Ghosted: A Story of My Life

Posted on March 27, 2017


As I sit here listening to a sad song on repeat, the only thing keeping my soul warm is a glass of rum and coke. Every now and then I glance over my shoulder to see if my phone’s screen has lit up, meaning a notification of some kind; hopefully, of course, a text message. Particularly, a message from a girl I’ve just met. We’ve only hung out twice, yet I was convinced she was the one for me. She’s smart, funny, beautiful, well-rounded, older; everything I could possibly ask for. Despite my feelings, however, I was the exact opposite for her. She only wanted friendship, which I was fine with. Sort of, at least. Yet, I wasn’t going to push the matter on her, knowing how these things go.

You might call me an expert, unfortunately. So it goes.

I had text her earlier in the day, to which there was no response. This was typical of her, though. She isn’t a prolific texter, which makes it difficult to discern between being ignored or put on the back burner. So far, I had only been put on the back burner, in regards to texting her. But today seemed different. After several hours with no response, I text her again, to see if I could elicit a response. No such luck. Now I’m left wondering if I’ll ever hear from her again. A part of me is hoping that I might still just be on the back burner, meaning that tomorrow I might receive a response at some point.

Such is the life of someone with depression and anxiety.

Always wondering what relationships you might have fucked up because of your constant need for happiness, attention, and being loved. In some cases, it’s imagined; in others, it’s real. At this point, with this girl, it might be real.

But maybe, just maybe, I’ll be proven wrong. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel silly for all these words that I’m sharing with you now. Maybe I’ll feel silly for becoming so intoxicated over something that wasn’t reality. But only time will tell.

In the meantime I look at the book she lent me, sitting aside my laptop, hoping pitifully that it might be a reason she might keep in touch with me. Thinking back to one of our conversations, however, I know it’s easily replaceable to her; which means she would let me keep it if the situation where she would no longer speak to me would arise.

So it goes.

But I’m ready for it. I told my friend when I met this girl, that I would keep my expectations lower than a Lamborghini. And that’s not just for her, but in general.

I’m prepared to be ghosted.

Posted in: Essays, Memoirs