He did it without asking.

We were married at the time - it seemed like a nice thing for him to do.

“I’ve registered your new phone with a service that will locate it for you if it’s ever lost or stolen”, he announced one evening at dinner nonchalantly, tossing his blonde hair. He was so handsome when he was sober. I smiled and thanked him, grateful that he had been so thoughtful. There were plenty of occasions when he wasn’t - like the countless times he humiliated me in public, drunken and disorderly, disrespectful and contentious. “I can never be wrong.” He told me once, red-faced with eyes bulging during a heated discussion about his substance abuse. There are more stories than I can count that start with him and a drink in his hand and end with me in tears, but this is not a story about those days and nights. It is the story of a god-damned cellphone.

For the sake of conservative tradition and my Christian upbringing, I tried to stay with my man, I really did. Despite his drinking, despite his lack of employment, despite the fact that he played video games day-in and day-out while I went to work and returned home, despite the fact that he said “you’re welcome” after having sex with me, despite the fact that he had begun to phyisically threaten me - for years, ten to be exact, I stayed.

Then I couldn’t stay anymore. It was as simple as that, so I left.

I told him I no longer wanted to live with him, that I wanted a out, and even though I had been telling him for years that I was desperately unhappy, somehow only when I uttered the sentence “I’m moving out“ did he realize that I was serious.

I suppose it‘s the fault of American pop culture, that he believed he could slack in every single way as a husband, hell as an adult person, for ten years and then show a modicum of effort and suddenly be accepted back into my life with open arms. There were countless messages and calls begging me to return on that new cellphone of mine, but I stayed resolute. I was done. I tried to move on with my life. I lived with friends while still paying his rent in our old apartment, which was in my name - I needed to keep my credit intact, and I knew if I left things to him it wouldn’t be. I was trying to put my life back together piece by piece after a decade of being an unwilling mother to a fully-grown alcoholic, unemployed husband, but he refused to let me go.

I was out with a friend one night, when a message from my Ex flashed across the screen. I hadn’t blocked him, because I was trying to keep things civil for the divorce. “Where are you?” he asked. I didn’t answer - it was none of his business. Five minutes later an alert flashed on the screen of that expensive new phone. He was tracking me. Back when he announced that he had registered my phone, he failed to mention that it was attached to HIS email address. He prided himself on his hacker skills and often boasted of them at parties. My phone sent him my exact location. My friend suggested we leave to avoid a confrontation, so we did, but this only led to more tracking. Out of dumb stubbornness, I didn’t want to get rid of the phone. I had paid for it - it was expensive, and I didn’t want his obsessive behavior to force me to hide. I’m a writer and fairly allergic to technology, but I did everything I could to remove his ability to track my every move. I thought I had been successful because the alerts stopped. I went on with my life, progressing towards the divorce. Out of the blue, he told me that he was going on vacation and suggested that I come over to the apartment to get some of my things while he was gone. He specifically mentioned that I should get my files off of ’his‘ laptop, which had been ‘ours’ before I moved out. “It’s easy,” he said “you can just email yourself the files and then delete them.”

I hadn’t been in our apartment since the night I had told him, tears streaming down my face, that I could no longer live with him. I was apprehensive, but the season was changing and I needed warmer clothes. I was paying rent at my friend’s apartment as well as paying his rent in our old place and money was tight, so I welcomed the chance to retrieve my old clothes instead of having to buy new ones.

I will never forget walking into our old apartment.

It stank. Nothing had been cleaned or washed since I left all those months ago. Every trash can was full and there was not a single clean surface to be found, except for the coffee table in the living room. It was pristine. Only one item sat upon it in the midst of all the filth - the laptop. Taped to the top of the laptop was a pink note in his sloppy handwriting, “Don’t forget to get your files!”

It felt like a trap. It was.

I opened the laptop with trepidation - it seemed as if nothing had changed, but something inside of me told me to check the hidden files. This was an old trick of his that I knew from his propensity to hide porn on his compter in college. I unhid the files and was shocked to find a file called “Paige - tracking”. He actually called it that. I opened the file and found hundreds upon hundreds of screenshots of my location - at all bours of the day and night - EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. since I had left him up until the day he left on his vacation. I was stunned and resolved in that instant to get a new phone, damn the cost. I called a friend who understands technology far better than I do, and when I told her what I had found on his laptop, she yelled through the phone that I needed to immediately stop what I was doing. She gave me the name of a file extension and asked me to search the computer for it - I searched and found the program immediately. He had installed a key-stroke recording virus on the computer to record every move I made. If I had logged into my email as he had suggested, or logged into Facebook, or entered any other important passwords, he would have had them all via this program and I never would have known.

