Do you know any obsessed people? Obsessed as in, obsessed with someone else? A real person? They’re so obsessed that they want to be with you all the time. They just want to be you. Well, I had a girlfriend like that once.
I met her in a club, she looked really cute; long blonde hair, nice figure, deep blue eyes that seemed to see through me. After a couple of looks, I walked up to her to chat a little. Turned out she was a really nice person. She was still in school, did ballet and her name was Daisy, Daisy Bell. She was 18 and out clubbing with a couple of her mates. I was there with my two mates, Matt and James. Matt had drunk too much and was staggering around chatting up girls and even some unlucky blokes. ‘Is your dad a terrorist? Cos baby, YOU ARE THE BOMB!’ he would say, slurring his words. James and I decided to go home, dragging Matt, kicking and throwing up, with us. I swapped numbers with the girl, Daisy, and made sure I got home in one piece.
A few weeks after we were officially a couple; the newspapers were full of us. I spent every single free minute with her. That’s when it got weirder. One day I came back from a signing and there she was, in the doorway, holding a brand new guitar. At first I thought it was mine, but then she told me that it was hers; she bought it the day before. It looked exactly like mine, just till into detail. I asked her why she bought a guitar that looked so much like mine. Her explanation: she loved mine so much. Yeah right.
I caught her looking through my wardrobe one day. She was already wearing one of my t-shirts. “Daisy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked her. She looked at me, head first, then down to my shoes. She smiled and then continued looking through the wardrobe.
A week later she had bought the same shoes as me, it was starting to freak me out. I told Matt and James but they didn’t see the problem. She just liked my style. I should have been pleased. Erm, yes. Right.
I told you she had long blonde hair, right? Well, she had it brown with blonde highlights when I came back from touring. And when I was out with Matt and James, celebrating the number one thing of Crashed The Wedding (we were out all day with the management) and came back, she had it cut in the same style as I have. Not to mention, Matt and James thought she was me when I went to the loo.
Not five minutes after James and Matt had left out apartment, Daisy jumped on me and undressed me as quickly as she could. Just because I was still taller than her, made her not being able to lift me up and carry me upstairs. I’m sure that if she was the same height, she would’ve done that.
She turned into me, stealing my identity. Slamming me against the wall when she was kissing me instead of the other way around. Her chasing supermodels instead of me. She even started leaving empty bowls of cereal round the house and deliberately spilling juice on the tv. She started smoking, quit ballet and started playing soccer. This was seriously getting out of hand. I had to do something, but nobody would listen. Instead of talking in a strong Cockney accent, she was taking over my ‘posh style of talking’, at least that was what Matt and James called it. She had to go see a doctor, a psychiatrist for all I care. Eventually James and Matt noticed what was going on. But it was too late, I was already going spare. No, not going spare, I was bloody insane!
When we got a few weeks off, I was sent to a psychiatric institution by our manager. I had to come back to normal, I was seriously going nuts with her around. I even wanted to go to that institution, get away from her and her freaky head.
I don’t know who exactly told her where I was, but when I was there for a couple of days, she came round to visit me. The nurse had said that my boyfriend was here. The nurse had even asked me if she could get her autograph! She thought Daisy was me for God’s sake!
Anyway, Daisy stepped into my room. I couldn’t believe my own f*cking eyes. It was like she had copied me. She was me. The only difference was that she still was a bit shorter that I was. She even had a deep voice like a f*cking guy.
‘Hey mateage,’ she said, putting a finger on my lips. ‘Don’t say anything.’
She whispered something in my ear, too embarrassing to tell, and my eyes almost popped out of my head. I got up, pushed her to the floor and ran, screaming, out of the building.