The One Who Switched Up First

I thought we were solid. Like, for real. Me and him? We grew up side by side, went through the same BS, laughed at the same dumb jokes, walked to school every day like it was our little routine. People used to call us twins — not ‘cause we looked alike, but ‘cause our bond looked unbreakable.

It wasn’t just friendship. It was family. I used to tell people, “If I eat, he eats.” No second-guessing. No hesitation. We had dreams, man. Talked late at night about how we’d both get out the hood, how we’d make it big, how we’d never let anything come between us.

And for a while, it really felt like that. He was the one I called when things fell apart at home. The one who checked on me when nobody else noticed I was off. He knew things I ain’t even tell my own blood. I thought, out of everyone, he’d be the last one to ever switch up.

But I was wrong.

It started small. Like, he’d stop replying fast, or he’d make plans with other people and “forget” to hit me up. I let it slide. I figured maybe life was just catching up to both of us. Then I noticed he started moving… different. Like, shady.

I’d hear little things from people — stuff he said about me behind my back. Nothing huge at first. But enough to make me wonder.

Then came the real stab.

One of my biggest goals was to start this project I’d been working on for months — something creative, something real. He knew how much it meant to me. We talked about it constantly. Then outta nowhere, he drops his own project. Same idea. Same concept. Down to the name.

And not once did he mention it to me.

I hit him up like, “Yo, what’s this?”

He hit me with the, “It’s just business, bro. Don’t take it personal.”

Business? Nah, that was betrayal dressed in a weak excuse. He didn’t even deny it. Didn’t apologize. Just acted like I was overreacting.

And that’s when it clicked.

I wasn’t mad that he did his own thing. I was mad he stepped over me to do it. Used my ideas. Took my trust. And treated it like it was disposable.

The part that hit hardest? I would’ve helped him. No jealousy, no ego. I would’ve hyped him up. But he didn’t want to grow with me — he wanted to get ahead of me.

That’s when I fell back. Quietly. No big blowup. I stopped checking in. Stopped supporting. Stopped giving parts of myself to someone who clearly only saw me as useful when it benefited him.

Weeks passed, and he noticed. Started popping up in my notifications again. Little “Yo you good?” messages. Likes on my old posts. Acting like everything was normal.

But I wasn’t the same anymore.

I’m not bitter. I’m better. I realized some people only rock with you when they feel above you. And the second they see your light shining too bright, they start dimming you behind your back.

That’s not a friend. That’s competition in disguise.

So now I move different. My circle is smaller. My trust? Earning that takes time. I learned the hard way that loyalty isn’t always mutual — sometimes it’s just a one-way street with blind turns.

But I’m good. No drama. No sneak disses. I don’t need revenge. My success is the response. I’m still building, still grinding, still dreaming out loud. Just without the dead weight.

And if he ever sees this?

Cool.

Let it be a reminder:

Don’t bite the hand that was always reaching out for you when you had nothing.

Because real ones don’t get replaced — they walk away, and everything you lost hits you later.