My fixation on Margot Robbie has crossed the line into something frantic and obsessive, a mental spiral that feels less like desire and more like a malfunction I can’t switch off. My thoughts don’t drift to her—they snap back to her compulsively, again and again, like my mind has locked onto a single image and refuses to release it no matter how irrational or damaging it becomes. It feels intrusive, overwhelming, and almost manic, as if every quiet moment gets hijacked by the same fixation, growing louder the more I try to suppress it. I’m aware that none of this is real, that it’s a fantasy built entirely inside my head, but that awareness doesn’t bring relief—it makes it worse, because I can see how warped and unhealthy it is while still being dragged along by it. The fixation feeds on repetition and intensity, twisting admiration into obsession, obsession into compulsion, until it feels less like wanting and more like being trapped in a loop of relentless thoughts that won’t decay or fade. There’s no comfort in it, no pleasure—just an exhausting fixation that drains my focus, distorts my emotions, and leaves me feeling unbalanced, restless, and disturbed by how deeply my mind clings to something it knows it should let go.