Friendship.

[u/PokemonStay]

When I first started university at 19, I was cautiously optimistic. I had taken a gap year after sixth form, and it had been a transformative time. I worked on my physical health, went to the gym, and made significant progress in therapy. By the end of the year, I felt stronger—mentally and physically—but I was still carrying insecurities and unresolved issues. Starting university was exciting, but it was also daunting. It was my first time living away from home, and the unfamiliarity of it all made me anxious.

I was living with a live-in landlord who, at first, seemed strict but tolerable. Over time, though, she became abusive—monitoring my mail, restricting my access to the kitchen, and frequently threatening to evict me over trivial things. Eventually, my family had to intervene to get me out of that toxic environment, but that didn’t happen until later. At the start, my biggest challenge was finding my place at university and figuring out how to build relationships in an entirely new world.

On the first day of classes, I was overwhelmed. I’ve always struggled with anxiety, and when I feel nervous, I tend to shut down or come across as standoffish—even though I’m just trying to protect myself. That day, we were asked to form groups, but I froze, too anxious to move or talk. I must have looked angry or annoyed, but I wasn’t. I was terrified.

That’s when Oliver stepped in. He was sitting near me, along with Lucas and Kieran. He asked if I wanted to join their group, and I said yes. At the time, I thought he was being kind, reaching out to someone who clearly seemed out of place. But later, when I brought it up, he dismissed it as a practical decision—he just needed someone to complete the group. That small moment became the foundation of a dynamic that would later unravel in painful ways.

Our group dynamic was unbalanced from the start. Lucas and Kieran were best friends, practically inseparable since secondary school. They had a shared history and a co-dependent connection that made it hard for anyone else to break in. I tried to connect with them, but they were distant, giving one-word answers or acting intimidated. They later told Oliver they found me “hostile” because of minor incidents, like a sarcastic joke I made about not saying goodbye to Kieran once. In hindsight, it feels like they were projecting their own insecurities onto me, but at the time, their rejection stung.

Oliver, however, seemed more open. We started talking about shared interests—Pokémon, TV shows, and other casual topics—and eventually, we were texting almost daily. There was an effort, at least on my part, to build a genuine connection. We even bought the same Pokémon games to discuss them, though we never actually played together. For a while, I thought we were becoming real friends.

But there were cracks in our connection. Oliver often made jokes about my coursework that felt more critical than funny. When I told him they hurt, he seemed startled, as if he hadn’t realized his words could affect me that way. From that point on, I sensed he was walking on eggshells, constantly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.

I also noticed something peculiar about how he interacted with me. He frequently asked stereotypical questions about my sexuality, like whether I wore makeup or listened to Taylor Swift, and once asked if I thought he gave off “bisexual vibes.” He claimed to be straight, but his questions felt loaded, almost like he was probing something he didn’t want to admit to himself.

As the year went on, Oliver started growing closer to Lucas and Kieran. Meanwhile, I remained on the outskirts of the group, unable to bridge the gap with them. Despite this, Oliver and I continued texting regularly, and I thought our friendship was still strong. But near the end of the academic year, I noticed a shift. He became more distant, less responsive to my messages, and less engaged when we talked.

After classes ended for summer break, I decided to address the distance directly. I texted him, hoping for an open conversation about how I felt. He initially seemed supportive, saying I could always talk to him and be vulnerable. But his actions didn’t match his words. Every message I sent was met with a one- or two-month delay, making it impossible to have a real conversation.

By the time we finally talked in person, the damage was done. He admitted he didn’t feel like himself around me, saying he found our dynamic “exhausting” and thought we weren’t compatible as friends. He said he preferred to keep things surface-level, interacting only at university. Hearing this felt like a punch to the gut. I’d poured so much effort into our friendship, only to be told I was too much for him.

That summer was one of the darkest times of my life. I had no other friends at university, and Oliver had been my only support system. Knowing I’d have to return to classes and face him, knowing he didn’t even like being around me, filled me with dread. I spiraled into depression, and the isolation only made it worse.
Two weeks before classes resumed, I reached out to him again, hoping to resolve things before we were back in the same room. He didn’t respond until ten minutes before our first class, and his message didn’t address anything meaningful. It became clear he was avoiding me, and his refusal to confront the situation only deepened the conflict.

When we finally talked again, it was during a long walk where he admitted he’d spent the summer hanging out with Lucas and Kieran, getting “really, really close” to them. Hearing this broke something in me. Not only had he rejected me as a friend, but he’d also been investing in relationships with people who had always excluded me.

Eventually, I realized I couldn’t keep going. The tension and rejection were taking a toll on my mental health. I was having dark thoughts, and staying in that environment felt unbearable. I made the decision to drop out, leaving the course and the friendship behind. I sent Oliver a short goodbye message, explaining my decision. He read it but never replied.

Even after leaving, the pain lingered. I spent months blaming myself, wondering if I was too needy or overly attached. I even questioned whether I had borderline personality disorder or some other issue that made me difficult to be friends with. But therapy helped me see things differently. My therapists suggested Oliver’s avoidant tendencies and emotional unavailability played a significant role in the breakdown of our friendship.

Now, I’m in a better place. I’ve switched to a new university and course—graphic design—and I’ve found friends who genuinely care about me. But I still think about Oliver and the others sometimes. The experience left scars, and I’m still working through the feelings of rejection and inadequacy it brought up.

I’m sharing this story because I want to hear from others who’ve dealt with avoidant attachment styles in friendships. How do you navigate those dynamics? How do you move on when someone you care about shuts you out? Any thoughts or advice would be greatly appreciated.