Several weeks ago, I was dumped — not by someone I was dating, though it certainly felt like it since the guy who ghosted and I had spoken every day, almost all day, for a few months. And, since both of us were single, I felt we were each other’s pseudo-partners … or something.
Via WhatsApp, “Mark” and I would text and voice memo each other about everything from our writing projects to how we’re spending our quarantine. He’d go to sleep before I would, so I’d leave him messages before I went to bed; he also woke up sooner than I did, so when I’d get up, there would be messages from him.
His messages gave me something to look forward to in these scary times — he’d update me on coronavirus statistics in Asia and how people were dealing with everything and I’d update him on virus life in Prague and how everyone was so good at following the wear-a-mask-at-all-times rules.
We became coronavirus news buddies, of sorts, but then our conversations morphed into more personal ones and fewer virus topics.
And for months before voice notes and constant texts, we’d email each other every few days before things escalated to Facebook, Instagram, and then WhatsApp. (Excuse me if I’m channeling my inner teenage girl, by the way, but I feel that’s what modern-day courtship has come to: a tiered communication system of social media platforms.)
He and I are also both digital nomads and move around a lot — well, did before the pandemic: He’s with family in Holland (and fled Asia just in time before they stopped flights) and I ended up in Prague since it’s where I happened to be when lockdowns began.
Although our messages were not flirty in nature 99.9% of the time, we had a lot in common, from our lifestyles to our family backgrounds.
If nothing else, I thought we had become each other’s confidants and were even on the brink of becoming best friends, if we weren’t already. I’m not someone who has one designated best friend, but as far as a digital nomad best friend, I thought he fit the bill.
His messages gave me something to look forward to in these scary times.
When I wasn’t feeling well one morning — with shooting pains in my chest and ribs — I feared going to a hospital or doctor and messaged Mark first. No, he’s not a doctor, but I was hoping his reassuring words would somehow cure me, at least temporarily.
As my usual slow heartbeat doubled from around 60 beats per minute to around 120, he said I should probably see a doctor.
But what about the virus?!
Navigating healthcare in a foreign country is bad enough without a pandemic on the loose, but with one?!
There was no way I was going to go to a hospital. He had the perfect solution: Find a private hospital or doctor.
Of course! Fewer people would go to those since most probably opted for the public (read: free for locals with insurance) hospitals. Great idea! But I was still terrified to leave my apartment, my safe haven.
Via texts and voice messages, Mark calmed me down and sent me the names of some private medical clinics he found online (just in case). And then we stopped messaging.
Meanwhile, I consulted a nurse friend back in Los Angeles, and the first thing he said was: “Don’t go out — it’s not worth the risk.” Note: Every medical situation is different and this is not meant to be bona fide medical advice. If you’re experiencing a health scare, consult with a healthcare professional.
Instead, he led me through a series of breathing exercises via Facebook messages. (Technology is amazing, right?!)
“Just breathe as you normally would, shallow breaths,” he said.
Somehow, it worked: Going-to-the-doctor-in-a-foreign-land avoided.
Mark was MIA, but I was too focused on staying calm to pay much attention. But hour after hour, I wondered what had happened to him: On a normal, non-health-crisis day, he’d be messaging me now, so where was he?
Hours later, he called me. Did I mention we’d never spoken on the phone until this point?!
Does this mean our relationship — whatever kind of relationship it is — was actually progressing?
He wanted to see how I was feeling. Better. Then we talked about random things for the next hour. As he told me about his new garden in the backyard, he even threw in a “you should come see it sometime.”
Definite progress, right?
During the call, a couple “little red flags,” as an old therapist of mine would call them, came up: The first was of him eating — not very subtly and not at all apologetically. He actually thought it was funny when I heard him chewing and then responded by finishing every bite extra loud.
The other red flag was worse: I heard him typing. What?! Can’t he pay attention to this call wherein I was terrified just hours earlier of going to the hospital in a foreign country?! And even if I hadn’t been terrified, wasn’t it common courtesy to pay attention to the call or person at hand?
One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone cannot focus while they’re talking to you — they’ll be sitting across from you, face-to-face, yet keep checking their phone. Mark’s typing was the equivalent of this.
