“I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—”

Sylvia Plath ‘Lady Lazarus’

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I remember telling a friend of mine, probably around April this year, that from then on, I would not date anyone unless they were obsessed with me.

Honestly, sometimes I should just shut up.

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Two of my favourite movies in the world are about obsession.

The first one is ‘Amadeus’, and the second is ‘Black Swan’.

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Not this Black Swan, that one:

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These days, writing is one of my very few pleasures in life. My health has recently weirdly deteriorated; I moved house, which kept me very preoccupied; a very short relationship I was in ended in a very stressful way; and I actually really liked him. I am too tired to dance or exercise most of the time.

Sometimes, I write myself a ‘to-do list’ and think about what kind of reward I want to grant myself. I don’t need more clothes and should eat fewer croissants, so I write poems. Yup, that’s my treat. That’s why you have to read my poems now.

I remember moments when I would get obsessed with something I wanted to write. I weirdly miss those times.

Also, sometimes I reflect on various failures of my life, think about all the inspiration for writing they gave me and ask myself whether I would prefer not to have them or have nothing to write about. The fact is, I am not entirely sure.

So, if you ever wondered why I write like a maniac – this is the answer. To say it very mildly, it is a bigger part of my identity than anything else in this world. If I don’t write, start worrying.

Probably, after all of this stress and burnout I have just recently gone through, weren’t I so exhausted as I am right now due to this COVID infection, I would’ve found myself some new obsession to compensate for all my grief and to regulate my emotions. Maybe some writing project.

However, currently, I am mainly passionate about the moments when I am not coughing or having fever dreams about all the people who have abandoned me, so I cannot really focus on anything else.

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In ‘Amadeus’, the Italian composer Salieri is presented as a mediocre artist, dwarfed by the genius of childish and unrefined Amadeus Mozart, full of raw talent and charisma.

His mere existence is a humiliation for Salieri. Amadeus could play his tunes after hearing them once, improving the melody. Salieri listens to Mozart’s music, dying inside of ecstasy and admiration. He reads the first and only drafts of his rival’s creations, written page after page without any corrections. He marvels at the absolute beauty.

The whole conflict and craziness of the spiteful, untalented Italian guy is made up by the director Milos Forman. The biggest drawback of this film is ruining the man’s reputation, but everything else it does is brilliant.

Salieri is a godly man, and I think religions are a great obsession fuel, as they can add this reality-transcending, paranormal flavour to your newly found interest. It’s a divine destiny kind of thing.

He could not believe that God would endow someone so morally low as Mozart with such inspired brilliance. I cannot imagine many things that would provide a better recipe for obsession than religious worship of someone’s work and rage caused by their own inadequacies.

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‘Black Swan’ is a more feminine movie, which is probably one of the reasons why it appeals to me.

I see myself in the main character, a ballerina named Nina, quite a lot.

It is clear that Nina finds solace and defence against the world in appearing soft, extremely unthreatening and innocent.

Trying to be perceived as innocent and soft is a defence mechanism I often used to be left alone, prevent being sexualised and/or to inspire people to treat me with care. I think it might be quite common for people who struggle with self-expression and sensitivity due to being hurt in the past.

Nina becomes obsessed with both playing the main role in ‘Black Swan’, the most classic of ballets, and with her colleague, a new dancer in her company named Lily. Lily is, of course, a bad, extrovert, promiscuous girl with untamed talent. She lacks the precision and focus of Nina, but compensates for it with charm and wildness. Self-expression is the least of her problems.

Nina’s mental health deteriorates; she harms herself, abuses substances, kisses her teacher and hallucinates. All because she is probably sexually repressed by her mother.

All of her obsessions and pain led her to premature death under weird circumstances. Nobody understood what she was going through, but she managed to show her art, express her emotions in the last moments of her life, and touch perfection by merging both sexual passion and tremendous effort in the final act of her performance.

To be honest, I think this movie is kind of trash, but it’s my trash.

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That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

       Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

       In one long yellow string I wound

       Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;

       I am quite sure she felt no pain.

“Porphyria’s Lover” by Robert Browning

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I have known people with OCD, and I hear all the time from folks about their ADHD diagnosis (which is really interesting – how common it is these days).

However, I don’t think you need to be neurodivergent or suffer from any mental illness to become obsessed. I also think that some people simply have a tendency towards that, and I count myself in this group.

All of my obsessions have been transient, and all of them caused me some dose of suffering. I am very rarely obsessed about people, though, and thank God for that. I think we all can agree that this is the ugliest type of obsession – when it becomes so personal. There is nothing romantic about that, and I will definitely not romanticise it here.

I wrote about limerence, of course; about obsession with seeing love where there is none. You can also become obsessed with someone in a much more platonic or hateful way (it might have happened to me as the object).

I believe that when someone is obsessed with you, you will see the signs sooner or later. Sometimes, even silence can be meaningful, especially when it happens abruptly.

And what does it feel like? It feels like an aberration in reality. It feels like an uncomfortable confirmation that this world is not as orderly and normal as we mostly pretend it is, and behind many regular people’s eyes, there is some madness lingering.

In every type of obsession, there is hatred, and there is longing. And you can only hope that the person still values their life too much or can control their emotions enough not to lash out.

But what if they don’t?

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Mad Girl’s Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

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PS. The bottom line is that I hope I will never get obsessed over anything again, and no one will ever get obsessed with me – because both are hell. ~