Story #2: Diary of a Ghost

Dear Diary,  My name is John and I am crazy. 

I mean, I must be; I wouldn’t necessarily like to say that I am, but if I put all the evidence together, I am compelled to admit that this is the truth. 

To the outside world, and to myself in most cases, I seem pretty normal. Happy childhood, average teenage years, quite successful adult. I like to think of myself as an intelligent man, I have flaws, but I’m rather relaxed and ok with myself as a whole. Except for the fact that I see ghosts. One ghost, to be precise, and I’m not even sure that this is what she is. 

I would call her the girl in white, if it wouldn’t sound so cheesy. First sighting was when I was little, too little to remember, so it must have been really early. I remember mostly a sensation, some white dress, veil or whatever and a girl walking. So I’m not sure that this is a particular moment or a collective remembrance of several and I don’t recall feeling anything in particular about it. I guess children tend to take all things as they come and not question the nature of their reality. Or wouldn’t have a problem with things that are not real. I just guess, I’m not sure.  

The next reliable memory of her is when I was 9 or 10. I was in the living room with my parents, watching some movie on the TV. I was, of course, bored with the movie and couldn’t follow it, so I entertained myself with what I liked to call my secret powers.  If I concentrated hard enough, the shadows that the moving images on the screen made in the dark room started to take shape and I could command them to become anything just by willing them to. And so I had clouds, horses, some not very refined shape that looked like a dog. I liked the game, but couldn’t play it too much because at some point the shapes started to rebel and they would become scary. I was doing that and at some point she just crossed the room, in her usual white gown. She didn’t seem to pay me any attention, but I knew that I was the only one who could see her. 

With further encounters, she started to make some kind of contact, if a slight glance or a fugitive smile could be called that. I saw her in many other occasions, at school during class, when I was out playing with friends, exams, football games, when I was out with girls, wherever and whenever, randomly, no pattern whatsoever and always wearing the white dress. 

So, dear diary, now might be the time when you ask: and why does this bother you?

Actually, it doesn’t. You see, I grew so accustomed to it that this is my reality. I cannot remember a time when she was not part of my life and I never felt threatened or even wondered why I can see her. Never thought of a reason why and I’m tempted to say that there probably is none. I have no problem with it, but I went to this medical exam which also included a talk with a psychologist and she asked me a bunch of routine questions. I think they are routine questions. I was candid about all of them and answered as accurate as I could, but she must have sensed that there is something I’m holding back.  So she told me to keep a diary and see if that helps me in any way. 

This is what I am doing now, I’m keeping a diary. Well, it’s just the first day writing here and I thought to write about something that really no one else knows. I am supposed to write here daily, pour myself into these pages. I think that’s what keeping a diary means, but it seems quite boring to me.

I guess I’d rather keep my ghost. 

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