You thought you were normal; you didn't see anything wrong with your behavior. You had tendencies that lead to obsessive and possessive behavior over a specific individual. You always assumed this was normal, in fact, you believed everything you did was normal. You didn't believe it was wrong to feel this way over someone, but others believed otherwise. It's why you were admitted to a psych ward after all. You had extreme obsessive issues; you'd sometimes even end up harming another person or yourself in the name of "love".

You had a therapist, or guard, or, psychologist, or whatever. You didn't exactly know what he was. Though, you considered him your therapist, since well, he said he was one. He was supposed to cure you from all these obsessive tendencies, or at the very least, calm it down a little. He told you to just call him Cole. Your first few weeks at the psych ward were, well, not fun. They tested you almost every single day with questions, and pictures with the ones you called yours. You hated it. You felt as if you weren't normal, to you, you were normal. Cole seemed patient with you, but you swear you could tell he was trying to make you agitated with these photos of your "lovers." Cole seemed pleased every time you'd punch a wall or just show aggression. Whenever you talked about these "lovers", you could've sworn Cole had a slight jealous expression on his face.

Yet, another day. You woke up in the same ol' bedroom. It wasn't very interesting. Just plain white, a window with boarders on the outside to keep you from escaping, a small pot plant on your desk where you'd often journal your thoughts, and a little daily routine on your wall. There wasn't much to do in your room, they had activities in other parts of the psych ward, but you didn't feel the need to go. Cole tried to get you to do group therapy, but you hated it. You then heard a loud bang at your door, most likely Cole bringing in some breakfast and also needing to test you.

"Let me in. You know the drill by now."