Ghosted

Ghosted ~ May 8, 2020

I don’t think the term “ghosted” is an accurate description for those unfortunate times when someone you love just cuts you off. Not for me anyway.

Family members – I’m certain I’ve wronged them. I accept this. I apologize for this. I own this. I’m equally certain they’ve wronged me. Yet, my apology and attempts at the most minimal of contact are ignored. And most of the time, I can accept that because I have hope that later down the line, maybe, just maybe we can forgive and get to know each other again.

A friend of 30 years, however… A friend who felt more like a sister than anyone else. The person I thought knew me more intimately than any other person on Earth… That friend who decided to ghost me and cease all communication with no explanation over a year ago, the loss of that relationship haunts me the most. The thing about loved ones suddenly no longer talking to you, no longer wondering about your days… your life, no longer caring about you, is heartbreaking and tragic.

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(photo credit: bing images)

It’s tragic in the way that death is tragic. You don’t know the last time you’re seeing that person that it will, in fact, be the last. You don’t know to count the blessings of every moment of that last time spent together. You cannot go back and say things you wish you could have said… would have said. You can’t go back and do everything just right so that you don’t question yourself a thousand times in the future… Did I say this correctly? Did I not respond in the way I should have? Did I mishear something? Did I accidentally ignore something that should have been addressed? What did I do wrong? What did I miss? If only I could go back.

So no, for me the term “ghosted” is not correct. I miss my friend. I question and blame myself, even if I don’t necessarily deserve it. It’s haunting.

I am not ghosted. I am haunted.

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Delete

So, I just watched a movie called “Rememory.” After finishing this grand-scoped, thought-provoking movie, I was left pondering this question while dabbing at tears.

If you could erase heartbreaking, devastating, tragic memories, would you do it?

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Why?

How would that change you as a person? How would that affect who you are now?

And a somewhat different question – are some memories, some events, best left forgotten. Best buried as a way for your mind to protect you?

Okay, so I lied. I posed more than one question. Four or five, I guess.

Another movie years back had me kicking ideas around like this. I’m quite certain it was the film’s intention, of course, and well done. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” Did you see it?

I think I need all of my memories, despite knowing I have been robbed of some. Possibly I should edit the word “despite” and instead use “especially.”

I need my memories because even the bad have a reason of existing. Bad forces me to appreciate good. Loss helps me recognize what beauty I do have.

So yeah, even if I could push the button that wipes away all bad, I would not press it. Though, I will readily, and with speed, advise you to hide that button from me because tomorrow, I could most vehemently  disagree with what I think now, and smack that sucker in efforts to rid myself of the burdens and pains of the day.

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