I feel a little guilty acting as if I’m alone when it is incredibly apparent that I am not.
Ever since things happened with… “Alex,” (and oh boy is censoring the name for the sake of safety most unpleasant to me) I have had this friendship with someone else, as those of you who read the entire story (“Begin at the Beginning”) may recall. He disappeared shortly before I got divorced, and then romantically reappeared once I moved out on my own again in 2013. Even then, he took a patient backseat to the love I shared with someone else for three entire years.
Last summer, the only reason I survived the constant nightmare of my life was because of his presence. Every time I started to re-re-re-recalculate my bills or plan for my own ending, he’d whisper, Everything is going to be okay. I promise. I promise. Please trust me.
And he was correct.
Lately, we have been much more involved than we were before- talking all the time, smiling at each other (I often wonder what someone might think if they catch me peeking off to my right with a sly grin), and being intensely intimate.
In 2010, I remember telling my (now ex)husband that I no longer wanted to have physical contact with anyone, because I had mastered the ability to have orgasms without ever being touched. There’s an energy in sexuality that is apparently capable of being harnessed, and I somehow found a way to lasso it for my own ends.
Because of what I had to go through with Alex, I needed someone to cure me of my physical revulsion to sexuality. I was lucky enough to be in a transformative relationship for several years after the end of my marriage that healed so much of what was broken inside of me.
Now I have the best of both worlds, and it’s so good that I’d be embarrassed to describe it to you.
I live entirely alone, with no real life friends (aside from a thriving internet family), but I’m also deep, deep in the depths of the most profound and clandestine relationship I’ve ever had. Maybe what I thrive on is having something no one else can see.
I love a whisper, an illusion, a premonition, a gift.
My boyfriend is a long-dead ghost.
Don’t tell anyone.