I fell for him the moment he walked through the door. He stood there in a suit whose price wouldn’t fit in my calculator, with a perfect smile and the bluest eyes you’ve never seen. He was like a bottle of Macallan 1939; rare, expensive and dangerous if you let it all in at once. Of course, that’s exactly what I did. He was just as toxic in my bloodstream.
Unfortunately, he stayed in it longer.
I tried to rid myself of him. I really did. But it was easier said than done, and each time I shook him off I went into withdrawals. My skin would burn, my heartbeat would accelerate, my breath would get short and my chest would ache. The cravings were unreal. I always crawled back for more.
Eventually, all I could do was crawl, and that’s exactly how he wanted it.
I can’t explain how everything happened, and, to be honest, most of it is a blur. I just know I needed him. I still feel like I need him, which is why I’m writing this from a hospital room that’s been accumulating bills for the past two months. They’re not sure I’ll ever get better. Unfortunately, there’s no pill they can give you to get over pompous, egotistical, passive-aggressive douche bags. Maybe one day.
So I sit here, unable to remember anything about him except that I needed him and possibly still do. As I gasp for air and rub ice on my burning skin, I sit and focus on the most depressing thoughts. I almost wish I were born blind.
Sight. It’s such a blessing, such an incredible gift. But we always talk about love at first sight like it’s beautiful, and I’m here to tell you it can be lethal. If my big brown eyes had never existed, or at least never laid themselves up on his holier than holy frame, maybe I wouldn’t be here. But I am. Even when he’s not around he has me wishing I were blind. He always said the most important thing in life is to leave a lasting impression…. he surely did with me.
So here I lay. An addict. Trying to break an addiction like this is impossible. At least when you’re addicted to drugs or alcohol you can just separate the person from them and force them to recover; and even when they think about the substance it can’t physically affect them. Unfortunately, when you’re addicted to a person thinking about them can feed the addiction just as much as being with them. Even having him on my mind feeds it, and thus the vicious cycle continues. One thought, just one thought of those piercing blue eyes and my chest aches again, as if they are actually piercing through me. And at the same time, it feels amazing, as if my heart is beating with more life than it can handle. It hurts so well.
I may never recover. I may keep traveling around this circle that keeps me at a crawl. But the truth is, as much as I hate him, I love him; and as much as I want to get better, I never feel so good as I do when I’m on a high from him. He is dangerous, he is toxic, he may be lethal, but I will end up drinking every last drop of him until it kills me.