My childhood friend ignored my Facebook request

Tracey Folly

I loved her, then I missed her. Now I just hate her for ghosting me.

Growing up, my best friend and I were two peas in a pod. We walked alike. We talked alike. We dressed alike. We attended the same school, listened to the same music, and talked to the same boys.

We had some differences. She was loud, cheerful, and outgoing. I was a quiet introvert who had panic attacks from something as simple as buying a loaf of bread.

She once dealt with a neighborhood bully by sending him elaborate hand-crafted love letters that she wrote on red construction paper hearts and adorned with doilies and glitter glue stuffed inside manila envelopes with no return address. It was an act of strange and subtle revenge designed to drive him bonkers. I have no idea whether it worked, but writing those love letters entertained us for days.

I dealt with bullies by having full-blown anxiety attacks that necessitated a trip to the school nurse and a phone call to my mother.

People often mistook us for sisters. There was a family resemblance. After all, in addition to being best friends, we were cousins by blood. I loved her like a sister. I never imagined there would come a day when we would grow apart.

I never imagined there would come a day when I hated her — but here we are. After a lifetime of family and decades of friendship, my best friend ghosted me — and she did it before ghosting was cool. I haven’t forgiven her, and I never will.

It happened a little more than a decade after high school graduation. My friend experienced what is commonly known as a “life-changing event.” One day, she and her husband were lounging by my pool, and we were making the plans for the Fourth of July. The next day, they split up.

My friend didn’t tell me about it. All I knew was that she and her husband blew me off on Independence Day, and she stopped answering her phone. A mutual family member told my mother what had happened, and my mother told me. I was positive that reaching out to my friend in her time of need was the right thing to do. So I tried. And tried. And tried.

For thirty days straight, I woke up, picked up my phone, and dialed her number. Every day, I left the same message.

“Hey, it’s me. I miss you. Let’s grab a cup of coffee. Call me. I love you.”

She never called back.

Years passed, I ran into her. I was overjoyed to see her, and I told her so. I hugged her, and she winced. She pulled away.

“I've missed you,” I said. “Let’s grab a cup of coffee. Call me. I love you.”

She never called back.

More years passed, a new friend recommended reaching out to her on social media. I hesitated, but I drafted a long heartfelt message anyhow. In the message, I said I was sorry. I was sorry that I wasn’t able to support her during her life-changing event. I was sorry for whatever I’d done that had caused her not to call me back.

“I miss you. Let’s grab a cup of coffee. Call me. I love you.”

I sent her a Facebook friend request; she did not accept it.

She didn’t call me. We didn’t grab a cup of coffee. She didn’t respond to my heartfelt message. She didn’t even accept my social media friend request. So I blocked her.

I am sure she never even noticed.

Sometimes, I have an urge to send her an elaborate handcrafted love letter written on a red construction paper heart and adorned with doilies and glitter glue stuffed inside a manila envelope with no return address — but I won’t because I hate her now.

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Writing about relationships online since 2009.

Boston, MA
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