I’ve always been fascinated with ghosting—especially within a romantic context—the phenomenon of disappearing from someone’s life without explanation, closure or even a half-assed “It’s not you it’s me” pity line. According to a novel by Dolly Alderton, Ghosts, “Most commonly, it is thought to have come from the idea that you are haunted by someone who vanishes.” When a relationship continues and matures, places and situations that previously had no meaning, but that are connected to the relationship, take on a special significance: “Here’s where we first kissed,” “This song reminds me of the time we took a road trip,” “In this restaurant, he told me he loved me for the first time,” and so on. A relationship that ends because of ghosting turns those places and situations into haunting sites; uncomfortable, traumatic memories tinted with grief and confusion and anger and regret—the restaurant is to be avoided, the song is to be deleted from playlist, road trips trigger sadness and so on. In Alderton’s novel, the ghost is Max, the protagonist’s new attractive, fun boyfriend who from the beginning seems serious about the new relationship, telling Nina (the protagonist) that he will marry her on the first date. He disappears instantly after telling her he loves her for the first time. I loved Nina’s friend’s theory why the ghosting occurred after the “I love you,”: “Men of our generation often disappear once they’ve got a woman to say ‘I love you’ back to them because it’s almost like they’ve completed a game. Because they’re the first boys who grew up glued to their PlayStations and Game Boys, they weren’t conditioned to develop any sense of honour and duty in adolescence the way our fathers were. PlayStations replaced parenting. They were taught to look for fun, complete the fun, then get to the next level, switch players or try a new game. They need maximum stimulation all the time. ‘I love you’ is the relationship equivalent of Level 17 of Tomb Rider 2 for a lot of milllenial men.”
I mean, who knows? It’s a cute theory. In my own novel, Possessed, I too explore the concept of ghosting although my protagonist never hears “I love you,” and she has absolutely no reason to believe that the object of her affection is serious about her. Yes, he makes vague references to the future and he refers to her as “my girl,” once but from the beginning, he is elusive, shallow and probably in it just for the sex. It doesn’t matter, she builds a whole fantasy around him just the same even despite being very self-aware and self-admittedly in the midst of limerence, “ a state of infatuation or obsession with another person that involves an all-consuming passion and intrusive thoughts.” I loved writing Possessed because I love exploring things that make us cringe, that humiliate and shame us. Similarly I love writing characters who triumph over those base emotions and states.
Reading Alderton’s novel made me reflect on ghosting some more and the cruelty of it. I tried to remember my own feelings when getting ghosted in the past. Mine was a different type of ghosting, when the person started checking out, first emotionally, then in other ways before disappearing but not before making me feel like I was going completely mental. I was stupidly, madly in love and we had plans. And then we didn’t. I’ve tried to pin down when/ what/ how it started to unravel but till this day I don’t know exactly; perhaps it was the day I cried spontaneously because I felt so overwhelmed with feelings although that day I took that as a good sign and not my body knowing something I didn’t yet. In any case, once ghosting started to happen, it took all my strength to hide the extent of my distress from this person and in the end I was relatively unscathed but not before sending out a long and confused self-flagellating email during the time when I kept looking for my wrongdoing and tried to provoke some kind of reaction. I got none other than some lame, half-baked explanation of being depressed and then it all just fizzled out and I moved on to other self-harming behaviours. But now in trying to remember that time, I realize that what was underlying the whole thing was none other than Shame. Shame of being rejected, Shame of not being perceptive, of being naive, of being less-than. That compounded with grief over a loss of a particular future—that existed already in the form of making plans—did a proverbial number on me and, ultimately, created one more armour that I’ve worn ever since. I’d like to say that I will never feel as deeply as I have then and I like that, I like that I’ve become somewhat indifferent to romantic mishaps—as much as I also mourn my openness and vulnerability. Unlike many victims of ghosting I had the unique opportunity to actually find out what happened and why. And, lo and behold, it actually was them and not me! So I got my closure. Did it help? I guess. I guess it helped my pride or ego or whatever, but I wish I had never had to experience that in the first place. I miss that Me from six years ago, her starry-eyed love and trust, her electric skin that reacted to all changes in romantic atmosphere. That skin that has grown serious scar tissue that although doesn’t protect me from getting ghosted again, it will ensure that if that ever happens, my Shame will be a lot smaller.