I can’t go a day without being bothered by him. His face leers at me when I’m in the bathroom or washing dishes, disrupting my ho-hum calm. I’m walking out of my house and his car passes by — 20 times.
I can’t be alone for too long without his memory flooding in. Memories that somehow seem skewed. He’s always the good guy. He’s so attentive and so understanding. He’s always doing the right thing, making me feel like my perception was twisted up the whole time we were together. Did I get it all wrong? Was he really the perfect mate?
Everyone has his car. Everyone has his eyes.
“I was starting to understand that something could be two things at once — that something could be there and also not be there.”
~Jennifer Pastiloff, On Being Human
Jennifer Pastiloff’s words spoke to me as I sipped my morning coffee, thinking and not thinking of him.“…That something could be there and not be there.” Or that someone could be there and not be there all at once.
The visions and memories and imaginary flirtations that stalked my psyche were him and not him. After another coffee sip, pondering Jen’s words, the truth hit me hard. A layer of ignorance peeled itself off my mind and heart, allowing me to see with more clarity and feel with more compassion.
The ex that stalks me was the ghost that I created when we were dating. He was there and not there. All the time. He was the perfect mate that filled in the imperfect moments. When there was tension between us or when he said something that torqued my soul up in knots, I suddenly started to fantasize about what I would want him to say. The wanting and wishing suddenly became my reality. I started imagining what life would be like if he was living up to his full potential. I thought I was being positive. I thought somehow my gift for seeing the best in others would trickle from my subconscious to his and would morph him into who I wanted him to be.
In our relationship, my gift at focusing on the best in others became my curse. I saw him as I wanted him to be. The curse was ignoring who he really was in the here and now. I wrote off the red flags as flawed human moments. He will do better next time, I kept saying to myself. Only there was no next time. There were just more flawed moments on repeat.
The red flags became the fuel for my fantasy lover. Each time he messed up, his ghost got a little more perfect. By the time our relationship ended, I was confused about our love. In my first few days without him, I felt relief. And then the stalking began. The ghost of the just-right lover wouldn’t leave me alone.
His fantasy self felt comfortable to me at first. A rush of longing and passion swelled through me in an orgasmic way when his face popped into my mind or when I saw a car just like his. The memories, images, and reminders were a soothing balm to my fresh break-up wounds — until they weren’t.
Within a week I felt haunted. I felt empty. I didn’t know if I even loved the real him. A wave of guilt washed over me as his crystal blue eyes popped into my mind.
Who are you? I asked, with some hesitation.
I didn’t wait for the answer. I was too scared of the truth.
His flawed, real self would keep showing up. His ghost would keep me hoping he had changed. When my real ex texted me out of the blue a few months after I had pushed his fantasy ghost into the backdrop of my mind, I felt angry. I was in a new relationship. I thought I had moved on. For the first time, I saw him as he really was. My bike got stolen from the backyard, was all the text said. The words, why is he texting me? pounced through my mind like a wildcat chasing prey. I didn’t respond at first — my wild cat self hid in the grass, waiting for the just-right moment to reply — even though I knew it was a ploy for attention. His pull was strong. He didn’t even ask how I was doing. And I somehow seemed to let that pass by. It was a fantasy lover moment. His ghost asked me, How are you? I want to know all.
. . .
When the random text happened again a few months later, it came with a request: Are you free? I was, but I wish I wasn’t. I wish I didn’t answer. I could have ignored it and moved on. But the fantasy ghost came back with a vengeance.
Give him a try, it said. Maybe he will surprise you.
I went over for a drink and some chat. He didn’t surprise me at all. The real ex felt exactly the same — horny and detached. Wanting the surface me and no more. I pondered leaving after I finished half a beer and gave him the rest. But his fantasy ghost pushed me to stay a bit longer. We ate chips and hummus and watched a comedy show. For a while, it felt comfortable — like two good friends hanging out. And then he touched me. I felt really strong and grounded in myself until he started stroking my back. When he started to get physical, his ghost took over. After we made out he told me he was dating someone and that he shouldn’t have done that. And then he tried to do more; he put his hand in my pants. I was single at that point. I looked at him with fierce, wide eyes and removed his hand without even blinking. Then I rolled my eyes and walked out. I wish his ghost didn’t follow me, but it did.
