It’s Kinder to be Crueller: Or Why I’d Rather be Ghosted Than Semi-Ghosted

   You and one of your best friends have been through so much together – at least she says so. The ride hasn’t always been easy – there have been so many ups and downs – but you have emerged from those experiences with a deeper understanding of each other, or so you have thought, for all too long. She’s said she’ll be there for you – not once – and she has even gone so far as sending you an image-based text that reads, ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ But lose your trust she does by semi-ghosting you – and yes, that is still ongoing… Because of the absurdly intricate subtlety of that act and because of your former closeness, you have been in denial about the semi-ghosting for, hmm let’s see, about three years now. It has only been two weeks since you’ve started grieving for the particular loss, after a close friend has shared her experiences of what your light-bulbed brain has, without skipping a beat, termed ‘semi-ghosting’. Initially, you haven’t a clue where that term comes from – you have heard about ghosting all too often but semi-ghosting? Never! Ah yes of course. You have invented it. But why and how? The thoughts lead you to reflect deeper and before long, the painful experiences that have left no bruises on your burnt skin start to flood your mind – experiences you’ve had with your former friend, whose name you’ve recently changed to Semi-Ghoster on WhatsApp, to cope with the pain…

 

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My (still) dearest semi-ghoster,

 

   Since you used to love my honesty and confession, I’ll start this email that I know I’d never send by telling you that ‘How are you?’ has been the question I have now learnt to dread – as much as I have dreaded all your empty heart-shaped emojis, each representing a ‘no’ you don’t have the guts to say in your text message every. Single. Time I ask if we could meet! Nevertheless, since you now value hollow and shallow politeness more than you do me – or, to still give you the benefit of the doubt, so it seems – how are you, then? I do still care and I’m not asking for the sake of asking, irrespective of how much those words have tended to turn me cold lately. For myself, I have finally started the journey of grieving after semi-losing you – which is so much more painful than losing you – and hopefully, self-sufficiently Self-Ashtualising, with the bonus help of so many people I still have in my life. Indeed, semi-losing you has made me count my blessings, those in the forms of new and old friends whose support have re-inspired me to keep loving myself unconditionally. Indeed, in its twisted way, your semi-ghosting has taught me so much about gratitude – about how to treasure the time spent with my parents and sisters, lunches with my aunts who are talented bakers, outings with friends for whom acceptance and unconditional positive regard I am thankful every day, occasional audio calls with my best international friends from Scotland and Tunisia, who I’ve known for four and eight years respectively (all scheduled in advance because they are precious souls who respect my boundaries without my having to state those boundaries), passionate WhatsApp conversations with the friend whose graduation I attended this July and with our extremely kind and luminous mutual friend. And there are a lot more people to be grateful for – I wish I could spend my time listing them all. So yes, life goes on without you. I am looking forward to my friend’s wedding in less than a week and to meeting another friend I’ve known (this time physically) for eight years, an actuarial scientist who is gifted both at Maths and writing. I won’t say I can’t thank you for your semi-ghosting enough; instead I’d say I can’t thank you for your semi-ghosting despite everything. I still believe that there is such a thing as toxic gratitude. Enough about me for now. Let’s talk about us, or probably more aptly, our past selves, since you are inaccessible.

   It has been hard to go on since my last sentence, thanks to the raw pain. I am still alive and procrastinating, the way you’ve known me. Other than that, given the circumstances, I think I have changed considerably. Oops I have digressed again, when I have intended to talk about the old us instead of me. Have you semi-ghosted me because you have found me too self-absorbed? Maybe, maybe not, all that doesn’t matter now, does it though? Alright then. Metaphorically injecting more resolution into my veins now. Back to us, who might never be back together. Whilst we may have changed, the fact that the old you have taught me so much about life will stay the same, irrespective of how much the act of your present self is hurting me right now. Thanks to you, I am now not afraid of saying no, so does it surprise you that it makes me sad to see your regression? That, my old friend, is a rhetorical question. You used to lead by example, which was why I admired you. Why were all those no’s replaced by heart-shaped emojis since 2020? Gosh! I cannot go on. Paradoxically, the kindness and love from your past self have overwhelmed me, leaving me blocked, unable to write. The present is still too raw. I am proud of myself for having taken the first step of writing this post though. There might be a second part – or even third or tenth. As you have—oops I mean your past self has constantly told me—it’s a process. And so I shall process on!

   Writing this scares me because you still matter to me, too much. I am scared of hurting your feelings, which doesn’t mean that I have to refrain from the self-loving act of giving me the catharsis I need. So here I am! I’m tired of feeling like a criminal who deserves to be semi-ghosted. They say when something like this happens, it’s not one-sided – that both parties have responsibilities. I am healing from the compulsion of blaming myself for everything that has led to your sudden distancing. I may have taken you for granted before – and I certainly have reflected and apologised for all those times -but it can’t be all my fault. Our relationship would have been a toxic and codependent one otherwise. Whether it has always been toxic and codependent, I am still working out. I believe I’ll get there.

   My old semi-ghoster friend, I do understand where You’re coming from, that your intention is good. I know in my heart of hearts that you’ve decided against fully ghosting me because you still care about my feelings, although you no longer adore me (the delight I felt when you told me you adored me is still palpable today). It’s OK if you believe that you’ve outgrown our friendship. It’s OK for you to completely let go of me by blocking me on social media. Just not this – this is not OK. To text me and ask ‘How are you?’ once a year or every two hurts more than it soothes, especially after I deleted you from my WhatsApp contact upon sensing how you recycled your reply by copying and pasting it, disregarding or rather without listening, as it were, to my question. To later chat to me with all the intensity and intimacy of our past friendship one minute only to completely ignore my messages the next is just beyond cruel. So too are liking my Facebook posts, and whishing me a happy birthday and ending the text with ‘love you’ when you have stopped meaning all those things. Every time I resolve to block you to end my agony, my inner voice says no and that I’ll regret it. So I can’t do it, yet. I hope that, by writing this and accepting my grief, I’ll finally stop being in denial. You can help end my suffering and I am now begging you to. Please please please… Do the cruellest thing. Initiate the end of our suspended friendship by ghosting me proper. That way, we can both move on quicker. Thank you for … most things. I wish you all the best.

 

Love and light,

Ashley xx