Tag: friendship dynamics

The Violence of Silence: An Autopsy of a Vanishing Friend

Coffee is more than caffeine. It’s a ritual, a gesture, and a litmus test for generosity in an age of ghosting, swipes, and emotional bankruptcy.

On today’s episode of “How can I use mental health to justify my terrible behavior?”

Oh — did that offend you?
Good. Sit down. Let the candlelight flicker while you clutch your amethyst and mutter affirmations about your “boundaries.”

The New Spiritual Practice of Disappearing

When did it become normal to vanish into the night the moment life becomes inconvenient?
When did disappearing become a spiritual practice?
When did silence become the new love language?

We now live in an era where ghosting is marketed as self-care and avoidance is advertised as emotional intelligence. You send a message to someone you consider a friend and it takes them three to seven business days just to open it.

Apparently that’s “healing.”
Apparently you expecting basic communication is “toxic.”

Meanwhile they’re posting online every hour like Victorian ghosts rattling chains for attention.

You start wondering:
What did I do? Why am I being punished? Why am I being exiled to the outer darkness like a biblical pariah?

Let me answer that for you:
Absolutely nothing.
No wait — I’m wrong.

You did do something.

You were too understanding the first time.
Too forgiving the second time.
Too patient the fifteenth time.

You kept giving grace to someone who didn’t deserve that much of your spirit. You wanted to be the compassionate friend because you knew they “shut down” during episodes of depression, anxiety, spiritual crises, lunar cycles, Mercury retrogrades, and whatever else they blamed it on.

But eventually it becomes a pattern.
And God forbid you say anything. Suddenly they have “boundaries.”

My dear children of the night, it’s not boundaries.
It’s guilt-dodging wrapped in therapeutic jargon.

Why They Can Post but Still Not Answer You

Here’s the part nobody talks about:

Avoidants can post online, repost TikToks, dance on Instagram, comment on memes, scroll for hours… and still “not have the capacity” to answer you.

Why?
  • Posting online gives them dopamine without vulnerability
  • Scrolling requires no accountability
  • Public engagement doesn’t force honesty
  • Responding to you requires facing guilt and connection

You represent real intimacy. Online, they can stay superficial and safe.
With you, they’d have to be human.

Compassion Isn’t a Coffin

Before the armchair therapists rise from their Instagram altars, let me make something clear:

I am not heartless.

I have held trembling hands at 2 a.m.
I have listened to friends unravel like cheap thread.
I have sat with people whose minds were dim corridors with one flickering lightbulb.

I know suffering.
I’ve lived adjacent to it.
I’ve carried it.

But compassion is not a coffin I’m going to lie down in.

Loving someone doesn’t require self-sacrifice.
I can understand your trauma without letting you use it to avoid accountability.
I can acknowledge your depression without applauding your disappearing act.

Your struggle is real, but so is the wound you left in me.

Suffering explains behavior. It does not sanctify it.

Live, Laugh, Lexapro

Before the whataboutists assemble:

Yes, trauma is real.
Yes, depression is real.
Yes, anxiety is real.

But for the love of Live, Laugh, Lexapro, stop diagnosing every inconvenience as a disorder.
Get evaluated. Get medicated. Get help.
Don’t turn your friends into unpaid therapists.

Not for Nothing — The Leash Remains

Not for nothing, I’ve watched friendship after friendship dissolve under someone’s “bad week that never ends.”

Each time I tried to be patient.
Each time I excused their silence.
Each time, my understanding became a leash.

And that leash dragged me through dark hallways filled with self-doubt, whispering that I was unworthy and disposable.

Suffering does not give anyone the right to carve hollow spaces into the people who love them.

The Culture of Detachment

Why does this keep happening?

I have a theory:

We now live in a culture that worships detachment.
We call it healing.
We call it boundaries.
We call it alignment.

But really, it’s cowardice disguised as enlightenment.

People say:

“I’m busy.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“If you were a real friend, you’d understand.”

Nobody is that busy. We all carry our phones like rosaries.
We refresh notifications the way monks check prayer hours.

And yes, someone will insist:
“I only use email and I check it once a day.”

They’re lying and ignoring you in advance.

We glamorize detachment because it photographs well on social media.
In real life, it’s just loneliness with a ring light.

A Letter to the Avoidants

To all avoidants:

It takes five seconds — not five hours, not five days — to write:

“I’m alive, but not in the right headspace.”

You can need space and still communicate.
You can be depressed and still apologize.
You can be overwhelmed and still send a sentence.

Healing isn’t a hall pass to abandon people.

Don’t complain about having no friends when we watched you loosen every leash yourself.

The Graveyard of Lost Connections

We cannot build a compassionate world on the corpses of connections we were too anxious to maintain.

When avoidance finally runs out of excuses, what remains isn’t peace. It’s isolation.

