I have accepted my many shortcomings and forgiven myself for most of the things that I could have done better; however, my inability to maintain friendships is the one flaw that truly makes me feel regretful and guilt-ridden.

I spent this evening with a good friend of mine, but I felt bad about the fact that we had not seen each other for ten months. He has had a terrible year, full of sorrow and heartbreak, yet I was unaware of this because I had barely kept in touch with him since last Christmas. Our only contact had come via a few text messages in which we had suggested meeting up; we never followed through with those tentative plans.

It was only when I finally made the effort to check in on him that I learned of his bad news. My friend and I have similar character traits, so perhaps it’s not a huge surprise that we had let ourselves drift apart. This is not an isolated case, though; it is just the latest example of many spanning my lifetime.

A childhood friend lived on the same cul-de-sac as I did. We would play football or computer games after school pretty much every day. Suddenly, this stopped. There was no falling out or any tangible reason why we had ceased communication. A couple of days without speaking soon became a week, then in turn a month, and so on. Showing up unannounced at each other’s house on an almost daily basis was once the norm; now we would cross paths without even making eye contact.

I remember promising primary school classmates that I would get in touch with them once we had settled into our respective secondary schools. I never did. Without having a common activity that regularly brought us together, friendships faded away. In fact, this is one of the biggest reasons why I have let so many people drop out of my life. It’s as if I need a specific reason to talk to a friend. Without an upcoming or past event to provide a framework, I struggle to initiate conversations.

This pattern continued throughout secondary school and college, and in my working life. Best mates one minute, former acquaintances the next. All it would take for this shift to occur was a change in routine. Once there were no external forces bringing us together, the friendship would die. Playing football was a good way of keeping in touch with people, but once one of us stopped playing, I had no reason to text them. Although asking someone how they are doing or what they have been up to lately should be the easiest thing in the world, it does not come naturally to me. Perhaps I worry about pestering or burdening them. Maybe I’m just too absorbed with my own need for peace and quiet.

This is why a sizeable percentage of my contacts list is comprised of people who I used to be friends with, or those who I could have become close to if I had the required social skills. It is also the reason why at our wedding the majority of guests, aside from family members, were my wife’s friends rather than mine.

My instinct to retreat from the world is not conducive to maintaining friendships. Every time I turn down an invitation to a night out, or I cancel plans at the last minute because I’m feeling anxious or burnt out, it increases the likelihood of the other person assuming that I simply do not want to socialise with them anymore. It also makes it harder — in my own mind — for me to initiate contact.

In recent weeks, I have realised that my failure to maintain friendships does not mean that I am forever doomed. My limited social battery and my habit of overthinking everything are the main reasons why I will never have a large group of mates, but this does not mean that I am totally incapable of keeping a handful of close friends in my life. I just have to make some changes to my approach and make more of an effort. Discussing our deeper feelings rather than making small talk is one of the keys to this. I have enjoyed doing so recently, and I know that it will be healthier for our minds and our friendship.