. . .
A few months later and another text. I wish I saw the pattern then as clearly as I see it now. He was single now and so was I. We had sex after he bandaged up a deep finger gash I gave myself slicing fruit, half thinking of him. When he came over, mutual hesitation floated between us like two ghosts. Maybe I wasn’t the only one fantasizing about something better — about a connection that wasn’t so tangled-up and insecure?
. . .
Then he got into a relationship. He was there and then he was gone. I was confused. I felt misled. I thought he was done. I prepared my psyche to move on, only to realize his ghost had set up camp in my living room and his real self wasn’t done trying to hook me in.
I’m just beginning to disconnect the real ex from his ghost. And I’m still feeling haunted by both.
It’s hard to let someone go when their memory lives on. Relationship endings are deaths. Any death requires a grieving period. The catch-22 with relationship deaths is that when our partner lives on, the grieving process becomes complex. They are gone as we know them, and yet they live. How does the psyche process that?
And sometimes they come back to haunt you in random texts or run-ins around town. Real contact with our exes is like a mini resurrection of what once was. The Wait I thought you were dead, but you’re not and that has me feeling all topsy turvy inside — interactions make it all the more confusing for the psyche.
Sometimes you have to become a ghost to scare a ghost away.
I’ve since had to bury my ex. I’ve had to make his real-life self die to me. I’ve cut off all contact. I’ve essentially ghosted him. So maybe in this story, there are two ghosts after all. If he tries to reach out again, his message won’t get through. And if it does (there are ways to reach out other than text, aren’t there?), then I won’t respond. He will be faced with a ghost too.
All that we’re both left with are our ghosts, haunting us with what-ifs and maybes and whys?
I think I’m starting to understand that we can all be two things at once. Maybe we all have two lovers: the real and the fantasy. The haunting happens when fantasy crosses the healthy line and becomes a ghost. We create ghosts when we refuse to acknowledge and take ownership of things as they are. Haunting turns to stalking when the ghost version of an ex has taken on the leading role in our memory.
We can have a healthy fantasy world. Fantasy is actually a very natural human instinct. Fantasy keeps the imagination alive. The health lies in the ability to identify reality from fantasy. It means identifying the fantasy lover as just that and the real lover as just that. We must separate the two. And if we struggle to separate fantasy from reality, then we must ask ourselves: can I love them as they are? Is that enough?
No one is perfect. We must decide what imperfections we will tolerate, and what we must walk away from.
And if like me, your fantasy lover took on a life of his or her own, then you know how hard it can be to let go. I’ve tried smudging and praying and meditating his ghost out of me. I even threw a coconut on a rock thanking him for being in my life and then telling him now he could get the f*ck out of my mind and heart. He got out —for a day. I couldn’t afford enough coconuts to keep him out forever.
Sometimes you just have to surrender. Sometimes you have to embrace the magical wisdom your parent self might say to the child who fears ghosts are in the closet. “It’s just your imagination. Let’s turn the light on and look. See, it’s just clothing and toys. Isn’t that funny how your mind made it out to be something scary?”
The child feels comforted that no real ghosts live in the closet. But the child still believes in ghosts.
Tonight I sat on my porch reading. In my thinking moments, I watched the cars pass by. My heart beat fast every time a car the color of his passed. The inner parent said, there are no ghosts. Yes, there are. All the cars are ghosts. My car watching moments became ghost-watching moments. Suddenly thoughts of him evaporated.
Suddenly, ghosts were everywhere. Suddenly all was okay in my inner world.
I do believe in ghosts.
I repeated it to myself several times as I watched the ghost-filled cars.
Suddenly, his ghost was just another ghost in a sea of ghosts. I went on reading without looking up.
You have nothing to give me rang through me like a song. His ghost didn’t have a comeback; he knew it was the truth. It was the truth that set him free from my psyche.
Suddenly my mind took a deep breath. My book was getting good. I savored the words and realized how whole I felt in this moment — without him.
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This post was previously published on P.S. I Love You and is republished here with permission from the author.
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