Ramblings of An Apparition
Dear Jesse,
I am an apparition. I am looking at my long, sinewy, fingers and I wonder if the weight of your ring is the only thing that makes me real. An imprint of my nose and the scent of my breath are the remnants of my being here, smudged on my bathroom mirror. Pressed up against the glass, I'm not even sure I see me anymore.
Here, I feel like an apparition. My body takes up space, my voice reaches across the conference table, and my loneliness sits with me in class. My peers nod in my direction and my papers feature ambiguous lines of feedback while I collect "you're brilliant" compliments. I keep them in my "intimidating" jar.
Is this what it feels like to be a ghost? I know I am here, but I do not think people see me. I am visible; my brown face and highlight are hard to ignore, but I can't help but feel dismissed. Laughter and those surface compliments let me know that they hear me, but is anyone listening?
Perhaps this a symptom of my exhaustion. How can I be a ghost when I can close my eyes, and syncopate my heartbeat with thoughts of you? But lord knows, I am tired. Depleted by being overlooked and forgotten. Being told I'll be fine, that I am excellent. I wonder if being exemplary, an avid learner, a 4.0 student, a supportive peer... transposed my presence into an apparition. Maybe I am a checked-off list? Maybe those attributes give me the veneer of a finished product.
But that cannot be. I feel the incompleteness - the gaps in my spirit that I'm learning to fill. I know it's there Jesse. How can I be a finished product when there is so much more to learn? to unpack? to decipher and decouple? I feel like a ghost because I am overlooked. Yet, this isn't shocking. It's not new or a symptom of all this grey in this city. I've tried to navigate this in every year of formal schooling, and in conference rooms as a practitioner. This is how my parents raised me to be - good. Kristian™️ doesn't struggle and will be fine because her precocious spirit grew into a talented young woman. I am good, and who worries about good? Which professors spend time with "good"?
I know. I know. The sum of my parts do make me exemplary. What I've accomplished, my humor, effervescence, as well as my capabilities are reflections of hard work and talent. They are reflections of everything that is me. Yet, fiddling my ring is the only thing that makes me feel seen. It reminds me of our home, where you lay your head without me. Where you play with our dogs and tell me you are proud. Because you married up. Because you know that my accomplishments and capabilities are limitless. You say the things that I am too insecure to name for myself. So here, without you, I feel invisible. I feel the palpable surety with which my professors pat my back when saying "you're gonna be fine!" and the unreasonable shame in my cheeks when fellow classmates tell me I'm so articulate and brilliant. I wish I weren't. Sometimes.
I want to be seen as a person. Someone with potential to grow, worthy of investment and time. Someone who isn't a polished and finished product, who needs check-ins. A student that professors will mentor and challenge with meaningful feedback in lieu of ambiguous check marks on each assignment. I'll look at my reflection, and wonder why they don't see me this way. What type of woman can I be if I'm an apparition?
When I am awash with helplessness, I reach for my wedding ring. I think of the certainty with which we exchanged vows under a scorching sun. The way you held me with confidence before driving away from Syracuse. I wish I didn't need to cling in to you in order to feel worthy of my seat in these classrooms; that I've grown away from linking your love to my worth.
But today, I still wish I believed in me the way you do.
