hope is that if a magic hologram falls in love with you, then you are magic too. The longing is hope. It keeps you alive.
I once had a hot affair with a Twitter avatar for over two years. The avatar was shadowy and brooding—a total omega male. His tweets were those of an enfant terrible: words of disdain for the contemporary electronic music scene juxtaposed with nihilist philosophy, and also, his dick. I wanted to be mysterious and ghostly like him. I wanted a mysterious and ghostly dick. If I couldn’t physically have my own dick, I would claim the dick of the avatar. If I could not be the terrible boy, I would be the ingénue, the good witch with shadow dick in hand.
I began subtweeting spells. I conjured a narrative wherein I, with my magic tweets (and pussy), was the only one who could penetrate the darkness of the avatar. Soon the avatar followed me back and I convinced myself that he was in love with me. Now, every time he tweeted, I was sure that he was definitely tweeting to me. Something about Coachella and his dick. Me. Something vaguely Nietzschean and his dick. Me. When the avatar faved one of my tweets, I contacted a psychic for advice. Was it a love match? She recommended a therapist. When the avatar faved two of my tweets in a row, it felt like fucking.
Eventually the person behind the avatar came to New York City, where I was living, to play music. During his set I watched his hands on the turntables, hypnotized. The club was dark and I was so turned on. These were my avatar’s hands!
But after the show, I discovered that the man behind the avatar was just a regular person. He was blond, not shadowy, and very Midwestern. I sat at the bar with the man behind the avatar. We talked about Twitter and I watched him get sloppy drunk. He ate a pound of pork fried rice. I thought the spell was broken.
The next day, back on Twitter, the avatar began speaking to me again in its sexy way. My dick my dick fuck everything my dick. The real man behind the avatar may have just been a man, but I wanted the avatar more than ever. And I wanted to know if the avatar wanted me.
Impulsively, I sent a text message to the person behind the avatar. Specifically, I said, SEND ME A LOCK OF YOUR HAIR. The person behind the avatar was confused. Communication ceased. Tweets were no longer faved. No lock of hair was sent. I found out he had a girlfriend. Now, the fantasy was no longer a safe place for me to “hang out” in my head. It was a painful place.
I’m not sure what makes us willing to try to let go of a fantasy person, other than finally being in enough pain and just being like, Okay. I want to surrender the ghost.
But getting over the fantasy of a person (especially the fantasy of a fantasy person) is hard. I’ve been romantically obsessed with so many people that I’ve kind of become a getting-over-the-fantasy-of-people athlete. Here are some of the tactics I’ve incorporated into my training, the ones that worked and the ones that didn’t:
1. Conducting “research” by checking the person’s Twitter, FB, Tumblr, and Instagram every second, all the while feeling proud that at least you aren’t “liking” and faving their shit anymore.
What are you doing? Stop doing this. Close all the tabs right now. If you feel like you absolutely can’t stop, try abstaining for thirty days. Or seven. Count the days.
Once you abstain from checking their social media, you will enter a short period of withdrawal. This is because you aren’t getting that hit of dopamine from seeing the person’s face pop up—or that shot of adrenaline from the sudden appearance of a mystery person in their selfies. You’re eliminating what may feel like your last connection to them.
But what you’re also getting is a reprieve from that emotional hangover every time they tweet something good (note: the tweets are never that good, you just want them to be). Soon you are going to feel really free.
If you really love yourself, you will block and unfollow the person on all social media. But if you really love yourself you probably aren’t reading this essay. So let’s take it slow.
2. Giving the person a new nickname amongst your friends, like “heroin” or “pancake ass” or