I have an obsessive personality.
This isn’t the first time I have realized it, and although I’ve tried to deny it… it most certainly won’t be the last. Why, for as long as I can remember I have been easily influenced, persuaded or down right convinced on any subject someone is passionate to express to me. But for the past eight years, I have been my own worst enemy. It comes and goes. Perhaps for me, the most real thing in life is what I cant see. Whatever the case may be, whenever I come across something that is able to hold my attention for more than an hour, I become animalistic. Like something you see in Hoarders, I begin my research into a world I have not yet known will be the end of me. Books stack up in my room; I stay up late with only the glow of the computer screen as I dig deeper; until finally, it becomes all I think about.
In my new-found wisdom, I have discovered a pattern. But with my personality, I also have some reasoning behind my madness. Maybe it is my age of a young female that leads me to worship a strong female figure? Or maybe it’s my dreams creeping in to how I want to portray myself later in life, either way… it has become my present. I gawk over these women who have it all, yet at the end of the day, remain true to themselves. I envy them. But can’t look away. There I sit, glued, eyes as wide as they will go, sitting on the edge of my seat on my tippy-toes tempted to get closer. It makes me want to jump up and protest, change the world, or be the master temptress I know deep down is sitting in the same position as I am looking at you…