Ghosted by a Friend

ouch

I’ve been thinking about the title for this essay a long time, ghosted by a friend. I’ve imagined that as soon as I sat down to write those four words, the rest would pour out of me, because losing a good friend is a horrible experience packed with emotions. But now I’m sitting with legs stretched across my floral sofa— my green socks peeking at me from far behind my laptop, the baby in a deep sleep, plenty of time and comfort— and I’d much rather flop my heavy head down than write this. I’m too sad to write about this.

We’ve got a zillion examples of romantic heartbreak in our favorite movies and shows; we respect that familiar pain. When you’re dumped by a boyfriend or a wife, your loved ones will flock to you, bring you soup and tissues, tell you with gentleness that the world is still bright and filled with possibilities. But if you’re left by a childhood friend, the world looks at you and says “well then fuck her” and not much else — sidestepping tender facts like how all thunderstorms, bean sprouts and photos of your dead dad make you think of her. How your one-of-a-kind shared sense of humor is now like a lost toy who will never find home, your inside jokes not knowing how to die or accept that you can’t call her.

For months I’ve felt tortured by the loss of my very close friend, and I’m realizing that part of my pain is thanks to how we are given little permission to truly grieve our friendships, our sisterhoods, loved ones. If a friend literally dies, sure, you’re allowed to mourn, but if you lose a friend who is still breathing you’re supposed to puff up your chest and out-butterfly them. Well, societal norms be damned, I love my friends so so much, no matter what happens to the relationship. Because I know how. I know how to love anyone I’ve championed in their darkest hour or cheered for while they were in the clouds, even if they disappear in one of those places. Once I sob snot into your shoulder on my worst day I may never be fully capable of un-bonding myself to your best parts. Once we’ve shared secrets and worst fears and reorganized each other’s closets, that’s it. My heart has your address. That’s just something that makes me Alexandra Kyle. I know how to want the absolute best for them. I know how to deeply miss them. And, the most gut-wrenching part, I know when to let them go.