What better month than September to unpack the brutal hardships of summer love wrapping up, seasonal depression boiling on the back burner, and the social pressure to find somebody to wear matching pajamas with for the infamous “look everybody I can get and keep a partner” hard launch on Instagram. Because nothing says cuffing season like broadcasting a hostage situation in plaid on your feed.

Ghosting is defined as when someone who used to be friendly or even romantic with you suddenly cuts off all communication without explanation (thank you medicinenet.com for making me feel clinically insane). Now before I start to throw stones, let me confess: I have ghosted numerous people. And 98% of the time it had absolutely nothing to do with them and everything to do with me. I did not have the emotional intelligence to simply say “hey, I can’t do this right now.” Instead, my brain went: “you know what would be better? Pretending I died.”

It wasn’t until I got older and reflected on how awful I, as the kids say, “crash out” when I got ghosted that I realized karma doesn’t miss.

Let’s start with my mess.

The first person I ever ghosted, we’re going to call him Sunshine. And oh baby, Sunshine was it. He was everything I grew up reading in Nicholas Sparks books and watching in rom coms. I told him my dreams, my secrets, my messy friendship drama. If my diary ever came to life, it would be him. That was how I showed love back then by trusting someone enough to tell them things instead of just giving them my body.

And he showed me love in ways that made me so uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Compliments on my looks? Whatever, I was used to that. But telling me I was beautiful inside? Excuse me? Sir, how dare you. Do not address my soul. I grew up being told I was mad, evil, selfish, lazy, basically the Grinch with a flat iron, and now here’s Sunshine peeling back layers like I’m some emotionally complex onion and calling it gorgeous? The audacity.

I knew what he deserved and it wasn’t me. So I decided to ghost him. Just… silence. No more texts, no more snaps, nothing. I was still posting like life was grand, meanwhile in hell thinking about him nonstop.

And then one day, I slipped up. He called me, and because I was fresh off bottomless mimosas at brunch, I answered all giggly and excited… and mid-conversation I accidentally called him by my friend’s man’s name. Y’all. I have never sobered up so fast in my life. He went off. Straight for my jugular. Hung up. Blocked me. Done.

And just like that, wish granted, he was gone.

It wasn’t even heartbreak I felt it was this sick, gnawing guilt. I felt disgusting for ghosting him, and even worse for hurting someone who was nothing but good to me. He didn’t talk to me for 2–3 years. And those years? Let me tell you, I felt it. Every other man I dealt with was a Dollar Tree version of Sunshine. I’d be sitting there like “wow, Sunshine would’ve laughed at that joke” or “damn, I wish I could tell Sunshine about my shoot today.” Losing him was my villain origin story and my redemption arc all in one.

When we finally reconnected, he had a new partner. And she was everything he deserved, everything I couldn’t be at that time. Hearing him talk about her actually made me happy because sis repaired what I broke. My man was thriving, and honestly, that was all I ever wanted for him.

Now, Sunshine was my lesson in why not to ghost people. But life is funny because what goes around always spins the block. Enter Beans.

Beans was my most horrendous crash out of 2023. I should’ve known it was cursed from the start. He was like a triple super senior chasing league dreams while I had been done with college. After years of Instagram flirting, he finally offered to fly me out. And me being little miss eager beaver, I hopped my happy ass right on that plane.

The airport pickup alone should’ve been my sign. His cousin took 72 minutes yes, over an hour to find me because he was circling the wrong damn terminal. By the time I finally got to Beans’ house, I was irritated but determined.

When Beans walked in, it took me all of four minutes to realize if he wasn’t good at sports, he would’ve been in a classroom with 12 kids and 3 teachers. But I was fresh off a breakup, drunk on the plot, and three Don Julio and five Azul shots later, I was like “you know what, Beans, let’s party.”

We hooked up. And let me just say: it was so bad it was hilarious. I literally started laughing in the middle of it. I was already composing my group chat roast in my head.

The next morning, thinking I was home alone, I called my friend Cierra and dragged this man six feet under with jokes. Like, tears streaming, cackling. Except plot twist his cousin was there. And heard every word. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

Needless to say, the rest of the trip was silent. When I went home? Radio silence. I got ghosted. Clean.

I texted, DM’d, even accidentally called him while composing a vanish-mode manifesto, and he ignored me every time. I was shook. Men had let me down before, but never had one ghosted me so thoroughly that I had to respect it.

Of course, because I’m me, the clownery didn’t stop there. For Halloween, I was back in his city. And in my delusional little mind, I thought “he can’t ignore me face to face.” My friends and I literally drove past his house. One of my friend’s friends asked to see a picture of him, and when I showed her, she looked me dead in my eyes and said, “are you fucking serious?” I immediately made Cierra pull the car over so I could get fresh air.

I was losing my mind behind a man who was a fan of me and my ex, and who my friends said looked good only if you squinted in the dark. I stood in a random patch of grass on his block, hands on my knees, debating whether to throw up or laugh until I passed out.

That was the first time a guy ever ghosted me and stood on business. Looking back, I realize I was only mad because I wanted to ghost him first, and he beat me at my own game.

So here’s the thing: ghosting is never fun. Being the ghoster with Sunshine ate me alive. Being ghosted by Beans made me lose my rabbit ass mind. It’s all ego and chaos. But if nothing else, it gave me stories that make me laugh while I write them.

And if you’ve ever been ghosted, just know you’re not alone. The world has seven billion people, and if one makes you feel like you’re absolutely nothing, remember: there are six billion, nine hundred ninety nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine other options.

And at least one of them will text you back.