Last Sunday felt like an autumn dream — warm air, golden sunlight, and the soft crunch of leaves under my boots. I looked chic in my sunglasses, strolling solo through London’s Victoria Park. All around me, friends, families, and couples basked in the oxytocin, the vitamin D, the bliss of it all. I, however, was alone. Not by design, mind you — my original plan involved a date. A handsome, witty, seemingly intelligent man from an app had invited me out, and I’d been counting down to this sunny Sunday since the invite on Wednesday. And, let me say, I don’t usually get excited about online matches.
Typically, app conversations leave me feeling like I’ve ordered a meal but only received half the ingredients. Every so often, though, there’s someone intriguing, someone who makes you think, Ah, maybe there is hope for humanity. He was one of those rare finds. Against my usual protocol, I even shared my number before meeting him IRL (for the blissfully unfamiliar, that’s “in real life”). This guy seemed funny, smart, and emotionally mature. We exchanged voice messages, which quickly became a nightly ritual, our conversations flowing like a podcast. His voice was smooth — radio-level smooth. We talked about many things: films, personal growth, careers, dreams, crying during movies. I was hooked.
By Saturday night, we were doing final checks. I was at a Halloween party, sober-ish, determined to stay fresh for our big Sunday. Flatteries were exchanged, plans confirmed. Tomorrow, at last, we’d meet.
Sunday morning arrived, radiant and perfect. Victoria Park was waiting. At 9:44, I sent him a text: “Look at this gorgeous morning!!! ☀️ How does 1 pm sound?”
Silence.
Now, a pause from him was strange; he’d been lightning-fast with responses all week. But there it was — a read receipt and nothing more. I gave it a beat, then, with a slightly heavy heart, sent a follow-up: “Ehm, so should I assume we’re not on today? Just so I can make other plans if not…”
Finally, at 11:30, his message arrived: “Morning! So sorry for the delay — just finished shopping and was on the phone with my mum! Would 3 pm be too late? Didn’t expect you up so early and fresh ;)”
By then, I was out enjoying the sun, disappointment creeping in as something just felt off. But I was still game, so I replied: “I came home early last night just so I’d be fresh for today. I’m out now. Let me know if you’re free, and we’ll see how the day goes.”
1:31 pm. He wrote back: “Hey, my day has spiralled. Can we do next weekend? Or maybe one evening this week?” The final let-down hit me like a slow-motion scene in a rom-com gone dark. I replied politely, “All’s good. We’ll see. Have a good week.” He tapped a “like” on my message and vanished.
At that point, his “spiralling day” felt contagious; my emotions started spiralling, too. No explanation, no genuine apology. I sat with it for a moment before sending a voice message: “Hey, um… actually, it’s not all good. I think I mentioned early on that I’m not into flakiness. Don’t know what’s keeping you so busy today, and not sure I want to know… but this doesn’t feel cool. Anyway, hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Have a great week. Bye.”
He listened an hour later. And then — silence.
Permanent silence.
I’d been ghosted, just like that.
Once again, a human connection fizzled out like a match in the rain. And, logically, I know it’s his problem. But it still makes me wonder: Are there men out there who genuinely know them-selves? Emotionally mature adults who don’t leave others hanging in a web of ghosting-induced existential dread?
Because it is a kind of torture. And neuroscience backs me up here —social rejection or ostracism registers in the brain much like physical pain (Weir, 2012).
Being ghosted? Might as well get a punch in the stomach,
at least then I’d know where we stood.
Maybe he thought he was doing me a favour, sparing me some “tough truth” by fading out quietly. Maybe he felt a little guilty, a bit ashamed, or just didn’t have the empathy to see the impact. People might think that ghosting is still rejection, so what’s the difference? Well, the research shows that rejection without feedback is worse than rejection with feedback (Pancani, Aureli & Riva 2022). Here’s the thing: the brain hates incomplete stories. Without an explanation, it goes into overdrive. The brain doesn’t just shrug and say, “Oh well!” There’s a well-known psychological concept for this called the Zeigarnik Effect, which shows that our brains naturally “hold on” to incomplete tasks and unresolved events — and those can haunt us forever (Psychology Today, n.d.). So, thank you, Mr. Ghost, for living rent-free in my head!
Our brains crave “cognitive closure” to make sense of ambiguity (Kruglanski & Fishman, 2009). Remember the maddening uncertainty of pandemic times? That drive to make sense of it all is thanks to predictive processing — our brain’s detective mode, constantly trying to anticipate what’s next to keep us safe and sane (Oxford University, 2021).
So what happens when we get no closure? Our brains are remarkably skilled at filling in gaps. Visual illusions demonstrate this beautifully, like the Kanizsa Triangle, where our minds perceive a triangle that doesn’t really exist. We automatically “fill in” missing parts, based on patterns and past experiences.
“It seems like a triangle is there because we’re used to seeing triangles” (Resnick, 2020).
