Ghost 19

by Simone St. James

People have always said there’s something wrong with me.

I hung up with tears streaming down my face and silent sobs in my throat. I had no control of my emotions anymore. I was starting to think that this tearstained monster—this woman of rages, of sobs, of hysterical laughter—was the real me,

I could let him be disgusted with me, and then he could leave. It would be easier that way.

I was utterly sober. The soberest, in this moment, that I had ever been in my life. There were no pills, no alcohol, and no men in my system—none of my usual addictions.