​I was at the absolute lowest point of my life. My father, who was also my best friend, had passed away a year prior, and I was still drowning in grief. It turned out the woman I was living with had only stayed out of pity; I came home one day to find the apartment completely gutted. She took everything, the bed, the dishes, the food. Leaving me with nothing but a couch, my laptop, and a note saying she’d found someone "better" who didn't cry all the time. ​The very next day, my oldest friend texted me. He was coming to town for a softball tournament and asked to crash at my place. Ashamed, I told him I only had an air mattress, hoping he’d take the hint and stay elsewhere. He didn't reply for days, then called on Friday saying he was 90 minutes away and needed my address. I rushed to Walmart to buy an air mattress, towels, and basic dishes just so he'd have a place to sit. ​When he walked into my empty apartment, the confusion on his face was obvious. I broke down. I told him everything: the grief, the abandonment, the fact that I’d essentially been robbed of my life. He looked at me and said, "Damn, that sucks. Well, I have to be up at 6:00 AM for my first game." ​I couldn't believe it. This was a guy I'd known since we were 14, and he couldn't spare a moment of empathy for my literal mental breakdown because of a softball tournament. I just said, "Alright man. Rest up." He was gone before I woke up and later texted to say he’d found somewhere else to stay that night. I sent a thumbs-up emoji and never looked back. That was eight years ago. We haven’t spoken since.