Whether I have wanted to admit it or not, my life has been haunted. I’ve always carried my past with me with a mixed sense of reverence and optimism, always aware of the past but hopeful about the future. I try to mostly think about the future, but if I’m honest, I do a lot of thinking about the past. I suddenly realize that I spend so much time in the act of remembering so that I can contextualize my life in a way that makes sense. I re-frame what’s happened with all the cliches of positivism so that I can move forward without falling apart. I have seen things as I have wanted them to be, not necessarily as they were.
Today I face the reality that in all of my time thinking about the past, I have been haunted by the ghost of a person who never really even existed. I have lived out my life before this ghost, seeking its approval and love, but what I know now is that there is no ghost. If something followed me around, it was my own stupid romanticism.
Today I feel sick. I should feel free.