Obsession Queen

Omg I have been obsessed forever — with you and with beauty and with everything.

When I say ‘you’, I mean you. Yes, you. Reading this. I am fucking obsessed with you. 

It started with my crush in Grade Two, his name was Harvey and he had red hair and he liked another girl. Harvey, I was obsessed with you. I wanted to touch you so much I thought I would just DIE. 

I moved on to TV when real people became too much. TV, I was obsessed with you. I wanted to be all your beauty queens. I liked the interviews on MTV. I liked the YouTube channels devoted to cutting you up. 

I’ve been obsessed with Taylor Swift, clear lipgloss, the colour red, my own birthday, my eyebrows, my baby mo, and what to do about the climate apocalypse. I’ve been obsessed with Florence Welch, 30 Rock, and the Instagram algorithm. I’ve been obsessed with emus, tracksuit pants, and alcohol. I’ve been obsessed with my own dreams. I get lost in my own head. Sometimes at night my heartbeat sounds like a drum machine. 

I think obsession comes from something ugly, internal, and prehistoric. I think obsession is just the need to be loved and show love, manifested so strongly it sounds like fangirl screams at a Beatles/One Direction concert. I think obsession is just a product of longing. It is longing burnt up, torn into black. After all, all my obsessions with real-life humans are actually just all about me. Wouldn’t you love it if your celebrity crush liked you back? If you could live in that all-red world forever? If Harvey would just turn his head and say “Hey, I love you so much!” ? 

Obsession is the way we deal with the feeling that we, alone, are not enough. It’s the escapist drink we pour when we have had enough reality. It’s the big feelings mantra we play on repeat. It’s all-consuming need. I am obsessed, and so are you. I am obsessed with you. We are all obsessed with something.