Fighting The Dragons: Obsession

I am obsessed.

I have a deepest, darkest secret. I am living vicariously through other people via the internet. The defensive part of me yells, "So what?! I live in a hospital. My life is on hold. I have every right to snoop through details of other people's lives". But then there is the sensible, compassionate side that reasons "I know what I am doing is wrong. I really should mind my own business. This is the last time."

I can't get enough of war stories, of families that have gone through or are going through similar situations to me. I am especially obsessed with the ones who have finished treatment and have gone home. I have been repeatedly creeping these people who I spoke to all of three times while they were in hospital. Their beautiful daughter had a tumour that turned out to be benign and they went back to their perfect, beautiful life. I'm not "friends" with them on facebook, but dad doesn't have any privacy settings, so I am free to look through the virtual window into their idyllic existence. Everything about them emits a rosy glow, even their goddamn cat. I hate them. I love them. My shrink is going to be hearing about this one.

This obsession is not a new one.

When I was seven, I started taking jazz dance classes. There was a girl in my class who was so good at dancing and so pretty and everyone liked her. I never had big self-esteem issues in school; I didn't have trouble making friends, I was confident enough and generally people liked me. But something about being in a class, wearing spandex and not being able to joke my way out of a Running Man or a Roger Rabbit or jazz runs made me nervous and this girl made me crazy. I wanted to be her. I wanted to dance like her. I wanted to be as pretty as her. I wanted to have her older sister (who was even prettier and an even better dancer) and her mum and drive away in their black Nissan Pathfinder. Then I would be the most popular, the most flexible, the most beautiful... I would be the best. When going through some choreography, the second row had to come forward and make a line with the front row. Naturally this girl was in the front row - so everyone could follow her. Also because she was short. I quickly realized that this move would make me stand right next to her. The class moved through the steps and paused for further instruction. I stood there, taller and awkward as hell next to the coolest girl I had ever met, and do you know what she did? She hugged me. She hugged me and said something to the effect of "Aw yay! You're with us!" and then her fat sidekick hugged me too. I felt like a million bucks. It was the single greatest moment of my life - at that point, anyway.

Curiosity got the best of me a couple of years ago and I looked up both her and her sister on facebook. They were both barefoot and pregnant and still dancing, but not nearly as beautiful as I had remembered. I wonder if they remember me, and what they would say about me if pressed. Did she me as an equal? Were we friendly and I never noticed because I was too busy worshipping? Or was I just that creepy girl who stared at her all the time? I'll never know, and I don't really care. I guess that's what it comes down to. I could "friend" these perfect people with their healthy children that nearly walked down the same path as me, but what's the point? I don't really care. Just like this dancer-girl, I wanted to be them for a short time in my life... I want what they're having, but what I am having is pretty good too. Take a look through my window....