It was more than an obsession. Every part of my body ached for this idea, this thing that I could never have. My heart hurt. My lungs hurt. My hands longed for a foreign skin. Getting over it was the worst part, though I do not recall when the process began. It seemed as if I had been going through it from the moment my obsession began. And the more I tried to repress the feeling, the stronger it would get. And I would let it get strong enough to almost kill me, but never more than that.