I’ve been trying to exorcise this ghost for a year. I got rid of WhatsApp. I blocked his number. He got a new phone to be able to call me. I blocked that too. He found me on Facebook Messenger. I blocked him on that.
I wrote a story that I liked and I wanted to share it with people who knew my voice. So I called up a ghost. Why? Because the ghost told me to write. Bad move, Vene. Bad move.
He didn’t read the story. He told me to meet him in Miami so we could read it together. Red flags for days. No. Just no. But my loyalty to gratitude can get in my way of saying no. Especially when the other person is finally talking sense because they’re sober. I was honest. Said that I wasn’t romantically involved with anyone because he still occupied that space.*
*Like a parking space. I told Milos that much last Wednesday at Barbs. That he just sits there in a place in my mind and someone will come along to knock him out. And then I described the guy who would. Milos said he’d be on the lookout.
I also told my ghost that I didn’t need him. But the ghost sounded like he could be on the verge of getting his shit together and I didn’t want to discourage him. I pray for this guy. I pray that he’ll make something of himself and find peace. Stop acting like a fuck up and get his shit together. In nicer words obviously. But I stopped respecting him so long ago that my prayers for him are reduced to remedial hopes.
None of the phone call pleased me. I guess I was pleased that he was sober ish. But he was making addict promises of “I’ll be better.” I don’t believe a word out of addicts’ mouths. Moreover, this was my horoscope:
Asani and I talked about it and we agreed that you have to always leave hope that an addict will get their shit together. Like Matty Healy. The odds are slim though. I sent the ghost the video for “Part of the Band” because Matty talks about getting sober and asks himself if he’s ironically woke, the butt of his joke or just some post-coke head average skinny bloke calling his ego imagination.
I spent a week and change asking myself important questions. I’m in love with the idea of this ghost. But I wouldn’t introduce him to my friends. He wouldn’t pass muster. He couldn’t look Mikey in the eye. He couldn’t impress Nikola. He wouldn’t get Tyler’s approval. Andrea only wishes him harm. Harry will find him vulgar. These guys have bullshit filters. They also heard how awful and disappointing he was his last few trips through NYC and each one of them had a talk with me on why I had to lose this guy.
Which meant that me sharing all the grimy details of my disgust was a good thing because I couldn’t wriggle out of them. I was accountable to myself.
And on Wednesday, when Asani pulled cards, we knew the cards weren’t about us. The shape of the cards. And the cards drawn. And the words: scared, insecure, compartmentalized. I asked her what my role was in all of this and she said, “You’re not meant to know. You’re supposed to push him. Needle him. Call his bluff. He’s in earnest. But he can’t deliver.”
I didn’t stop living my life during this time. I stopped writing though. He saps my energy now when he used to enhance it. Other people have taken on the mantle.
I got very intense and started pushing. Texting him. I sent him the receipt to a sex toy I bought. I told him to call me. Twice. Sending quotes like this one that I find to send to other people.
I didn’t actually send the quote to the person of whom it reminded me. Ty was up in Nantucket, busy with a band and the young brides of old rich men. But it worked. It cracked the ghost.
He calls me last night from a noisy location to tell me he’s met someone and he doesn’t want to be hiding texts from them and he values what we’ve had. But not directly. I used to think his roundabout way of saying things was poetic and mysterious. Now I just think it’s cowardly. I sort of tried to push him along to the point and then I caught myself.
I realize I’m being broken up with by someone whom I love but whom I never want to be with and I’m so repulsed. I try to say kind things like, “I want this for you,” because I do. But I don’t need to be given a speech by someone who I don’t even want in my life. My feelings aren’t hurt. I don’t have questions. I don’t plead. Mostly I don’t care. And I’m going to start saying mean things. So I just hang up.
Getting broken up with…bad. Getting broken up with by someone you don’t even want to be around anymore? Unnecessary.
I kicked Samy out of my life last week for being a scorpion. I can kick the Israeli out for the same thing.
I wrote his name down on a piece of paper three times and burned them separately. Out of my past. Out of my present. Out of my future.