I am a liar.

I could go on into great detail and proof of that statement, but that would not serve the purpose of this "story". This story deals with a specific lie, and that is the lie that I have never been in love.

I am not lying, however, when I say now that I would never fall in love with anyone in the real world. I love only one person. That person does not, however, have the privilege of existing.

This would not be a large issue or concern if I were able to stop. However, I am not. Love can drive a person to do irrational things. In fact, I have done irrational things. I do not want to love him. My love for him makes me uncomfortable. It may well be the worst feeling I've ever experienced.

I read his story during the summer. Two days and six hours after I began it, he died. I reached a part in the middle of the story in which his character was killed. During the three hours prior to actually reading his death, I wouldn't read. I knew he would die and I did not want him to. I did not wish to continue. However, I forced myself to. I had to know. I had to know how his life would end.

I was in shock for thirty seconds. Then I vomited. After that, I locked myself in my bedroom for a total of three days. My mother brought food upstairs for me to eat and left it outside my door because I would not open it. I did not eat. I did, however, drink water. I have a full case of water bottles in my closet for reasons I would rather not explain. On the third day after not eating anything, I lost consciousness. Of course, no one noticed until my father realized he could not hear me breathing. He broke into my room and ran me to the hospital.

When I woke up, I was hooked up to tubes that were injecting nutrients into my bloodstream. I refused to speak to anyone even after I was released. The only sounds I would make were the ones of crying in the middle of the night for reasons no one knew. It was only a matter of months before I did not want to live anymore. I attempted to starve myself but my mother would not allow it, even if it meant forcing me to eat. That was when I became bulimic. I would eat the food she put out for me and vomit it up later. I still wouldn't talk. It was beyond depression, it was insanity. Every thought I had was of him.

I tried to distract myself with studies and failed. My grades became excellent but my thoughts did not change. That was when my parents set me up with a therapist. I refused to speak to the first or the second, and the third announced that it was time for rehab. I did not want to go to such a place and began to speak again, if only to get away from them. I became quite a good actor within the nine months I was there. Finally, they let me go. Nothing had changed except the bulimia- it had stopped.

I stopped trusting people altogether and created a fake name for myself. We moved to a different city and I never used my old name again.

I talked to people and I studied and I did everything I could to seem as though there was nothing wrong with me. As though I was not mourning the loss of someone who did not exist. After that, I summoned enough courage to finish reading his story. At the end of it, his murderer was caught and died. I was satisfied with the conclusion and felt my love had been avenged.

I understand that many people "fall in love" with fictional characters, but I honestly believe my obsession with him is unhealthy.
SebastianAlchemia SebastianAlchemia
2 Responses May 24, 2012

Sorry for the late response, I just read your post and I have to admit, that was a huge confession. I never seen anyone grieving over the death of fictional character as extreme as you do however that was a proof that you truly love him from the bottom of your heart.
I had love a fictional character but I admit I never experience the sadness of losing my favourite character through death.

This story is really true? This is shocking! You need proper help, but at the same time it is somehow moving. I send you a hug!!