I am currently married. I don’t know when the thoughts started, but I think they’ve plagued me for my entire life. It started when I was a little girl. If someone had a crush on the girl/guy I did, I would send them death threats. This got me sent to Cedar Ridge in-patient facility, courtesy of my bullshit high school. I guess I should have gotten better after I was able to convince the doctor that I was semi normal enough to go home. And I did, for a time. I was getting better. I WAS doing fine. I was. I was getting better. Better. And then I met him. My husband. At first, I didn’t even notice him. When I did, when I saw he was trying to catch my eye, I just glared or flipped him off. We skated at the same rink nearly every Friday, and eventually, he asked me to couple skate with him. Well, more like he pulled me onto the floor, away from my friends, without waiting for a response. That was the night I fell in love again. I let myself plummet further into the deepest, most horrific fantasies of my mind. Exactly what I was trying to avoid. I began to think about our future. Would his Cuban parents be alright with him dating an Asian? Would they think I was underage because I’m 4’7? Would they like me? I was determined to win over his parents, and his entire family along with them. And I did. His parents love me and treat me as if I were their own daughter, since my parents are nothing short of absolute shit. He’s the most caregiving, faithful, sweet, doting man I’ve ever met. It’s not him I’m concerned about. It’s other girls. I’ve sabotaged his friendship with every girl he knew to the point where they aren’t even on speaking terms again. They never will be. Why would they? I’m all he needs. I’m all he will ever need. Maybe to some, I’m insecure. immature even. But to me, I’m simply territorial to an extreme. He’s all I ever think about. He’s my angel. He saved me from the dregs of my unhinged mind. Every time I look at his beautiful face, I find myself thinking, “he belongs to me, and I’ll kill for it.”And I mean it. I could go on and on about all the things that are supposedly wrong with me, and I do know they are, but I couldn’t care less. Something IS wrong with me. Terribly so. I’ve lost my humanity, or perhaps I was never born with it in the first place. I won’t bore you with that though. My husband is, surprisingly, completely fine with all of this. I don’t think he’s only saying that to save face either, I think it’s genuine. You see, he’s the same as I am, only unwilling to kill because of his God-abiding values. I've always had trouble falling in love. But when I do, I believe my hate is safer.