You thought you’d be together forever. You thought you found the Cory to your Shawn. Well, Shawn just joined a frat and became a douche.
Breakups are never easy… especially if you aren’t actually dating. Losing the bro you called your best friend tends to hurt just a little more than ending the “endless love” you had with the girl on the fourth floor.
By my junior year, the lonely freshman days spent missing my high school friends were long behind me. After a Hunger Games-esque selection of group project members and people to party with, I met my best friend when he came to my room looking for my roommate. The rest was history.
We did everything together. Summer meant road trips to each other’s houses. Meals were always together. Weekends meant going out together— no one ever asked the identity of my plus one. If we didn’t see each other for a day, the worst was assumed. Bro, did you die? By junior year, we were even roommates. The bromance was everything but Facebook official… People wondered.
Then came the girlfriend— looking at you, Yoko. Suddenly, the other side of the room was empty. Dinners were spent solo—or you know, with one of those other friends. Weekends were either spent apart or the wife came.
As things became more strained, the bromance turned into a cold war. If we did talk, it didn’t move beyond beer pong. Hanging out felt like being stuck at a family reunion with your annoying cousin. Eventually, seeing him in the room was enough to turn my stomach. Despite pretending not to care, it ate at me all the time. Was I losing my best friend for good?
Then, the nuke detonated. Spring semester he sold his soul and joined the rush for Greek life. I already couldn’t compete with a girlfriend; now there were “brothers” to take up the rest of the time. The death notice was written and received.
In a matter of weeks, I saw Dr. Jekyll transform into Mr. Hyde and I had a frat bro on my hands. I should have known the first time the khaki pants and boat shoes came out. End times were upon us.
Everything I was afraid of came true like some sort of apocalyptic prophecy. My friend was gone and I was devastated.
I dwelled. I blamed myself. I felt like a homesick little freshman again. But with time, I got over it.
Countless conversations with other friends finally allowed me to see the truth. Parting ways with an overly close friend is never easy, but people will come in and out of your life until the day they put you in the ground. Those who are worth it will stick around. And believe me, you’ll find out who those friends are when you least suspect it.
The end of your bromance doesn’t signify some Earth-shattering, bro-code burning, zombie apocalypse. Your social life and your feelings (guys have them, too) will recover.
Hold on to the nostalgia and remember that you were once best friends for a reason. Don’t forget that the transition to “just friends” works in a bromance too.
But move on. Hang out with other friends and absolutely take advantage of every opportunity to start new relationships. Maybe it’s time to start paying attention to the girl you always ignored for your bro.
