Phantom of the Opera--thoughts on my own personal phantom.

Most girls who watch the movie or see the Broadway side with the Phantom--she wants a man to fawn over her, to love her that completely, to be a bad boy and a hero and darkly handsome.

They don't understand the facets of the mindset of Christine.

I was Christine. I had a Phantom, and a choice. There was a boy who was safe, who loved me, who was stable and a good choice.
And then there was the Phantom. He ran with a dangerous crowd, he was on the road to failing high school, he was passionate. And he was completely obsessed with me.

It was nice, at first. He opened to me a world that had not previously existed--a world where I spoke with drug dealers--where the Phantom threatened bodily injury if any one of them touched me. Many of the bad boys had girlfriends; they were passed around, and both genders understood that this was the way it worked.
I was the exception. If anyone laid a finger on me, even in the most innocent way, an accidental bump--he was threatened.

It was nice to be loved at first. To be protected. I knew he loved me. He told me at every chance. But it got to be too much.

I was turned into a porcelain doll; I was turned into an outcast. Everyone stayed away from me in fear of angering the Phantom. I withdrew.

To compensate, he became more obsessed; he spent our time together staring at me, telling me I was beautiful, trying to make me happy, telling me we'd spend our lives together.
Doing with me what he would, physically.

The only thing that woke me up was when he went too far one day. He had pushed me physically before; I tend to be very chaste, and he went too far, always. I got used to it. But one day he tried to go farther and I said no, and he wouldn't stop.

The spell was broken.

He stalked me. For a long, long time. He sent me texts in the early hours of the morning, telling me explicitly what he was thinking about doing to me while he touched himself. He would find out where I was going, and be there too. If I tried to confront him, he would either scream at me or weep and beg for me back.

With a "love" like the Phantom has, there is no choice. There is adoration, but there is also anger. There is devotion and force. It's nothing beautiful. It's creepy, and it's the worst thing that can happen to a girl.

Christine is not lucky.
She is haunted.

Yes, the Phantom is the dangerous choice, and he is passionate and beautiful and haunted and sad and lonely. But he is truly dangerous. He loves you to the highest extent possible; he will do anything to get love in return. Anything, including violence.

Does no one remember those crushed under the chandelier? Does no one remember that the Phantom passes himself off as Christine's childhood angel? Does no one remember the intense infatuation, the stalking?

The Phantom sings and entrances.
And there's a reason he has to.