“Oh, you can hear me?” he said. “I’m just multi-tasking.”
“Right now?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said.
Click-click-click.
“You really have to do that now?” I asked.
“Okay, I’ll stop,” he said.
But a few minutes later, the typing resumed.
“Mark, I hear you,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “You do? I thought I was quieter this time.”
Not the point.
Suffice it to say, although I thought our phone call was “progress” in whatever type of relationship we had going on, the rude moments definitely dissuaded me somewhat.
This is why having a text-only relationship can be so limiting: You don’t know the person’s phone habits (will they talk-and-type?) or in-person habits (will they be nice to the waitstaff?).
Still, it was nice he called, I thought.
At the end of the call, he even remarked how “well” it had gone and “I’m so happy you’re feeling better.”
And then — he ghosted me.
Poof! Gone … Never to be seen again.
Even if someone you’re not dating ghosts you, any kind of ghosting hurts, whether it’s a friend, romantic partner, or anything in between. Especially during the precarious times we’re currently living in, we could use more certainty and connection, not more uncertainty and disconnection — and definitely not abrupt, unexplained disconnection at that.
Even if someone you’re not dating ghosts you, any kind of ghosting hurts, whether it’s a friend, romantic partner, or anything in between.
Day after day, I’d check WhatsApp, but still no messages from Mark.
Maybe my WhatsApp is broken?
Isn’t it crazy, the justifications we make to ourselves when, instead, we should note the person’s bad behavior — “He’s ghosting you!” — not give them an out?
Didn’t he want to know how I’m feeling? Guess not.
(And my pain was actually not gone — it continued for days, then weeks, and was later diagnosed as costochondritis, which is when cartilage in the rib cage becomes inflamed and makes it feel as though your rib cage is on fire. Yes, I’d had to go see a doctor, after all — and several times.)
To make things worse, a few sentences and article links I’d sent Mark the day we’d spoken were still marked as unread on WhatsApp. Hmm.
Now I began to worry: Was he okay?! After all, he’d had that long flight back from Asia recently …
But that day I saw him active in a travelers’ Facebook group we were both in, so that answered that: He was okay.
A few days later, I saw that the gray check marks had turned to bright blue, but still no messages. So he’s definitely okay … but just not writing to me. Fine. Not fine. Whatever.
I tried to rationalize and justify his behavior: Maybe he got back together with his ex — he did mention her Facebook status sometimes. Or maybe he’s feeling anxious and worried about money — he’d just lost his job. Or maybe he saw no point in communicating with someone (like me) who’s hundreds of miles away, with no end to the pandemic in sight.
Mostly, I wondered if I’d done something wrong — but would then remind myself: “He ghosted you. During a pandemic. And during a health scare you were having. You did nothing wrong.”
I also remembered something an old roommate used to say: “The ‘why’ doesn’t matter.” Yep — true. The fact is, he ghosted and is gone. That’s all I needed to know.
As time’s gone on, I’ve reflected on what made me the most upset about Mark’s disappearing act: Did I miss him? Or did I miss the routine of him, of having someone to talk to regularly?
I guess we’d filled a void in each other’s lives and kept each other company. They say when you have a problem or crisis, though, it’s a good indicator of who your true friends are — and our relationship apparently didn’t hold up.
Like The Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn!” song lyrics say (which my mom ingrained in my head when I was growing up):
“To everything (turn, turn, turn) / There is a season (turn, turn, turn) / And a time to every purpose, under heaven … ”
Did I miss him? Or did I miss the routine of him, of having someone to talk to regularly?
I now realize our friendship/relationship/whatever it had been had provided me with consistency during some pretty inconsistent times. That’s all any of us can ask for, right?
But the biggest takeaway? Learning to be comfortable alone and okay in my own company has been the best lesson of all. While it’s nice to feel as though someone’s there to hold our hand from a distance, we can’t force someone to be what we need — or in a place, emotionally, they’re not capable of being in.
Meanwhile, I’ll spend time with my new Boyfriend Pillow — yes, a pillow shaped liked a guy’s torso with an arm that wraps around its owner. At least I’m comforted by the fact that he’d never leave my side.
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Previously published on medium
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