I looked further into the computer and found photos and videos of myself that I felt he no longer had the right to possess. I was not his property, and neither were my private images. I deleted the image and video files and, thanks to my friend’s advice, placed the files I needed to keep on a memory stick with the understanding that they might be infected with viruses as well and would need to be examined and potentially cleaned before I could access them. I was unsurprised to find new drug paraphernalia in the apartment, despite his claims that he had gotten clean. I gathered my things and, significantly shaken and upset, headed home. That day, I got a new phone and deactivated the old one, leaving it in a drawer, fearful of it as if it were a live thing that had betrayed me.

A few days later, he showed up at my doorstep.

“I see you found the files on my computer,” he said with a sneer of superiority. “Guess I won‘t be able to track you anymore. New phone, huh?”... I started to close the door, but he stopped it with his foot. “I ALSO saw” he said dramatically, pausing for effect, “that you tried to delete our videos and your pictures. That’s cute.” He flicked a small USB drive at me through the slit of the open door. “Here’s your copy.”

Obsession has many forms and is often portrayed as a romantic attribute, but obsession and possession are very closely related. My Ex was obsessed with me because he felt that he POSESSED me. I am not an object to be owned and tracked and retrieved. I am a human being, who has the right to remove herself from a situation in which she is not happy and does not feel safe. No person deserves to be treated in the way I was, but it happens every day, predominately to women of every age, race and religion. My Ex should have been trying to find his identity, his humanity, his sense of decency instead of my damn phone. Whoever needs to hear this: You Are Not Property! Marriage does not equal ownership. You are not a phone.

#Obsession #posession #findmyphone #stalking #technology #divorce

Time for work

Toiling with many a brick

On with the job

No time to rob,

Every treasure...

For our own pleasure..

Hush, do you hear that sound.

What’s that buzzing so loud?

The group of thieves

Spot a swarm of bees

They had ignored the signs,

Caution, tomb has deadly traps.

Off they scatter

Like gaseous matter

In a corner

They soon cower

From the growls

Much louder than a bear

A form stands tall

It sees them all

They have woken

him: Tutankhamon.

The ground shakes

Was that an Earthquake?

Their bodies land-

In a pile of sand.

They get buried alive

None of them survive

All for the love of gold—

They will now be mummified!

#GOLD(C)RUSH

#Obsession/s

#TheMummy!

#ProseChallengeCXXVI.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vU4Ze8etwq0

(The Mummy - Opening Scene Soundtrack)

Breathe in ! Breathe out! Close your eyes.

Imagine the life you are obsessed with, is what you have. The elegant parties, Charities, experiments with wine as a connoisseur, oiled body shirtless in a private beach writing or reading a book or may be featuring in a block buster movie.

Imagine you are talking to a bastion of people telling them how perfect your life is and how they should live theirs.

Breathe in ! Breathe out ! Open your eyes. What do you see now? How far off you are. How fast you want to get to the lengths and breaths of your obsessions. Time seems not to be ticking even though years are passing by.

I feel the same way too. I am trying so hard to breathe. I am taking in more air than I can carry. The excess carbon dioxide due to my recently chain sawed Pear tree does not help. The air is chocking me.

I am holding on to the last straw but even the softness of the straw is piercing my once coarse skin. It’s because I have been moisturizing my hand frequently preparing for the life in my imagination.

For the very first time in my life last week, I saw a penguin clothed in white and black apparel.Not a sight you expect to see in Nigeria. I saw that very same enigma in my dream the day before.

I am either mad or getting closer. whatever the case may be,each step definitely comes with shortness of breath!

Solitary and predatory,

he waits and watches,

echoes of obsession,

devouring murmurs

rolling out nightmares.

Lost in a whirlpool

of hungry whores,

a bloody thirst,

unconscious forces,

ginger light

of full moon.

He can’t be sated

lacking conscience,

blank page emotions,

feigned smiles,

void within,

his psyche

casting eerie shadows

of blood curdling terror -

nothing behind

vacant black eyes.

Bloody mud puddles

mark his trail

as he watches

them floating

by his stare.

He thrives

in a bowl

of empty

as he rips

and shreds

and shatters

fleshy pieces,

leaving thorns

as he bears

no shame,

abandoning prey

to eternal sleep –

addicted to

crimson beauty on

white thighs,

a tableau

mirrored by

fading screams.

I want you.

Wanting you is like a river that I drown in,

Fighting harder, growing tired until I can’t swim,

Overwhelmed by need, I sink into the mire.

Oh won’t you save me?

Save me from my own desire!

Please won’t you save me?

Save me from my own desire.

I can’t have you, you can’t have me,

because we’re not free.

But I can feel you, I can sense your need

the same as mine, it will not tire.

So won’t you save me?

Save me from my own desire!

Why won’t you save me?

Save me from my own desire.

I must have you.

If I cannot slake this thirst, then I will perish,

and you will follow, and together we will vanish,

lost in lust’s black night of wanting, we’ll expire.

So you must save me!

Save me from my own desire!

Now you must save me.

Save me from my own desire!

#obsession #lust #ChallengeOfTheWeek

Seems like today, everybody wants you to have an obsession. To eat, sleep and breath your one thing.

