Being friends with someone isn't a job. Friends are the people you choose to have in your life to make it better. It took me seven years to learn this, so let me tell you my story, and maybe you can learn this lesson faster than I did.

Natalie

I grew up in a suburban home in Connecticut, with two happy parents, and a younger sister who was more my twin. I had a wonderful childhood, lots of friends, a future career as a ballerina (this was before puberty), and great grades. However, when I was twelve, events in my life triggered (this is an actual use of that word) my clinical depression, and to say that all hell broke loose would be an understatement. Throughout all of this, I had a few friends at school, one of whom was a year older than I was. I looked up to like a sister; she was my entire world. I met her through the school's theater program, which I had joined that year, and I would FaceTime her every night, often for hours, before her mom would make her hang up the phone. I thought we could go to the same high school, and then go to college in New York City, taking on the theater world together. This lasted two years, until, after a two-week trip with her grade in the spring, she stopped talking to me. I told myself, because she was graduating and moving to a boarding school out of state, that she just wanted to make the break easier. But that wasn't true. Looking back, I know she was just done with me. I know that I was an intense person, and it must have been hard to handle the fact that someone else depended on you so much. However, I never got an explanation. She just continued to be exasperated with me when I talked to her, until she left, and never spoke to me again. Lesson learned, right?

Not so much.

Tatiana

When I graduated, I went to a private day school, ranked in the top 20 in the country. The tuition is high, the pressure is higher. Academically, the school is fantastic. Socially, it could use some work. The school's unofficial motto is "where your best is never good enough," and the people who take this motto to a point of insanity are the parents. I was lucky enough to have a mom who believed in doing your best, not the best. However, I was surrounded by this mentality, and it didn't help my depression. I had a really good friend who would support me when I had a panic attack, or cried in the middle of the room. Her life wasn't great either; her mom put so much pressure on her that she was driven to tears when schoolwork became overwhelming. I would sit with her in the bathroom, grabbing paper towels and helping her break up the world into manageable pieces. One time this lasted through the end of study hall, so I skipped class to take her to an advisor, helped explain what was going on, and then went to class late. I held her hand and she held mine. She was my best friend. In the beginning of May, I found out that my father was an alcoholic, and less than a two weeks later, a very close family friend died suddenly. I used to say that I lost two fathers in two weeks. Before I could even tell my friends about my uncle (he was so close that we called him and his wife uncle and aunt), my best friend pulled me aside, and told me that "my drama was too much for her" and that she needed space. I was speechless. Senior year, we became friends again, and I told her how much that had hurt me. She apologized, telling me that she felt awful, and promised that she would never do that again. When we decided on colleges, we started making plans on how we could see each other, and jokes about crashing in each other's dorms. I thought I'd found a best friend forever. Three weeks before graduation, she went on a long rant about how she didn't have any friends because "she hung out with people who were too depressing," and everyone she actually wanted to be friends with assumed that she was "like them." I was shocked. I cut off all ties with her immediately. Three weeks later, I graduated and didn't looked back.

I never spoke to her again.

Kaitlyn and Ben

When I started college last fall, I was very careful to try and hide my depression. I had told my roommate, for obvious reasons (I have days where I don't move for long periods of time and I didn't want her to call an ambulance), but I was trying to keep myself as "drama-free" as possible. In three weeks I had my first boyfriend, first kiss, and two new best friends. My boyfriend wasn't just my boyfriend; he was my savior (yes, it's cheesy, let me explain). My boyfriend taught me that I was worth something, and that I wasn't just a disposable drama weight. Not that I didn't try to distance myself; I kept all my depression as hidden as possible until one night when I had two shots of vodka and spent the next hour crying in his arms. When I told him that I didn't want to be a burden to him, he actually got angry. Not at me though, at the people who had made me feel that way. He was the one who convinced me to be more open with my best friend, because I was scared of getting hurt again. He was right, of course, and she and I couldn't be happier to be rooming with each other this year. We support each other, we treat each other with respect, and when we have problems, we talk about them. I'm very lucky to have them in my life.

I don't know what the future holds for my friends and I, and I don't expect to. What I do know is that, while the idea of friends forever is wonderful, I will never settle for people who see me as a burden ever again, and neither should you. You deserve to be respected, loved, and happy. If I can find that, then so can you.

And to those of you who take advantage of people who are desperate for friends, know that you are playing with a real person's life, and you could change the way they see the world forever. Treat them with respect, and if you don't want to be friends with them, be kind about it. Don't leave them alone like Natalie, or break them like Tatiana.