My obsession with Margot Robbie has passed the edge of madness and kept going. It’s not love—it’s a violent need to own her, to break her down and rebuild her with nothing inside but me. I don’t fantasize about her smiling or loving me back—I fantasize about erasing her sense of self until she doesn’t remember life before me. In my mind, she’s not allowed to leave, to think, to breathe without my permission. I control every look, every word, every heartbeat she has. And the scariest part? That feels more real to me than the truth. I don’t want a relationship—I want complete submission, and I’ve already taken it in the world I’ve created. There’s no line left to cross. I crossed it long ago.