My Friend is a Bitch

On a night out a few months ago, I was on my way back to the bar from the toilets when I overheard a dear friend talking about me. She pretty much went to town.
 
“Celia is so shit. Nothing she does is of worth. Have you seen she has a website? What for?! She thinks she can write. Those little blogs of hers are lame and depressing. Oh, and those beer articles, is she an actual alcoholic? Who writes about beer? No one is impressed.
 
She tells me she goes to the gym. Do you know she only goes for half an hour a week? Half an hour!! What a joke. As if that would do anything. She’s fat. And don’t get me started on her fashion sense. Does she even have a mirror in her house?!"
 
Her words kept coming. All I could do was stand there and take it.

“She’s so boring. She has no kids, no real commitments, but does she even do anything interesting? She can barely keep plants alive. What, so she has a job? Great. Anyone could do what she does. Why doesn’t she go on a holiday? She never goes anywhere.
 
All of her friends pity her. They are all doing so much better than she is. In EVERYTHING. She’s still living in that apartment, taking photos of her cat. No one likes her cat photos. Oh, and I say “all of her friends” but what does she have, like two friends?!
 
Speaking of her photos, have you seen her Instagram? How shit are the photos? Beer cans? The sky?! And she’s supposed to work in a photography department?! What a joke.”
 
Prior to this moment at the bar, I had always considered this girl a dear friend. She knows absolutely everything about me. But her words were nasty and really hit me hard.
 
Somewhere along the way she had turned on me. When once she was a confidant, my BFF who was there to help me in all of life’s challenges, who readily assisted me to process my thoughts and feelings, she now for some reason didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.
 
Her nasty words were why I started saying no to most plans. I believed that if I were to catch up with friends I would bore them to death with my dull existence.
 
I stopped posting photos of my cat and tasty beers online. Anytime I went to share a new IPA with Instagram, I would delete it five minutes later, as I didn’t want people to think I was an alcoholic.
 
My once so-called friend is also why I unpublished my website, stopped blogging and lost my creative mojo.
 
Usually, I actually could give less fucks about what people think about me. Most of the time I am very comfortable in my own skin. But this girl is so close to me that her words had impact.
 
My friend is my inner voice. And she had become an asshole.
 
I reached breaking point. She would not shut up with her horrible comments. So, last week I decided I had to confront my inner voice. It was the only way to talk some sense into her. I didn’t want her hurting me anymore.
 
I sat her down with a skinny latte and went to town, just as she had that night at the bar.
 
“You know what you are? You’re a fucking bitch. How dare you say this stuff.
 
You’re so fucking rude and all your comments are baseless. Why do you want me to feel like crap for doing the things I love? Like writing, seeing my friends, discovering new IPAs, or going to work at a job I love?
 
Oh, and for what it’s worth, It might be for half an hour, but at least I go to the gym!
 
There is enough criticism and bitchiness out there in the wider world, we shouldn’t be adding to and fuelling this negativity towards each other. We’re supposed to be a team. You and I are stronger together.
 
So how about you sort yourself out and be fucking nice for a change?!”
 
My inner voice was pretty silent for a few days after our confrontation.
 
Yesterday, she spoke to me for the first time in a while.
 
"I love you and I love your words", she said.
 
I think we might be slowly on the way to becoming friends again.