When ghosted, the brain combs through the hippocampus, which stores all our past experiences, and pulls up memories, patterns, anything to stop the ruminating (Staresina & Davachi, 2010). This gap-filling mechanism is crucial in everything from vision to social connections.
And without feedback, your brain can easily filled in the blanks with the worst possible scenarios. It can dredge up all your past disappointments, times you had been let down, moments you had felt abandoned or “not enough.”
His silence didn’t spare me pain; it amplified it by leaving me to finish the story on my own — and the version I created was harsher than anything he could have said. After all, we didn’t even know each other!
So, how do we cope with this? When we’re emotionally hurt, the brain has yet another trick up its sleeve: it releases its own painkillers, called opioids, to try and self-soothe (Roberts, 2015). Different people release varying amounts, which affects how strongly we feel the sting. The more opioids released, the less intense the pain. In fact, because social rejection mimics physical pain in the brain, standard painkillers can help (Weir, 2012). One of these is paracetamol: “Paracetamol seems to work by blocking chemical messages in the brain that tell us we have pain” (Cancer Research UK, 2024).
So, naturally, I tested the theory. Turns out, paracetamol does blunt the ache of ghosting. Or maybe it’s just a placebo effect? Honestly, I don’t care, as long as it helps. (For the record, physical activity releases opioids, too.)
And that’s where dating has brought me: painkillers to manage the emotional fallout of a disappearing stranger. Absurdity par excellence!
The saddest part? “Ghosting can lead to particularly pessimistic predictions about future interactions compared to rejections with feedback, underscoring the long-term relational impacts of ghosting” (Dolan, 2024). Ghosting doesn’t just hurt in the moment; it poisons the hope of future connections. The ghoster has killed the ghostee’s hope. Why? Full circle back to the prediction machine of a brain. Look at the gif below.
This phenomenon is known as the flash-lag illusion. In it, a red dot moves across the screen, while a green dot briefly flashes precisely when the two dots are perfectly aligned vertically. Despite the perfect timing, it’s almost impossible to see them as aligned; the red dot always appears slightly ahead of the green one. That’s your brain predicting the future (Resnick, 2020).
In the end, it’s not about him. It’s about what he represents: the men, the romance, the hope, the kindness, and the integrity I’d like to find in people. I’ll forget his face and name. But his actions are now a stored memory, and I’m yet to find out how to delete that from my hippocampus. Writing this article, though, helped me process it.
So… I deleted every single dating app. It feels oddly decadent, like I’m finally opting out of this grim parade of ghosts, catfish, unsolicited pics, and terrible pickup lines. I want peace. I want kind people. I do want hope. No more swiping, no more games, no more ghosting.
For now, I feel relieved…
though that might just be the paracetamol.
Just Lucia
Cancer Research UK, 2024. https://www.cancerresearchuk.org. [Online]
Available at: https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/coping/physically/cancer-and-pain-control/treating-pain/painkillers/types-of-painkillers/non-opioids#:~:text=Non%20opioid%20drugs%20include%3A,paracetamo
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Dolan, E. W., 2024. https://www.psypost.org. [Online]
Available at: https://www.psypost.org/new-psychology-research-reveals-a-surprising-fact-about-ghosting/
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Kruglanski, A. W., & Fishman, S. (2009). The need for cognitive closure. In M. R. Leary & R. H. Hoyle (Eds.), Handbook of individual differences in social behavior (pp. 343–353). The Guilford Press.
Oxford University, 2021. https://www.ox.ac.uk/. [Online]
Available at: https://www.ox.ac.uk/news/2021-03-16-brain-prediction-machineit-knows-how-good-we-are-doing-something-we-even-try#:~:text=we%20even%20try-,The%20brain%20is%20a%20prediction%20machine:It%20knows%20how%20good,something%20before%20we%20even%20try&text=Highli
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Pancani, L., Aureli, N., & Riva, P. (2022). Relationship dissolution strategies: Comparing the psychological consequences of ghosting, orbiting, and rejection. Cyberpsychology: Journal of Psychosocial Research on Cyberspace, 16(2), Article 9. https://doi.org/10.5817/CP2022-2-9
Psychology Today, n.d.. https://www.psychologytoday.com. [Online]
Available at: https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/basics/zeigarnik-effect
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Resnick, B., 2020. https://www.vox.com/. [Online]
Available at: https://www.vox.com/science-and-health/20978285/optical-illusion-science-humility-reality-polarization
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Roberts, N. F., 2015. Forbes. [Online]
Available at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/nicolefisher/2015/12/25/rejection-and-physical-pain-are-the-same-to-your-brain/
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Staresina, B. P. & Davachi, L., 2010. Pudmed Central. [Online]
Available at: https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2726251/
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Weir, K., 2012. American Psychological Association. [Online]
Available at: https://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/04/rejection#:~:text=As%20researchers%20have%20dug%20deeper,and%20for%20society%20in%20genera
[Accessed 29 10 2024].
Leave a Reply