I Ghosted My Best Friend—And This Is What I Wish I Could Say Now

We used to talk every day. Morning updates, dumb memes at 2 a.m., vent sessions over coffee, or long voice notes about nothing and everything. She was the one constant in my life when everything else felt like it was falling apart. And then, without warning, I stopped replying.

No message. No explanation. I just disappeared.

At first, I told myself I needed space—that I was overwhelmed and couldn’t handle anyone else’s emotions. Then days turned into weeks. Weeks became months. And now, it’s been over a year.

People always talk about being ghosted in romantic relationships, but no one tells you how devastating it feels to ghost—or be ghosted by—a best friend. There’s a specific kind of ache in losing someone who knew you so deeply, who held your hand through breakups, failures, and the messy growing pains of life.

So why did I ghost her?

It wasn’t because she did anything wrong. It wasn’t because I stopped caring. It was me. I was drowning in my own anxiety and didn’t know how to communicate that I was struggling. I convinced myself that disappearing quietly was better than burdening her. But silence doesn't protect people—it confuses them. It hurts them. And now, I realize my silence probably said, you don’t matter to me, when the truth is she mattered so much that I didn’t want her to see me unraveling.

The truth is, I felt like I was failing at everything—work, relationships, even just getting out of bed some days. I felt like a mess, and I couldn’t imagine showing that version of myself to someone who had always seen me as strong. I didn’t want to become someone she pitied. So instead of reaching out, I pulled away.

There are nights I draft long texts. Apologies. Explanations. Memories. I stare at the blinking cursor, my fingers hovering above “send,” and then I delete it all. I guess I’m scared of the silence that might come back. Or worse, of hearing that she’s moved on, that she doesn’t care anymore. Maybe she hates me. Maybe she thinks I’m a terrible person. And maybe she has every right to.

But here’s what I wish I could say if I had one more chance—just one conversation:

“I’m sorry. I’m so deeply sorry for leaving without a word. I was struggling more than I knew how to admit, and I didn’t know how to let you in without falling apart. You didn’t deserve the silence, and I’ll carry that guilt for a long time. But you also deserve to know that it wasn’t your fault. You were one of the best things in my life—and I miss you more than I can say.”

I wish I could tell her about the moments I’ve wanted to reach out—when I passed our favorite café, or saw a post that reminded me of an inside joke, or when I heard a song we used to scream out loud in the car. She's not in my life anymore, but she’s still everywhere.

There’s a part of me that hopes she’s okay. That she’s happy. That she found new people to laugh with, to support her, to send memes to at 2 a.m. And maybe, just maybe, she sometimes thinks of me too.

Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to reach out. To apologize out loud instead of just on a page. But until then, this is my confession. My open letter to the person I let down the most.

Not because I didn’t love her, but because I loved her enough to be afraid she’d see me broken—and I didn’t know then that real friendship could survive that too.