Another One Bites the Dust | Digital Ghosts and Holiday Greetings

Nicholas had passed away in July.

That was the reply to a Christmas message I had sent into the void.

His contact still sits in my WhatsApp; I haven't deleted it. I don't know who I'm kidding or what I'm waiting for.

Should I archive the chat for now?

I don't know.

Maybe I just haven't processed the finality of it yet.

Photo by Andrej Lišakov on Unsplash

These days, my entire system is so wrecked that socializing feels impossible.

Even with people in my good book, the drain is just too much. Every interaction is shrouded by anxiety or the fear of saying the wrong thing.

If those interactions can exhaust me this much, imagine the toll of those I don't want in my life at all.

Functional interaction is hard enough; even at a doctor's appointment, the many points where I have to speak to someone- from the receptionist to the nurse-feel overwhelming.

But socializing is a different weight altogether. It isn't like seeing a doctor and getting straight to the point; it's the burden of having to figure out things to say when I have nothing left to give.

To cope, I send out holiday greetings and then immediately turn off my notifications. The influx of replies is too much to handle.

I spend the following months replying one by one at a snail's pace. Wash and rinse.

It's the only way I can manage.

I struggle with small talk because it feels meaningless and exhausting. I've reached a point where I'd rather be silent than pretending to be something I'm not.

Keeping up with the pretense is just so hollow; it drains me faster than a toilet flush. Unless there is a real context to the conversation, the performance of being okay is simply too hard for me.

I think of those who ghosted me, yet I still send them birthday wishes and season greetings not expecting a reply. I can't be offended; I have ghosted so many people myself because of my condition.

I send my greetings because I still care, and I will continue to do so until the day I receive that inevitable message, or until, by God's mercy, I finally make my departure.

©Britt H.

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More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post