In love, or obsessed?

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In love, or obsessed?

Obsession. It’s such an out of control thing. So often confused with
being in love. Who likes to admit they’re obsessed? We would like to
think we’re in a mutually in love situation. Not one where you are
obsessed, and the object of your obsession knows it.

 

Obsession
is the state I usually find myself in, either being obsessed or being
the object of obsession. I’m either overdoing it or underdoing it.
Rarely do I find myself in a situation where there is a balance, a
situation with mutual feelings, and moderate behavior.

I have
known Carey for 15 years. During that time, we have had extreme
experiences. She has usually been in a relationship—good or bad. I have
never been in one—bad or good. This worked for us.

Now, Carey is in the best relationship I have ever been around. And me, well, I’m trying to stop being obsessed.

About
15 months ago, I reconnected with the person I was obsessed with when I
was 18 years old. As soon as I saw him, I was obsessed all over again.
The good thing about it was, it seemed like he was feeling the same. A
few days after our reunion, I was leaving the country for five weeks.
For the first two weeks, we were having daily texts. Considering I was
on a boat floating through Russia, reception was not always reliable. I
was euphoric if I was hearing from him, depressed if I wasn’t.

Upon
leaving Russia for my next destination, I continued the daily texts,
but was not receiving any back. My missives were becoming increasing
desperate and manic. The last one was based on the horoscope in the
London free paper littering the Underground on a stalled train. This
was the final evidence of insanity.

Luckily, I was on that train
on my way to Carey’s. I showed her the texts, his myspace page I was
stalking him on, any other scrap of him I could find. She didn’t knock
me down, but she firmly told me to stop texting, stop cyberstalking,
stop altogether. Then she asked me, “Do you really want to stop?”
Considering my behavior was ruining my holiday, and spilling into all
areas of my life, I said yes.

Carey began tapping. We came up
with the script to repeat together. It was a long mantra, but it was
comprehensive. Just a few minutes later, the tapping was over. I wasn’t
sure if it “took.” Time would tell. That was August 2, 2008. I have not
had any voluntary contact with him since. He was wiped from my radar.

When
I returned home, he was here. But none of my feelings were. The
obsession—and it was an unhealthy obsession over someone who wasn’t
deserving of it, or any other type of feeling—was over.