Fake French

The problem with fake friends is that they’re just like white lies: how do you keep all the stories straight? Like, which friend was it who I overheard making fun of my food allergies behind my back, so now I know I can never tell her about any of my other maladies? Which friend pretends to my face that she’s queen of the world, but then I hear stories that she has personal problems she's unwilling to share with me? Which friend is it that I have learned I can make jokes about my therapy with? Now, toss all those little complications in a bowl, mix with a raspberry vinaigrette, and you have the salad that is my personal life in Florida.

I have many wonderful, spectacular friends with whom I am completely myself and I never have to lie to or hide things from, but none of them are in Florida. What’s a girl to do with a gaggle of half-friends and no real friends? Lie. Lie by omission only because I do have some moral standards, but, in essence, I lie.

You know what? I’m not a good liar. I know every time I open my mouth that it’s just a matter of time before I reveal that I have fibromyalgia to the woman who believes every ailment is “fake”(her word). I’ll accidentally reveal how little I trust the woman who pretends to be such a great friend but doesn’t confide in me that she’s having troubles. I worry most that I’ll accidentally tell one of the campus gossips a personal detail about my life and that it will spread like wildfire around campus, hurting Matthew’s reputation as well.

And I worry that I don’t have any real friends in Florida.

I know, real friends take time. I didn’t get Monyas and Boyds in my life overnight—they took time. But when you’re new to town and you’re missing the Boyds and Monyas, the comfort of real friendship sounds awfully reassuring. I should be grateful for the acquaintances I’ve made and not force any of the fakers to be anything they’re not capable of being. Mostly, I’m grateful that I still have the Monyas and the Boyds there to reassure me when I need some long-distance lovin.’

It read like a bitch-fest, but this is a love letter to all my adored friends out there in the world. You know who you are, and you know I love you.

Sunshine State True Friend,
Christine Wy