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On Ghosting and Being Ghosted

Ghosting someone is not, contrary to popular belief, locking your friend in the bathroom and making them say “Bloody Mary” three times into the mirror. (Protip: summoning the Dark One is not recommended). Ghosting someone is the act of ceasing all forms of communication with someone you are dating, in hopes that they “get the hint.” It’s communicating without any communication. It’s dropping away. It’s turning around in a dark alley and finding that Batman has silently whooshed away. DEAR BATMAN. STOP. DOING. THIS.

So have I ghosted someone?

Like a student strolling Hogwarts’ Great Hall on Halloween, I’ve ghosted and been ghosted. Nearly Headless Nick’s got nothing on me.


Unfortunately, if a first date doesn’t go so well, I feel no allegiance to the person I went on a date with—ESPECIALLY if we split the bill. This isn’t ONCE UPON A TIME, I’m not going into the UNDERWORLD FOR YOU. (Any OUAT fans here? Captain Swan? Please? Someone help me I will go DOWN WITH THAT SHIP).

Maybe you’re thinking I’m ruthless. Let me set the stage.

In the heart of Boston, a redhead girl who spent way too much time filling in her eyebrows for this date sits across from someone who ordered too much whiskey in attempt to impress her and won’t stop talking.

And I mean this guy was nooooonnnnnstopppp. Using acronyms about his job I couldn’t even ask about because he’d flown past their relevance. He proceeded to tell me how much weight he had gained on Obama’s campaign trail, and how much he could squat when he decided to lose the weight. Let me tell you Sparklers, the word “squat” is NOT something I want to hear on a first date.

So I ghosted him. What did it matter? He didn’t really even let me talk, so why pipe up to tell him I wasn’t interested?

Whoosh, went my cape into the night.

Do I feel weird about it?
NOPE. If it’s a bad date, it’s a bad date. I’m looking for a mind at work. I’ve already moved ON. #SorryNotSorry. #byefelicia


While still suffering through her breakup with her boyfriend of two and a half years, the redhead sits on her couch with Oliver, eating burgers and making out and living her best life—or so she thought.

I jumped on OKCupid to try online dating. I was single for the first time in what felt like an eternity. I lived with my boyfriend at the time, but I wasn’t going to let *that* stop me. And with the help of the app, I actually met really great guy on the site. A musician. A gardener. A reader. A listener.

A great kisser.

Oliver (or at least that’s what we’ll call him—still harboring my love for Oliver Wood after all this time)… Oliver lived about an hour away from my school, and always made the drive to see me. We’d really only get together once a week, maybe every other week. But it was always really great. We had a lot to talk about. We’d listen to music make out in my car (instead of going inside where my ex-boyfriend also lived (LOL) (actually no one was laughing it really sucked.))

A lot of our dating was spent texting and, at that time in my life, THAT’S what I was looking for. I wanted a pen pal I could sometimes make out with. I was looking for flurries and fireflies in my stomach, a mashup between winter and spring to distract me from my painful and unexpected breakup.

I was pretty open with both my ex and Oliver. I was confused. I was having fun. I was FIGURING IT OUT, OKAY? They both wanted to wait for me. It was really cool and sweet and absolutely terrible and horrible. I liked the freedom. I also hated it. Knowing there were people “waiting on me” (????????) was like sitting in a restaurant trying to decide if I wanted onion rings or fries while the waitress stood there clicking her pen, then huffed, “I’ll come back.”

One night, Oliver was over. We had the house to ourselves. We got burgers and watched The Hunger Games. We made out a lot. It was nice because I could set the terms; something I hadn’t been able to do in my relationship for a long time. Everything was what ***I*** wanted. ME. I picked dinner, the movie, and created fresh boundaries and experiences with someone well, fresh.

We left the house at the same time. I was heading to my parent’s house. I locked up. He walked me to my car. He kissed me. A slight pause. Lips still close. Breath mingling. Tension. Temptation. He kissed me again. Sweet relief.

“I’ll text you tomorrow?” I said. I smiled.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He said.

That was four years ago. We haven’t talked since that kiss. FOUR. YEARS. PEOPLE.

I figured if he was truly interested, he would text me first. We were playing a game of chicken that neither of us wanted to lose. I never heard from him. I started dating my ex-boyfriend again not soon after, and the door to text Oliver slammed shut hard, like one of those confusing wind tunnels in your house that incites you to grab your brother’s lightsaber toy because you’re pretty sure someone is INSIDE THE HOUSE.


Do I recommend ghosting people? Absolutely not. Particularly if you’ve been on more than one date, and especially if you have contact with them in person on even a semi-regular basis.

I look back and I realized I wasn’t being fair to either my boyfriend or Oliver. And the unfortunate reality of the situation with Oliver was… it was just done-zo. And it felt okay. He must’ve felt it too, or I would have heard from him? But if we had just talked, I would have answers instead of questions.

Now? I wonder if he wonders about me. I wonder if he thinks it all really happened. We only had a handful of dates. Maybe he thinks I am an ACTUAL ghost. LUIGI’S MANSION, I’M MOVIN’ IN. COME GET ME, MARIO.

Have you been ghosted? Have you been the ghostER? Tell us about your potentially haunting experience in the comments!