Stalked

My stalker is something else. Scary, I know, but thanks to my borderline personality disorder, daddy issues, bulimia, years on suicide watch, ex drug addiction, a brief stint in the institution, and an obsession with reality television, I find my stalker not only good for my self esteem, but the greatest relationship I have ever been in.
Whenever any other man tries to talk to me, he either kills him, or beats him up badly enough that I wouldn't want to be seen with him in public anyway. Which works, because the guy was definitely NOT good enough for me (at last that is what my stalker says).
When I gained ten pounds my stalker didn't mind. He simply put me to sleep and carved the fat off of my body. But I definitely needed to lose the weight.
My stalker created an entire Facebook page just to keep tabs on me without his real girlfriend finding out. I don't mind. I NEVER get enough attention in relationships. I haven't had to worry ONCE about this.
Also, he took the liberty of introducing himself to my mother. How he knew where she would be tanning that night, I don't know, but it really saved me the trouble of my own awkward introductions.
Also, when I got into that fight with my dad, it didn't matter WHO was right, because he bludgeoned him to death, and I was right by default.

And whenever I don't feel pretty enough, I know my stalker is waiting out side my window, beating off, and I start to feel maybe just a touch sexier.
It took me awhile, but I am sold. I am in love.
And he is not going anywhere. Or I'm not, anyhow.
I mean, because I am locked in his basement.