Let’s get this out of the way—I ghost people. Not in a sexy, enigmatic way, but in the “oh god, it’s been 17 days” way. And before you roll your eyes and think “just text back, loser,” trust me, I know. But if knowing things fixed behavior, we’d all be gym rats who meditate. People always assume ghosting is about not caring. That it’s this cold-blooded fade-out. But for me? It’s more like paralysis.

Here’s the thing: I adore my friends. Like, actively enjoy them. They’re smart, they’re funny, they think of me and I think of them. They don’t deserve to be left hanging because my brain treats a “how’s life?” like a fucking SAT question. But modern communication is less “let’s chat” and more “here’s a firehose of obligation, hope you’re hydrated.”

It’s not that I don’t want to talk. It’s that every notification feels like a tiny grenade of “begin a lengthy conversation or you’re a bad person.” The ping of a text isn’t just sound, it’s the weight of a whole conversation waiting to unfold, a Russian nesting doll of “how are you?” into “no, how are you REALLY?” into “wanna hang?” into “why am I like this?” And then there’s the guilt. The longer I wait, the more replying feels like digging up my own grave and climbing out just to say “haha sorry.” It’s not personal. It’s me. But also: I know that sounds like a cop-out. It kind of is. So instead of saying “sorry, I’m weird about texting,” I just… evaporate. Which, shocker, makes it worse.

I could sit here and act like I’m above it all, but I’m not. I’m guilty. I’m haunted by the half-typed texts I deleted. I’m probably on three people’s “do not text” lists and five more group chats where someone has absolutely called me out with a “dawg idk she just disappeared lol.” And I get it. I do. So what gives?

Here’s the ugly truth: ghosting isn’t about detachment for people like me, it’s about overload. It’s about wanting to show up but not knowing how. It’s about shame. And silence. And that stupid in-between state where you keep meaning to reply and now it’s been a week and you feel like a jerk and then two weeks pass and now it’s weird and three weeks in you’re like “guess I live in the forest now.”

I’m not gonna throw you a checklist here. Life doesn’t work like that. Instead, here’s what I’m trying to remember:

You don’t need to explain your entire life in a text. You can just say “hey” or “alive.” That’s enough. People who love you don’t need an essay. They just want proof you didn’t vanish into the Bermuda Triangle of Sad Sad Lesbians Who Don’t Reply.

Not texting back doesn’t make you a monster. But it can hurt people. That’s the real issue. You can feel overwhelmed and take accountability. You can struggle and still try to be a person someone can rely on.

And if you’re on the other side of it, if someone ghosted you, it’s not always about you. Sometimes people are drowning in their own brains. That doesn’t make it okay. But it might make it a little more understandable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that every app in my pocket is yelling at me. Not loudly. Just… constantly. A low-grade whine in the background of everything. Our phones and friends require attention, performance, proof of life. So I mute myself. But then quiet starts to feel like neglect–– and I’m the one who made it that way.

If I vanished, I won’t ask for a redo. I just want you to know: I see it now. I should’ve handled it differently. You deserved clarity, not static. Silence says things I never meant. If I let it speak for me, I’m sorry. You deserved a voice, not a vanishing act. No big declarations, just an honest promise to do better next time.

Best wishes,

ipodpuppy 🐾 (somewhere between “how are you” and “sorry I vanished”)