Their kindness and encouragement helped build my confidence and showed me that not everyone would judge me based on my appearance.

Those early connections created a foundation for lifelong friendships that I deeply cherish.  Today, I am grateful not only for my friends but also for the inner strength I discovered to recover and grow.  The journey was far from easy, but it taught me that connection and self-acceptance have the power to transform even the most challenging aspects of life.

Facing my past trauma has been one of the hardest yet most essential steps on my path to happiness and fulfillment.  If I had ignored the pain and fear caused by my experiences, I would have remained trapped in a cycle of isolation and self-doubt, unable to recognize the opportunities life had to offer.  Recovery has taken years, and I still struggle at times.  Revisiting painful memories and confronting my insecurities was daunting, but it was necessary—and worthwhile.

By working through those challenges, I opened myself to the possibility of connection and joy.  I’ve come to realize that recovery isn’t just about letting go of the past; it’s about creating space for the good things the future holds.  This understanding has allowed me to move forward with hope, resilience, and a renewed sense of purpose.

As a result, I’ve built incredible friendships and embraced experiences that have brought me lasting joy.   Like my friend from Idaho, who once randomly DM’d me a collection of old letters, saying, “Remember this card you sent me 10 years ago?”  She had kept every letter and little trinket I ever sent her, making me feel deeply cherished.

Like my favorite couple in Vegas, who always rearrange their schedules to ensure we never miss our sushi date nights.  They make me feel valued and important.

Like my guy friends who invite me to every party at their stunning home—even though I live 2,000 miles away.  When I do make it, they have tequila on ice and my favorite music queued up, ready for a night of dancing.  They make me feel genuinely welcome.

Like my Vegas besties, who one day literally went the extra mile for me.   After I posted a sad face on my social media page, they drove 2.5 hours to my home to check on me and have dinner together.  They made me feel seen and supported.

Like my high school friends, the Ghetto Long Gang.  Back in our twenties, I once tripped and fell on the lawn outside of a casino (my heels were way too high), and instead of letting me feel humiliated, they all threw themselves onto the lawn with me as a show of shared embarrassment.  They always have my back and make sure I never face humiliation alone.

These friends have stood by me, unwavering, even as I now have to navigate life with a chronic illness.  Though I’ve changed—physically and emotionally—they’ve never changed the way they treat me or how they see me.  They continue to respect and love the person I’ve become while holding dear the person I’ve always been.

I am deeply appreciative of the incredible friends I’ve made over the years who have helped me learn to trust again.  Growing up, bullying left me feeling isolated and wary of others, but the kindness and patience of these friends showed me that genuine, caring people exist.  They supported me in moments of vulnerability and never pressured me to be anything other than myself.  Their actions—whether through small gestures of understanding or unwavering loyalty—gradually built my confidence and taught me that not everyone would hurt me.  These friendships have been a healing force in my life, and I cherish the love, laughter, and support we share.  Even my friends who have come and gone or passed away, remind me every day how far I’ve come and how important it is to surround myself with genuine people who truly care.

I don’t know how I got so lucky to have such great friends.  No matter what, I always feel loved.  I know not everyone is so fortunate and I don’t take that for granted, not for a single moment. 

“Through the good times and the bad ones

Whether I lose or if I win

I know one thing that never changes, and

That's you as my best friend.”

 –Best Friend by Brandy