If you're a bird, I'm a bird

The above is a screenshot of something I came across on Tumblr. It's wonderful. It's beautiful. It's thrilling that someone cares so much about a movie to put so much thought and talent into a felt pen drawing. And it's fucking scary.

Why is it scary? It's obsessive. It's creepy. And it reminds me of my obsession with a certain woman. If I'm a little scared of the level of obsession in a drawing, then I'm sure anyone reading my blog is more than a little concerned about my mental health. And for the object of my affection's wellbeing. Sigh.

I fully admit I've been obsessed, and most of my obsession has taken place here in this safe place. I have not stalked her (that I recall). I have not called or texted relentlessly. I got a little carried away with emails (which went increasingly unreturned). If she stopped replying (for the most part), I stopped. That's what most people do, right? That's normal? 

In the mind of the obsessed, everything looks normal. It may take someone on the outside — someone who is hopefully more level-headed — to bring the obsessed person back to reality. But that's a sad ending if the obsessed person is an artist of some sort. Because those guys thrive on obsession. Obsessed people are capable of creating great art, music, books, whatever. The bests artists are madmen (and madwomen), don't you know? Honestly, though, I'm not obsessed. I only write about this girl every day. Nothing strange about that. Totally normal. 

What's the alternative? Be obsessed or be what? Tranquilized? Be bored? Be boring? Be nauseously normal? Ordinary. With boring thoughts and boring feelings and boring goals. I'm sorry, but that sounds terrifying. I may have done diddly squat with my life, but what goes on between my ears is wonderfully dangerous (if only to me). I'm not out to hurt anyone or steal anyone's joy. So stay the fuck away from my joy. Just because it doesn't conform to your fucked-up notion of what's acceptable does not mean it is wrong. I will obsess about a lovely girl. I will not plan to kidnap her. I will not make her mine. That is her choice. But I will love the fuck out of her from a safe distance. Because she has a restraining order on me now. I'm kidding. Well, actually, she might.

The truth is, my obsession has waned. Don't feed your obsession and it will eventually whimper and die. But, while my obsession has waned, my love for her remains. What's the difference? I'd do anything for her. But I won't stalk her. And if she has asked for distance (which she has), then I have to respect that. While I believe she's the perfect woman, I also see her frailties, inconsistencies, and outright wrongness (which she isn't often, by the way). Most people are very disappointing, but I truly believe she is one who desperately wants to do the right thing. If she was to tell me at any time to go away for good, I would. In the end, I am a gentleman. At least I can't be faulted for not knowing what I want. I'm damn sure what I want.

So, no, I won't be making any felt pen drawings of the object of my affection. I can't improve upon her beauty, and, frankly, I get tired of fighting my hand to draw things, as I have a repetitive-motion injury in my right hand. Go ahead and make your masturbation joke.

I've been on the receiving end of obsession. There were girls as far back as I can remember (in grade school or whatever) who were obsessed with me (or whatever image of me they dreamed up in their heads). Some of those obsessions turned dark, sadly, with the girls turning on me with ugly words. I never taunted. I never outrightly rejected anyone. I figured if I left them alone and ignored them they'd go away. Most of the time they did. Maybe the object of my affection has opted to pursue the same course of action. It is perhaps the most humane way of dealing with an obsessed person. Let them exhaust themselves and come to a realization on their own. And that's how most obsessions end, with the person simply giving up. 

It's great that I wrote this obsessive post about not being obsessed anymore. Maybe I should take a poll and see if anyone actually believes that. Okay, I'm not as obsessed as I used to be. There. Now, let me get back to poring over her pictures and making my hair doll and shrine that says her name, made using my blood mixed with candle wax and rose petals. Message me for a picture. It's coming along swimmingly.