I can't do that. I can't spend all of my time only doing and thinking of one small part of life. Because I want to experience all of life.

Life is my obsession. To see it. Feel it. Eat it. Breath it. Taste it. Touch it.

I want to experience as much of life as I can, in all its diversity. All of the sorrow and joy. All the suffering and success. All the love and heartache.

The peace and savageness of nature.

The wonder and desolation of humankind.

When people hear me talk about what I am doing at the moment, they think it’s my passion. They tell me how passionate I am. They can see it and hear it.

And that happens no matter what I am doing. I am an eager learner and enthusiastic explorer. I seem passionate about that one thing I am currently focused on. But in reality, I am passionate about the process of learning it; of practising, exploring, discovering and interacting.

Life is my life.

And that's all I can really say.

He saw her, what a pity that was.

The pale man stared at her, the yellow-haired girl who stood at 5'4 with dry lips that wore a pathetic excuse for a smile, waiting for her overpriced coffee. She was tired and small, and his sad, little eyes never left her frame. He wanted to smell her, hold her, need her.

And God, did he need her.

He steps followed her to her apartment complex, a cheap place, nothing special. The man didn't care, he just wanted to consume. So he did.

It took a hot minute but he knew everything there was to know about her. Simple things like where she worked, who her boyfriend was, her name. You know, all the boring stuff. He only cared about the seven things he learned about her in those small three months.

1. She went to that dreadfully expensive coffee shop every Tuesday on her break.

2. She always wore something blue in every outfit, always.

3. She annotated her poetry books. How literary.

4. She likes to dance to the Guardian of The Galaxy soundtrack at night.

5. She goes to improv classes.

6. Shes a master at cooking Meat Loaf.

7. She loves the Beatles.

She was perfect.

Like I said he didn't care for her name.

He made himself perfect for her. He memorized all the lyrics to every single Beatles song know to man, he watched Guardian of The Galaxy twenty-two times, he learned to eat Meat Loaf without throwing it up. (He didn't care for that either.)

He was perfect, all he needed was an opening. It didn't come, not one that fit his requirements anyway. So the pathetic eyed, pale man got a job at God foresaken coffee shop his little birdy was so fond of.

They offically met on a grey Tuesday. Her soiled eyes glanced into his, she asked for a Vanilla Ice Latte. She felt tired like always, he felt fate was finally working in his favoring. Like all was meant to be.

They made small talk about the Guardian of the Galaxy. She named Drax as her favorite character, he pretended that he didn't know that already. They laughed and smiled, as if there was a spark. He wrote his number down on her cup.

She never called.

What a pity that was.

The man wondered what it was all for. They were meant to be and she threw it all away. He was meant to consume her.

He destroyed her instead.

It wasn't hard, his birdy wasn't a fighter.

He whispered all his promises to her.

She fell into nothing.

Red and blue lights came for him. He didn't care, he destroyed himself.

What a pity that was.

What a pity that was.

What a pity that was.

They say I’m obsessed

With you.

But, of course

I’m not.

I can let you go, anytime

Just walk away

And wave goodbye if you want to.

And all the pictures on my wall

Would soon be gone

If you left, too,

Replaced by those of someone new.

I like you, sure

And think about

You every single day

I love to watch you

Eat and sleep

That’s just my loving way

Of course I’m not obsessed with you

Feel free to walk away

If you can break the chains and lock

Then you don’t have to stay

If you can crack the cellar maze

Then just be on your way.

Of course

I can always find you

As I chipped you when I drugged you.

You haunted my life for over a decade

More than ten years of my life

Uselessly dedicated to the imaginary pursuit

Of an impossible suitor

An obsession built on the lies I told myself

Our backstory, knitted together from scraps of kindness

In my head you were superman... prince charming … my savior

But in truth I was nothing to you

An acquaintance, a person of convenience

Nothing more

Not even a friend

I pined for you

I hollowed myself out to make room for our story

I lulled myself to sleep each night with tales of our love

Impossible, impractical, contrived

Never to truly see the light of day

I used these dreams as a pacifier

To quiet my anxious heart

And to face of the emptiness of my life

I chose this phantom sustenance over the simple meal before me

And grew sicker and weaker as I feasted on its nothingness

I breathed my life into this golem

And filled its veins with my blood

Even as it sucked the vitality from my marrow

Leaving me anemic and alone

I never imagined I would ever be confronted with the reality of it

Never dreamed that it could come to life

Not even for an instant

But then, one night it happened

Impossibly, my creature drew breath

And there you were wanting me

Instead of the other way around

The natural order of things was broken

And somehow, we were more alone together than apart

The illusion was shattered

There was no kindness, not even scraps

No romance in the story

No hope for the future

No substance at all

Just a meaningless series of events

In a universe filled with chaos

And now there is only one shred of order left in this crazy world

One last bit of logic to which I can ascribe and attest

And that is this:

Sometimes you have to get under someone before you can get over them.