My ghost self has no voice, only whispers of actions, flickers that come and go throughout the day.
At my desk, my ghost self’s fingers overlap mine as I compose an email, creating a flurry of typos.
I ask her, my ghost self, to relax—she doesn’t need to always help me. I wish she’d just leave me alone, so I didn’t have to be reminded of my past life, my past incarnation.
In video meetings she pastes herself over me; my ghost self is what people want to see. Though I’ve moved past this version of myself, she still trails behind me, confronts me daily, reminds me I am still tethered to her habits, and she is still how others view me. They only see my past, not my future.
Maybe one day I’ll see my future self in front of me, shining in iridescent color, guiding me forward. But I can’t picture him (them?) yet. I’m still figuring it all out, dragging my ghost self along through the process like a crumpled kite, a security blanket threadbare and worn. I still need her to navigate these social situations, reverting back to my ghost self to avoid confusion or aggression, depending on the safety level of the situation.
It’s not ideal to be this tethered to my past, but for now it’s all I know, and what you know forms you, guides you, shapes you into a ghost self.
Do you have a ghost self too?