Thought Catalog

A Story About Wanting To Be A Ghost

  • 0
Allegra Messina

I feel nervous about everything all the time.

It’s hard for me to relax in the moments I am supposed to relax because the awareness of all the things I have to be nervous about is like a lightning crack in the way that it is impossible to pay attention to any other thing. In the way it fills up a room.

There is a vulgarity to all this nervousness, and I’m nervous about that too, because it represents a specific and objective kind of failure — a metric that lays bare the way I am not as I should be.

I hold my breath when he tells me a “funny story” because the last time he told me a “funny story” it was about some other woman and he looked at me like he expected me to laugh and I wanted to crawl into a deep, dark space inside myself and die like a stray cat you find under your porch weeks later and only because it has started to smell.

He makes jokes like this and I feel like I have fallen asleep on the train and woken up somewhere strange, where I don’t know the customs. I am a foreigner and all I can do is marvel at this breathtaking difference in the gravity we feel about a story about a woman who isn’t me — whether it is light-hearted or whether it carries with it a kind of rot.

I think if he had his way he would place his body on top of mine and wrap his arms rigidly around me so I can’t move and put his face on top of mine and I would be so hot with his sticky radiator skin and his breath on me. I don’t know if I am crazy for wanting that too.

I want to be claustrophobic and suffocated and have all the parts of him inside of parts of me and I also want to run away and be clean of him and have so many things exist between us that we never have to touch again.

I wonder if he even likes me or if I am just this rag doll he arranges in the way he wants a girl to be arranged.

Becoming close to a man is like this impulse that lives inside me and every girl, I think, where I want to wear baggy clothes and let my hair fall in my eyes so no one can see me and walk this earth like I am unseen and anonymous and then maybe no one would hurt me. And if someone notices me they will pity me because I am a small girl who is doing her best to claw at this life, to simply take hold of something and not be swallowed up. I want to be away from him while also being with him. I want to disappear so that I can survive but I want to survive while my nose is pressed against his neck, so that I can smell him every time I inhale.

I want to be a ghost so that I can haunt him all the time while knowing that he can reach out all he wants, but never be able to touch me. (But never be able to hurt me).

I don’t want to think the worst things about men like this.

I just don’t know how to not be so hopeful that I am playing pretend or so insecure that I am clinging like an octopus to whatever happens to touch me.

I am afraid to swim with him, I am afraid I might cause him to drown. I am afraid he might drown me. I am afraid he might be indifferent to my drowning. I am afraid because drowning is for people who can’t swim and I should know better than that.

I am afraid of so many things.

I am afraid.

I am afraid. TC mark

💕 Pre-order your copy of Chrissy Stockton’s new poetry book, We Are All Just A Collection Of Cords, here. 💕

I asked women to tell the story behind one of their Instagram photos 📸

“This is me on the roof of my building forcing myself to laugh. Every time I make my best friend take photos of me I remember that I’ve been single for 5 years and don’t have anyone to be in the photo with me. I’m just alone. My hair looks good though.”

This is the reality of Instagram...
Powered by Revcontent

Poetry that will change you

This is for the women who are first to get naked, howl at the moon and jump into the sea. This is for the women who seek relentless joy; the ones who know how to laugh with their whole souls. The women who speak to strangers because they have no fear in their hearts. This is for the women who drink coffee at midnight and wine in the morning, and dare you to question it. This is for the women who throw down what they love, and don’t waste time following society’s pressures to exist behind a white picket fence. The women who create wildly, unbalanced, ferociously and in a blur at times. This — is for you.

“When Janne has a new poem written, I shut my life down to do nothing but read it, and then when I turn my life back on, everything is better.” — James Altucher

You’ve never read poetry like this before

More From Thought Catalog

A Story About Wanting To Be A Ghost is cataloged in , , ,