The Worst Friend I've Ever Had

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Read time: 5 minutes

It was May of 2010. I still remember.

His name is Miles Ocaida.

What I remember most about our first interaction is that he was immediately interesting. His demeanor was cool and his appearance was sleek. He told me he was from Massachusetts and had moved to Louisiana because there was “opportunity.” I never understood what that meant, but that was Miles—warm and mysterious.

I assumed our friendship would be transient. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person who stayed in one place very long.

I was wrong.

After meeting him, I spent more time with Miles than anyone. We were always together.

That’s something you have to know to understand Miles: he was Mr. Available. I don’t recall ever being turned down after asking him to hang out or inviting him to an event. The circumstances didn’t matter. He’d be there.

As you might expect from the amount of time we spent together, I grew to like him. He was encouraging. Had interesting stories. Made me laugh. Kept me up to speed on what was happening with our friends.

That’s another unmistakeable Miles trait: I think he knew every single person I knew. But I appreciated it—I felt in the loop when I was around him.

Were I to be asked, I would have said he was my best friend. In hindsight, I wonder how many others felt the same. He’s the most popular person I’ve ever met.

But sometime around 2014, things started to change.

He was still his typical funny, interesting self, but our interactions started having a different tenor.

It began more subtle than overt. When we talked, there was a tinge of disinterest in his demeanor. I would leave an interaction with him feeling like the exchange was hollow. He remained available, of course, but I didn’t get the sense he enjoyed my company.

The subtly didn’t last.

Soon, he was unrecognizable from the person I met in the summer of 2010.

The warm and welcoming friend became cold and mean. He found ways to make me feel terrible about myself without saying it forthrightly. It was usually a pointed remark about how so and so was doing such and such and why I wasn’t as good as them.

He also lost all interest in our mutual friends. All he ever wanted to talk about was pop culture, celebrity gossip, and politics. These conversations often went deep into the night. They cost me sleep and were mostly nonsense.

The way he talked about women began to change, too. Not in a good way.

And I haven’t even mentioned his odd habit of continuously recommending things. Every time I saw him, there were twelve different things I “absolutely had to check out.” Movies, tv shows, clothes, music, places, anything. When I acquiesced, it was never any good.

At this point, the wise and obvious choice would have been to cut off the friendship. But how could I? He was transcendentally popular—everyone loved him. Cutting him out felt like social suicide.

I often wondered if others began to have similar feelings about him. I assumed someone would eventually have the guts to ditch him, and that would give me the confidence to do the same. But no one did.

It took me a while to realize it, but I discovered something important:

Miles had no interest in a friendship with me. I don’t suppose he even had the ability.

In the beginning of 2025, as my unease with the degenerating nature of our relationship (if I could still call it that) reached a crescendo, I finally did what was much overdue.

I cut Miles out of my life.

After years of trying, there was no avoiding the painful truth. I hated who I was becoming when I was around him. I had to let him go.

Somewhat instantly, things got better. It was unequivocally the right decision. I prefer who I am when he’s not around.

Sure, I hear about him from time to time. A person with his level of notoriety doesn’t simply vanish when you choose to stop talking to him. But I don’t presume he ever thinks about me. I don’t think he cares. He has plenty of other friends.

When I started writing this story, I scrambled the letters of his name to hide his real identity.

But on second thought, I don’t owe him anything.

His real name is Social Media, and that’s about the only “real” thing about him.

He’s the worst friend I’ve ever had.

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PW