Deafening isolation.

The kind that echoes when you realize you pushed away the very people who would have walked through fire for you.

PSA

This piece reflects my opinion and lived experience.
It is not a diagnostic manual.
Mental health is real.
Trauma is real.
Avoidance is real.

So is basic accountability.

If this resonates with you — good.
If it offends you — ask yourself why.

Author’s Note

If you see yourself in these shadows, sit with it.
Light a candle.
Listen for the echo.

Not every disappearance is a mystery. Sometimes it’s a choice.
And sometimes the person you abandoned finally stops waiting at the door.

The Silent Threat

The Silent Threat:
Why Mediocre People Clap the Loudest- for Anyone but You

Yes, I said it. Mediocre.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m mediocre at plenty of things, sewing being one of them. Patterns might as well be cursed scrolls sealed in Latin. But every year, I throw myself into cosplay for New York Comic Con like it’s a life-or-death mission. Last year was a masterpiece of poor timing. I had two surgeries, crutches, and a headpiece that doubled as a medieval torture device. Did I wobble into Comic Con like a half-bedazzled disaster? Yes. Was I proud? Also, yes. Mediocrity with theatrical flair is still a win in my book.

This whole thing pushed me out of my comfort zone. I uploaded a few photos after the Con and didn’t think much of it. The next morning, I woke up to a wave of sweet reactions from friends. No one knew I was on crutches because, frankly, I wasn’t trying to collect pity points. I just wanted to look like a dramatic Gorgon. A few asked what I used, and I even shared some before and after pics of the process. I’ve never been one to hoard knowledge. I was wrong.

One friend, in particular, went full interrogation mode. They had a Halloween party coming up and wanted tips. I didn’t mind sharing. I wasn’t about to treat my Amazon links like launch codes. Later that night, while scrolling through my comments, I noticed something: that same friend hadn’t reacted or commented on my post. Nothing. Huh?

Out of curiosity, I checked last year’s post. Again, no engagement. Apparently, my handmade armor and bruised dignity weren’t worth a single emoji. Ah, intéressant…

Maybe I was bored, or maybe my crutches gave me time to think, but the pattern clicked. This person never congratulated me on anything. Meanwhile, I clapped for them like a possessed seal at every mildly impressive thing they did. It wasn’t because I expected something back. That’s not how I operate.It’s simply something I just do because support is a habit for me.

I felt like emotionally spiraling and decided to scroll through their page and, surprise, they were hyping up content creators and celebrities like they were being paid in exposure and black lipstick. My book had launched around the same time they congratulated someone else for something I can’t even remember.

Here’s my theory

No, I’m not a therapist; I just have a highly suspicious mind and a penchant for overanalyzing human behavior. No, it has nothing to do with my star sign. Some people prefer to support the ultra-successful due to the fact that those people are aspirational and untouchable. It’s the sick idolatry of these people being on another level. They exist on Olympus. They’re not people; they’re a myth. Why? There’s no real threat or comparison. They become brands, not individuals. They become icons to project fantasies onto. Think about that the next time you win a baking competition.

Let’s flip the coffin lid the other way.

People also love to root for those they consider beneath them. That support often comes disguised as empathy, but sometimes it’s just pity with a smug ribbon. These folks are seen as “deserving” because they pose no risk. But give them a little momentum and watch that support shrivel like a Victorian bouquet.

Performative support vs. real encouragement

Now, before I tackle this point like a line-backer, I know some people lack nuance; this only applies if you’ve actually shown up for these people. I’m not talking about random followers. I’m talking about people you’ve poured into.

Performative support is a quick-like, somewhat a vague “you go girl,” or worse, a private DM full of praise they’re too cowardly to post publicly. I call that support in the shadows. Gothic, but not in a good way.

Real encouragement? That’s different. It’s public. It’s consistent. It takes effort. It’s not afraid to stand next to your spotlight instead of resenting it.

The classic defense

“I’m just being real.” Pulease! With whom? If you’re not offering support, advice, or a “damn, you did that,” then you’re not being real. You’re just feeding your ego in a cloak of faux authenticity.

This type of behavior manifests as backhanded compliments, side-eyes, or my personal favorite – total silence. It’s the emotional equivalent of a fog-covered grave, again, not in a Gothic fun way.

Society doesn’t just tolerate envy. It rewards it.

Because envy toward someone close enough to compare yourself to? That’s relatable. That’s marketable. That’s …ugly.

You don’t need the applause of the insecure

Regardless of what you’re doing in life, whether it’s baking, starting a vegan butcher shop, or just posting pictures of your iced coffee, you don’t need the applause of the insecure. Some people can’t clap for you because your rise, or your crawl upward, makes them realize they’re still standing in the same place, arms crossed, doing nothing but watching.