You delete the photos in a moment of anger and sadness. All of them. It’s liberating. Like an alcoholic pouring a bottle of whisky down the plughole. You think you are making progress. But you will slip up. There will be more googling and more photos downloaded. Your collection will slowly build again. At least it will not be as comprehensive a collection as before, you reassure yourself. You did so well to delete them in the first place. You half regret it, as you won’t be able to experience quite the pleasure you got from looking at them again. But at the same time, most of the images are permanently emblazoned in your mind, you have studied them so often.
It is a battle. You are at war with yourself. Is there any point in deleting them again? You will only download more. It’s an addiction. You know it isn’t healthy. It harms you. It hampers your ability to move on with your life. It is a reminder of something that once was, but never was.
Where is the support for me? You have alcoholics anonymous, gamblers anonymous, overeaters anonymous. Where’s the crazy, rejected stalkers anonymous?
Hi, my name is Rebecca. It’s been two days since I last looked at her twitter feed. I can feel myself wondering about her.