I know people say that breakups suck. Matter of a fact, they do totally suck. Do you know what sucks worse though? Best friend breakups. Here’s why.

Your best friend is supposed to be your spiritual or vicarious wife or husband. They support you, love you, give you a nice kick in the butt when you need one and call you to tell you how this girl tried them in class today. They are everything you need them to be and usually more at times, especially on bad days.

Until things go sideways.

I’m going to tell you about my break up with my best friend of 8 years, Sarah. (Her name isn’t really Sarah but I appreciate privacy so right now that’s her name.)

We went through middle and high school and a little bit of college together before I broke it off Christmastime of last year. They were an awesome 6 and a half years before the dumpster fire of a “friendship” started.

You see, after going through heartache, breakups and family problems together; after helping her through juvie and her helping me come to terms with my sexual assault and rape, Sarah got pregnant at 19.

Being pregnant at 19 is in no way the end of the world but for her and her boyfriend of a few months, it was. It was hard on everyone, especially her, with trying to figure out if she wanted to keep the baby or not.

This put a strain on our relationship because of all of the stress. I was fine with that. Every person goes through stress and as a friend it is your job to make sure they know you have their back. I was more than prepared to be with her every step of the way.

I was. With her every step of the way. She decided to keep the baby and stay with the father and I was so proud of her for taking it head-on. I supported her, talked hours on the phone from Ball State while she was back in my hometown and tried to let her know that she was not alone. She cried hours with me and I told her it would be okay, that she would figure it out. However, as the months progressed, I was worried.

As she changed I could see that she wasn’t happy. As a best friend, I knew it was my job to make sure she could talk about the way she felt. I told her that and she admitted that this wasn't anywhere in her life plan. I told her I understood, it was okay to be scared, and she could always give the baby up for adoption at the end of it all. Her life, her choice.

Her next choice was marriage. The father of the baby was going into the Air Force and because of the way things worked out, he and Sarah had to marry to share the benefits and cover the baby. I supported that. I was asked to be the maid of honor and of course, I said yes.

I got sick. And I mean, can't make it to the bathroom sink with a 103-degree fever. I told her I couldn't come, I wouldn’t risk getting her, a pregnant woman, sick with the stomach flu and everyone else at the wedding. My doctor also advised against it and my mom was the only one even coming near me. It was bad.

She said she was fine with it, promised it was okay and she understood. But she really didn't because this is the rift, and the other little fights with it, that started the dumpster fire.

Her baby girl was born on a rainy May day of 2017. I held her hand while she pushed, I watched the beads of sweat roll down her forehead. I can still remember the light cries of the baby and how we both cried together, hand in hand.

She went home with her, was an awesome mom and we saw each other frequently. A couple months later, two to be exact, her husband got stationed in New Jersey and she needed a favor.

A favor that was not in my mind a safe idea and I told her so. She didn't like that at all.

This is where the dumpster fire grew to a blaze.

We got into the ugliest fight of our friendship with us both saying horrible things. I apologized and so did she but I knew that was strike two on my side for her.

She then went to New Jersey and we didn’t speak that much.

After about a month, we put all things aside and started talking again like normal. As a teen stay-at-home-mom in another state and married, she was stressed and would call me frequently to vent. I understood and listened to everything, trying to encourage her to live her life the way she wanted. Being a mom wasn't the end of the world unless she made it that way.

I started to notice every time she called, that I would know exactly what her problem was. It all revolved around her not being happy and it started to annoy me because she wasn't actually putting in the effort to do anything about it. She was just complaining. It was not only stressing me out but constantly putting me in a bad mood.

Around Christmas, I posed the question that if I got married, would she be in my wedding.

She never answered. I assumed she was busy.

She wasn't. She went on Facebook and ranted about me. She didn't use my name but did mention that I was selfish for not coming to her wedding. As I read it, I realized she had never actually forgiven me and had held it over my head. I realized, at that moment, that I deserved better.

It was hard. She tried to argue but at that point, I was so emotionally spent with trying to get her to want to fix her life instead of complain about, I couldn't do it anymore. She even tried to say that I hadn't been a friend at all, that I was never there for her, never supported her the way she wanted. I then realized that no one would ever support her the way she wanted until she figured out what she wanted.

I broke up with her. I told her I loved her, I told her she could text me if she ever needed me, but I couldn't do it anymore.

I cried for a whole hour on my boyfriend. And not a normal cry. The kind of cry where you feel like you can't breathe and your eyes burn and it’s like no matter how hard you try to stop you can’t. She called me 17 times that night. I never picked up. It was over.

She tweeted about me 11 times the next day on Twitter and I realized just how far gone she was from me. Never had she stooped so low as to attack someone on social media because she was mad. That was the first time I felt okay about what I did.

It was after this, a few weeks later, I realized I was happier. I realized the new friends I had made were awesome. I realized my life was better without her.

You see, you are not required to be someone's emotional tampon. Despite years of friendship or whatever else, you are not required to do all of the work, say all of the advice and try to make them want to fix their own life. The only person that can fix their life, is them. Not you. You are not their mother. You, as a person, deserve so much more than a half-ass friendship.

I deserved more than a half-ass friendship.

If you love them, let them go.

I loved her. I let her go. I set myself free.