I remember when we first met. I didn’t catch your eye or your attention immediately, but that was okay. I’m known for my patience. I watched you from a short distance; trying to memorize your movements, familiarize myself with your mannerisms, and your particular characteristics. We were at a small house party; just a few close friends of yours who had gotten together to drink a few beers and smoke some weed. You were always a big fan of relaxing, feeling good, letting your mind take a break from whatever was going on in your life. That last part especially—you were always looking for a break, an escape of some sort. I loved that about you. That’s one of my favorite aspects of a personality, in fact. I guess you could say I’m…drawn to that.
One of your friends took out a few small pills from inside a little bag he had. His dad had gotten them from a recent surgery and he said they felt awesome, he couldn’t remember the name, what was it?….oh, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. What was it he said? “Take one of these and you could be told your mom died and it wouldn’t even bother you. It’s the best feeling in the world.” My ears perked up, my eyes widened, and I leaned in a little closer to examine your reaction. You laughed a little bit at his grossly unnecessary comparison, shrugged slightly, and knocked a couple back. I smiled to myself.
A little later on you went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I stared back at you, but you didn’t see me. Not yet.
The next weekend, you hung out with the same people. This time, though, when your friend broke out the pills, you crushed them up and snorted them. I saw the look on your face right after. I knew that look, I lived for that look. My smile grew wider. You would be seeing me soon.
It became a weekend thing: you going to this same friend’s house, with the same group of friends, smoking, drinking, and now, these wonder pills. No longer stealing his father’s prescription, your friend was having a harder time getting access to the drugs. This was my cue. I crawled in between the group of you, sitting on the couch and armchairs. I wormed my way past each one of you, making sure I stopped and kissed your cheek slightly before I crept up beside your friend and whispered something into his ear.
“You know,” he said, struck by inspiration, struck by me, “I do know someone who sells some other stuff. I could give him a call.” I slithered my way back into the corner and watched. I saw your response immediately. Ostensibly, you looked worried, but I was getting to know you. You were interested. You wanted to keep escaping.
I only visited you on weekends, when you would hang out with your friends, now only a group of three or four of you. The others had jumped ship, saying things were “getting out of control.” Some people just don’t know how to have a good time. I watched you from a distance during the week, but you barely noticed my presence except for Friday and Saturday nights. So far.
When you looked in the mirror, you were beginning to see me. I was just a cloudy wisp, you barely noticed. But you would. Oh, you would. Every time you breathed in the drug, I slowly crawled over and sat on your lap. It wasn’t intense, it wasn’t dramatic, I just rested there. I held your hand, I kept your head up, I whispered softly in your ear. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I wanted you to know you could trust me, I would be there for you, you could always count on me. One time you did so much that you had to vomit into the toilet. I sat beside you, talked to you calmly, I rubbed your back. Then I gave you some more.
We were really starting to get close. You had me with you almost every day now, I followed you into work, I left when you left. I lay in bed with you at night. I could feel you beginning to have me.
Soon you were buying from your friend so you could use throughout the week. No big deal, just a few before work, or before going out with friends, or before bed at night. Nothing crazy, it wasn’t a bad thing. I showed you the definition of a drug. It wasn’t a big, evil wolf at all, it was beautiful. It made the day go by quickly and smoothly, it made people less annoying, it made you a nicer person; it made you a better person. I showed you how cheap it was, how easy it was to get, and how nice it was to use. Every. Single. Day.
Before long, you needed more and more to get the same feeling. But even the feeling wasn’t the same. I told you over and over again, you just needed to do a little extra and you would be able to have that feeling you had at the beginning. You listened to me. I grabbed your face and looked at you. Don’t stop. You need me. I love you.
You lost your job eventually, along with basically all of your friends. Your family gave you ultimatum after ultimatum, until finally they refused to talk to you. You had me, though, and I promised you that you would always have me. I would take care of you. You didn’t need anyone else. I helped you look your crying mother in the eyes and lie to her. I helped you steal from her jewelry box, I helped you rob a gas station, I helped you yell in your little sister’s face when she begged you to get help. What did you need help for? I was enough help for you. I was everything you needed.
Now you didn’t just see me when you looked in the mirror, but everywhere else. I was you, I had you, and you were mine. I could see you starting to hate me, to lose trust and faith in me, but it didn’t matter anymore how you felt about me. I called the shots now, you gave yourself to me (I took you) and now you did what I wanted, regardless of how you really felt.
You tried to go without me, without it. I watched you. It was endearing, really, you gave it your all, you put your best foot forward, but by the end of the day I know you needed me. And I was always right there. Grabbing your hand and leading you toward what you needed, through any means to get to the end.
You confronted me. All alone in a parking lot or in your car, you would scream. At me. Telling me I lied to you, I misled you, I tricked you. It wasn’t cheap anymore, it wasn’t fun anymore, it didn’t feel good anymore. Nothing felt good anymore. I remained quiet and let you yell. It didn’t matter. You were going to keep doing it. I made sure that physically, you would get sick without it. I made sure that emotionally, you would get sick without it. I made it so you would rather die than not have it. I did what I do best. I poisoned you.
I write this letter because I know you’re in treatment right now. I’m still there with you. I watched you as you were taken to the hospital, after falling asleep for eleven hours with a needle in your arm. I watched as you were put through detox, as you shook and cried and vomited, on the floor in a fetal position, sweat mixing with tears and blood as you dug your nails into your face. I watched as you entered the white hallways of the treatment facility.
I still watch you every day; I still go to bed with you every night. I’m with you in group therapy, I’m with you in AA and NA meetings, I’m with you even though you’re in a place working to fight and kill me. But don’t worry. I will wait for you; I will be here when you come out. Remember how I said I was known for my patience? No one really understands me, but you. And in your weakness, I find my strength. I wish you the best of luck.
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