The Ghost I’ve Become
Written by: Ally Bernales
The truth is, I’ve lived my whole life surrounded by shadows—not the kind that haunt houses, but the kind that seep into your soul when you’re left behind too many times. I didn’t learn to fear the dark; I learned to live in it.
As a child, my mom often left me home alone after arguments with my dad. The silence in the house would stretch endlessly, broken only by my small breaths and the occasional creak of the wooden floor. It felt suffocating at first, like the walls were closing in. But over time, I got used to it. The quiet became my companion.
My dad was a seaman, always away on distant shores. I’d watch him leave with a suitcase and a smile, and though he promised to come back, it never made the emptiness any easier. Then there was the day my mom broke up with him for good. It felt like she broke up with all of us. She carried the weight of the world, but somehow, I carried it too. I was left alone again, this time not just in an empty house but in the wreckage of a broken family.
It didn’t stop there. Somewhere along the way, I became the person everyone passed their burdens to. Whenever there was a problem too heavy for someone else to carry, it was handed to me. I didn’t have a choice—I never did. Responsibilities I wasn’t ready for, pain that wasn’t mine to bear, expectations I never asked for—all of it was placed on my shoulders, and I was expected to carry it without complaint.
I’ve been left behind by people I loved, over and over. I’ve been left behind by circumstances, by time, by the dreams I once dared to have. And it wasn’t just my family—I was left behind by the people I trusted, the ones I thought would stay. Friends who swore loyalty but betrayed me when I needed them most. People who looked me in the eyes, made promises, and then broke them without hesitation. I gave my heart to some of them, only to have it shattered. Each betrayal cut deeper than the last, leaving scars I don’t think will ever fully heal.
I learned, painfully, that not everyone who says they care will actually stay. I learned that love doesn’t always mean loyalty, and trust doesn’t guarantee permanence. Over time, I stopped expecting people to stay. I stopped expecting anything at all. And maybe that’s why the dark doesn’t frighten me—it can’t hurt me the way people can.
When I walk down dark streets at three in the morning, the world feels strangely familiar. The stillness doesn’t frighten me; it feels like home. There’s no one around, no voices to cut through the quiet, and I think maybe that’s why I feel at ease. In the darkness, I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.
Maybe I’m not afraid of ghosts because I’ve become one. I’ve spent so many nights crying in the dark, carrying the heavy burden of the world on my shoulders, that I sometimes feel like I’ve faded into the background of my own life. I am the ghost of the girl I used to be—the one who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. I’ve become the shadow that lingers in the corner of a room, unnoticed but always present.
But even ghosts survive in their own way. I’ve learned to carry myself, to move forward even when no one is holding my hand. I’ve learned to be my own light in the darkness. I’ve learned that even when the world hands you burdens you never asked for, you find the strength to keep walking. And maybe that’s why I don’t fear the things that go bump in the night—because I’ve faced something far scarier: the loneliness of being left behind, the pain of betrayal by the ones I once loved, and the crushing weight of carrying burdens I never chose.
So when my sister asked me why I’m not afraid, maybe the real answer is this: I’ve already faced the dark, and I’ve made it my home.
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