I was ten years old when I discovered AM's grave in a lonely part of the cemetery near to my home.

My family had moved to the area 6 months previously, and I had yet to make any friends locally. My brother went to the local school and settled in well, but I remained at a special school (I had undiagnosed Aspergers, and was considered 'difficult' by teachers) miles away.

To say the other kids in the area were hostile to me would be an understatement. What started as name calling (about going to a special school) quickly escalated into violence, and so I spent 5 of the first 6 months there too scared to walk out of the front door. When I finally did venture out again, I went exploring the countryside where I wouldn't encounter anyone.

I'd always had a fascination with the dead, and people from times past, so it was natural enough for me to spend time exploring the cemetery. I loved it there. It was quiet and peaceful, and even though it was in use, there rarely seemed to be anyone around.

One grave was instantly special to me. AM's grave. She had died in the early half of the last century, aged 19, and it touched my young heart to find her so lonely and forgotten. Although I felt sadness for this dead girl, I also felt uplifted and incredibly happy to have found her. I was lonely and forgotten too, and now I had somebody to care for. There was a spring in my step as I walked home that evening. I felt like dancing as I walked, as youngsters do when they find a love interest.

For the next couple of years I would bring her little presents and wild flowers picked from the woods and nearby fields, and spend much of my spare time by her graveside. As far as I was concerned, she was my girlfriend. When I went to bed and closed my eyes, I was no longer in my bedroom, but with her, either cuddled up in her grave or running hand in hand through the nearby woods and fields. I genuinely loved her.

I was 12 or 13 when we moved away from that area. The situation with the local kids had not improved for me, and I was glad to be getting away to somewhere new. I promised AM that I'd be back for her. I kept that promise, and still visit her from time to time. She will always have a special place in my heart.

15 years later I was working on repairs to a 15th century church, when we uncovered an entrance to a vault containing coffins in various states. Some of them looked remarkably new (the vault was sealed in 1910) whereas on some the wood had decayed almost completely leaving a shell of lead lining. I had already read the names of those interred there, and couldn't help having an interest in one particular occupant. A woman aged 21 who had died in the late 19th century. I shall call her EH.

[[I've deleted this part for personal reasons. It covers two weeks when I visited EH every evening after work.]]

That night, I went through every possible emotion. I would feel deeply ashamed one minute, then excited and happy the next. Scenarios such as bringing EH home went through my mind. Could I get away with that? Keeping her in my home, as my partner, for the rest of my life without being discovered? What would happen to me if we were discovered? Would I be put in a mental home or prison? What would they do with her?

My mind was going from deep shame, to excitedly envisaging various scenarios, back to deep shame, back to envisaging a wonderful future with EH, then back to shame again.

The entrance to the vault was sealed first thing the next morning, so I didn't get my chance to keep that promise to EH. I went home saying I felt too sick to work. It wasn't a lie.

EH didn't leave me for years though. There were days when I was obsessed with her, when she was all I could think about. At one point, the ever-present thought of her in that coffin, in that cold dark vault was almost paralysing me. Anyone who has ever felt this way about someone will know what I'm talking about.

About a year and a half ago, I found a new deceased love interest, who I'll call FS, whilst looking around a graveyard on one of my drives out into the country. I always stop and look around old churches when I drive around new places, and on this particular occasion I found a grave that gave me a similar feeling to that which I experienced as a ten year old at AM's grave all those years ago.

FS died in the late 19th century aged 24. The aura (for want of a better word) that emanates from her grave is the strongest feeling I've experienced yet from a dead person that I cannot see. She must have had a strong personality in life, and the energy of her persona still lingers. That's the best explanation I can give. I even dream of her.

Unfortunately, FS's grave is over an hour's drive away. I cannot afford to visit her as often as I'd like, but there are always flowers from me on her grave. I went there today, and was slightly sad to see not one footprint in her end of the cemetery in the snow that has been on the ground since Saturday night. All but one of the graves in that area date from the 19th century, so it shouldn't be all that surprising, but I found it sad that only FS showed any signs of not being forgotten.

This morning, I woke up feeling deeply ashamed. I get days like that. Visiting FS has made me feel better, but I can't tell how I'll feel tomorrow. I suffer depression and anxiety, both directly related to knowing how my friends and family would feel about me if they knew I was a necrophiliac.

Some of them might well surprise me, but most would disown me, and some would seek to harm me. The fact they don't know is no comfort. I am what I am, and I have to be a fraud around the people I love.

i cant say i understand this fully but, it seems not too hard to imagine. Ive experienced some unusual things before so i dont have much voilent or judgmental nature for this kind of stuff. But hey, you managed to find someone, so keep hold of her. A partner helps so much in life.

I am so sorry that your family would reject or hurt you if they knew. My mother would not reject me, but she doesnt listen to almost anything I say, so a personal confession would be like speaking to the wind.
My father may reject me. not sure. havent talked to him in forever. He hasnt talked to me since i told him i was having mental health problems, which leads me to beleve that my absent father is a fair-weather friend.
I have had friends stop talking to me, or flat out hate me. I have one good friend who knows, and acccepts me for who I am. We joke a lot about our sexuality. She has her thing, I have mine. There is not a day I am not grateful for her friendship.
I had similar problems in school being tormented by other children. I would say that certainly didnt help things, and has contributed to my own depression and self-esteem problems. I may also have aspbergers, if online tests are accurate, but they are so vauge.

Please dont be dispair, life is great with love, in all its manifold forms.

I love to read your story, G.! Everytime I read it, it makes me cry and smile at the same time.
If I connect with the dead - or better - if they connect with me - because I cannot do it on purpose, then these are either people who have died very recently or people who are dead for long. I should think that time does not matter for them, but possibly it does and that's why the spirit of someone long dead is ever growing and the spirit of those who have recently died still has a very easily felt connection to our side.
Thoughts of another necrophile... oh, anyway ...