The Dark Side of a True Crime Obsession

I'm about as obsessed with true crime as they come. I own every book Ann Rule ever wrote (best known for The Stranger Beside Me) and I love a good true-crime podcast. I have seen almost every episode of Snapped. I watch both true and fictional crime shows in my free time. I can rattle off a dozen serial killers and their MOs at any given time. Not to mention, I am going to my third CrimeCon in April in none other than Sin City. I've even met a survivor of famed serial killer Ted Bundy. You get it—I really enjoy true crime.

And while true crime is fascinating, there's a darker side to a true-crime obsession. Aside from people thinking you're creepy, dark, or a total fucking weirdo, you get to deal with excessive paranoia at times, sleepless nights due to nightmares or racing thoughts, and the most ridiculous and unfounded fears.

"You're so dark. Why do you love murder so much?"

Believe it or not, I get this all the time when people discover my dark fascination with true crime. It's morbid and not one of the happy-go-lucky topics society is supposed to talk about, but it's captivating nonetheless. And it's not because I "love murder" or seeing death. It's because, no matter how hard I try, I can't for the life of me understand why. Why do serial killers kill? Why do they choose the victims they do? Why do certain events set them off? WHY?

I'm not alone either. Ted Bundy's trial captivated an entire nation. We couldn't help but dive into the story of Charles Manson. We watched the news specials and bought the books about Elizabeth Smart's harrowing capture. Or JonBenét Ramsey's mysterious death that is still talked about decades later. And now, true crime is so popular that we even have conventions, dedicated sections in bookstores, and endless forums about true crime. This is not a "She's so weird" thing. This is a human curiosity thing. For us non-psychopathic true crime followers, it's about the why.

"Babe, Ted Bundy is in my closet!"

When I was in college, I read The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule for the first time. It took me from my freshman to junior year to read it because I had to stop so many times...for months on end. Everything she wrote felt so real, so close. I would wake up in the middle of the night convinced that Ted Bundy was in my closet. He had been dead for years by the time I read this book.

I would unlock and re-lock all the windows and doors before bed, lift my sheets so I could check under the bed like a terrified five-year-old, open and close all my closets after thoroughly checking them for Ted Bundy—it was a lot. I became completely paranoid. Over a book.

This is when I realized that my obsession would have a serious impact on my life. Despite that, I started getting into murder podcasts. I still haven't recovered from an episode of "My Favorite murder" that I listened to a few years ago. After listening to an episode about a creepy maintenance man who broke into a tenant's home and tried to murder her, I started freaking out that the same thing would happen to me. I have yet to listen to a murder podcast since. That episode started my sleepless nights.

"Goodbye, sleep. Hello, Starbucks!"

When you've convinced yourself that a murderer is in your closet or that someone is trying to break into your apartment, sleeping is damn hard. You start out wondering if you locked the door and somehow end up thinking someone is climbing up the side of your building—up three stories—to break in through your sliding door to murder you. It makes absolutely no sense, and yet here we are. Night after night. Thoughts racing, heart pumping, unable to sleep because of your irrational fears brought on by the latest episode of Dateline.

"What's in the bag?"

When you've read as many true crime books as I have and watched as many hours of true crime television as I have, you see things a bit differently.

Instead of assuming that a bag of trash on the side of the highway is indeed trash, you wonder if it's discarded remains. When you hear someone walking up behind you on a well-used path, you immediately wonder if they intend to harm you. When you see disturbed dirt, your mind creates the darkest scenario.

I have countless conversations with my partner and my mother about locking the door and sleeping with windows open. Neither of them sees a problem with sleeping with the windows or leaving the doors unlocked when they're home. It's as if they've never heard of the grandmother who was murdered when a man climbed through her open kitchen window. Or about the countless armed robberies where people simply walk into your home because it's unlocked.

In reality, these instances happen quite infrequently. But as someone completely immersed in the dark world of true crime, all I need is one murder to justify me acting paranoid and forcing my views on safety down my partner's throat. Better safe than sorry, yeah?

True crime changes you, and that is the honest truth.

So if you really want to get into true crime, be prepared. Starbucks may become your new best friend when you can barely function in the morning after nights of barely sleeping. Going to bed might mean simply laying in bed terrified that a murderer is hiding in your closet. Your mind may decide it wants to go down rabbit holes of how harm could come to you.

But if you're a seasoned true crime pro, none of this is new to you. You put up with all this shit because your curiosity, your fascination with serial killers and murderers needs to be fed.