Ghost

I recently commented that "it's hard to exorcise a ghost. Sometimes, the only way to do so is to seek solace in the living even as the haunting continues". Please ignore the shameless self-quotation, there is a point to it. That day, I went home thinking about what Emily Saliers says in one of my all-time favourite songs:-

you come regular like seasons
shadowing my dreams…

and there's not enough room in this world for my pain
signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain
of all my demon spirits i need you the most
i'm in love with your ghost.

and you kiss me like a lover, then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river, play your memory like the piper
And I feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me
But I’d walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity, I’ve never been this close
in love with your ghost.

Unknowing captor, you’ll never know how much you
pierce my spirit, but I can’t touch you
Can’t you hear it, a cry to be free?
Or I’m forever under lock and key
As you pass through me.

And my bitter pill to swallow is the silence that I keep
It poisons me I can’t swim free
The river is too deep.
Though I’m baptised by your touch
I am no worse at most,
in love with your ghost.

From "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls

More than 10 years ago, those words played like an anthem in my mind. I was then firmly in the grip of an inexplicable one-sided love, like the last runner in a marathon, still pushing for the darkened finish line, long after the spectators have all left the stadium. With hindsight, I can’t really say that it’s still inexplicable though. As I’ve recently noted, the sad fact is that I was in love with the concept of love itself. The First just happened to be in the right place at a time when I so desperately needed someone to see Me.

Often I look back at the "relationship" (if you can even call it that) and tut-tut at how stubbornly I clung on to that fantasy of "us". Ignoring the fact that my affections were welcomed only at the convenience of The First. Resignedly giving tips to every other Clueless Suitor (obviously not me) who came along on how to win her favour. Having to be supportive whenever The First fancied anyone else - "If you love me, wouldn’t you want me to be happy?"

The problem with me is that I consistently choose to play in a league outside my own. And The First being, well, my first, I have thereafter become hopelessly insecure about what I possibly have to offer the next one who comes along. Talk about setting yourself up. My own fault then, that I’ve been left psychologically crippled by unhelpful gems like:-

"What do you expect me to do, *bleep of self-censorship* air?"

Cruel. Yet not without a ring of truth, given the insurmountable issues.

Those issues plagued us constantly throughout the 8 years that I held on. Didn’t help that we couldn’t even talk about it without a self-imposed censorship of silence. How useful, the dot dot dot.

"I’m not…"

"But you’re not…"

I wonder though, if I was trying to make up for my deficiency by compensating with time, energy, money and love. I certainly gave a whole lot of those. But despite those compensatory gifts being quite happily accepted, there was to be no happy ending. I’ve learnt that you can buy affection, sometimes even love, but you sure can’t buy biology. Well, not then and not here anyway.

Still, I could not let go. My dumb, foolish heart held on, a prisoner to the tyranny of Time and Distance. Oh, those insidious, cruel handmaidens of Desire. Not content to merely defeat your spirit with the physicality of separation, Time and Distance also sweeten the pain by making you forget (or ignore?) the bad bits and romanticise the good bits instead. Thereby elevating the torture of being denied the coveted. Such mean girls, those two. Boo, hiss.

When the First and I were actually physically in the same place, there were enough crumbs of affection, heck, love even, for me to deny that urge to bitchslap The First across the galaxy. When continents separated us, I slipped into denial. In a cloud of self-piteous romanticism, I turned what was obviously a lost cause into (in my mind) an epic tale of star-crossed love. I was hooked on the words "but I’d walk into the fingers of your fire willingly", glossing over the pain of rejection and the Insurmountable Issues.

I only realised the significance of the words "in love with your ghost" much much later. The ghost here, is my fantasy of requited love. A sadly romanticised version of the good bits, falling far short of reality.

I had thought that the wake-up slap that I got from reality would make me bitter. Without doubt, I was angry with The First, with myself. But I just could not bring myself to cut ties, being content instead to resign myself to the role she had always wanted me to play. Just A Friend. Why? Because I genuinely cared for and yes, loved her.

I haven’t spoken to The First for over two years now. Not since the wedding, to which I was invited and went. I really don’t know what caused the chill thereafter. I hadn’t behaved inappropriately at the wedding, I gave the customary angpow and congratulations, I was happy for her. I thought I pulled off the Just A Friend façade quite well actually. But all my attempts at email and phone communication since has drawn a dead silence. What the??

Anyway, I comfort myself with the memory of the last time I saw her, at the end of the wedding dinner. At the door, I thanked and congratulated The Husband. Hugged her and told her she looked great. As I let go, it seemed like she wanted to say something. Our eyes locked for a moment, only dot dot dot passing between us. Then I just smiled and walked away. It was time to bury the past.

I still think of her every now and then. Sometimes in the quiet of the night, sometimes as I sit in the cocoon of reverie to which I escape while driving. The past may have been laid to rest, but something does live on. As another blogger describes it - the "memory of another life I once had". The one I had before I met The Next, and The Current.

The haunting continues, shadowing my dreams. Can't decide if I want to award her a Two Tight Slaps Award.