“Is there anything that doesn’t suck about being ghosted?” I asked myself this question for years. Afterall, I’d managed to look at every other sucky thing in my life and find some un-sucky treasure that came of it: Chronic Lyme disease vastly increased my empathy for others in pain. My hardest break-up turned me into a poet. But what good could be said about being abandoned without a crumb to be found along the breadtrail of why?
One thing I know is being ghosted is a kind of magic. Abracadabra––a whole human being is gone––but isn’t really. They’re somewhere in the ether, or hiding beneath the trapdoor of a stage you had no idea was a stage until they dropped their lines, mid-text, mid plans to get together on Tuesday.
I was ghosted in my late 20’s and spent weeks worrying the person wasn’t okay. I told my friends I was concerned, until their concern U-turned back at me. “Can’t you take no for an answer?” they asked. Yes, I could. If the person had said, “No, I don’t want you in my life,” the ‘no’ would have been painful for sure, but the truth is a place of rest. When you’re ghosted there is no rest. You’re up night after night pacing the corridors of your memory, searching for missed clues that it had all been an illusion from the start.
When my friend was ghosted, she said the man’s death would have brought a far deeper despair, but confessed that obituaries do come with their comforts. Without one, she couldn’t help but worry that she was the disease, the crash on the highway, the thing that attacked his heart. Together we wondered how hell got such a bad reputation when purgatory is a far more terrible beast. Hell is where people from purgatory vacation to work on their tans.
When I spoke to my therapist about it all, she said, “Closure is not something two people are needed for. It’s possible to find it alone.” That resonated with me, and I went home and wrote:
I’m a poet.
writer to help me finish
any part of my story.
I liked the writing but I didn’t quite believe my own words––so I went deeper. Gave myself this homework:
1. Keep a log of all the ways you have abandoned yourself.
2. Write down the details of every way you have left your own side.
3. Pay attention to each time you take another person’s path to heart, especially if their path points away from you.
4. What important call in your life have you been refusing to answer?
5. Who have you been avoiding, and why?
6. Grieve the loss.
7. Get intimate with knowing why the unknown is particularly painful for you.
8. Love.
I know that last one––Love––is gonna irk some people, but it’s honestly what helped me the most. And it many years later sparked the writing of a tiny poem I titled ‘Wellness Check’:
In any moment on any given day I can measure my wellness
by this question--Is my attention on loving
or is my attention on who isn’t loving me?
My homework was healing. So was returning to this beautiful line of poetry by my friend Derrick Brown: “You cannot be abandoned. You can only be released.” A window in my chest still flies open whenever I read those words. They help me believe anyone could drop me, and I could fall like a coin into a well, making an even bigger wish come true.
And sometimes, what helps the most is to simply hear someone say, “I understand.” So here’s my unsucky offering for today: I understand. Being ghosted is a uniquely crummy experience, and if it’s something you are going through right now, I hope at least one sentence I’ve shared here brings you some comfort. If it does I’d love to hear about it, or even better, hear about what has helped you the most through such times.
Write back soon (before I report you as a missing person.)
Love, Andrea 🖤
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