Dear Crystal, I remember the night we met. I was out having a few drinks at a popular gay bar in New York City, and meeting new people when someone invited me to a private party. There, I met others who seemed glad to meet me and eager to introduce me to you. I should have known that first night that you were going to be trouble. As I hastily reached out to take hold of you, my fingers were instantly burned. Then someone explained how to treat you more carefully, and within minutes I was filled with an energy and confidence I had never known. I even felt desirable, and sex with you was the best I ever had. I spent that night and the next morning with you and my new found friends. I thought to myself “This is the start of something beautiful.” I would meet you again at other parties. At first it was just occasionally, like on long weekends, and you introduced me to two of your friends you called “G”* and Xana X.** Soon we were hanging out once a month, and eventually every weekend. So I began a relationship with you even though I already had another, who loved me and cared for me deeply. Being with you each weekend gave me so much energy. You made me feel sexy and uninhibited and I couldn’t seem to get enough of you. On Mondays I was exhausted and it wasn’t long until I began sacrificing each Monday at work because of my weekends with you. I knew it was a bad pattern, and yet I continued until my job was taken away, and you didn’t even seem to care. You often called me to come have fun with you, and each time I did, it seemed I lost something important. First my job, then my discipline and patience, and then another job and yet another. Before long, I lost my previous loving relationship. Then I became the one who was always calling you, and we spent even more time together. Next I began to lose my money, and never could recall where it all went. Eventually all of my savings was gone. Whenever I did make some money, I would call you with the intent of spending just a small amount to be together. But you always wanted it all, and got it all. After that my good health began to deteriorate and you didn’t seem to care about that either. I tried to get together with you less often, like it was in the beginning. But each time I tried I would eventually return to the same pattern, because I missed the exhilaration and the passion that always flooded my body and mind. I couldn’t seem to enjoy anything, especially sex, without you. Next, I began to give up everything that made me who I was, just to be with you. I gave up creating art, for you. I gave up singing and dancing, for you. I gave up sunny days at the beach, and star-lit nights in the mountains to spend time in a dark cave, with you and your vampire bats, with their needle point teeth, that sucked up my blood and then injected me with more of your poison; so much that I didn’t even notice the roaches and bedbugs that would crawl into my backpack and come home with me. So instead, I stayed at home and invited you over. I allowed you to keep me from my family and my true friends. You didn’t care at all; not one bit, and astonishingly, neither did I. You robbed me of my faith and spirituality. You took away my joy and sense of purpose. You wrecked my soul to the point that I didn’t even recognize myself. Then one night, your overwhelming energy and strength caused my heart to race at such a pace, that my limbs felt as heavy as concrete and I almost lost all power to move. I could barely speak and yet somehow I was able to eke out a faint “Dear God help me! I am weak and powerless.” Suddenly, there was this peace; a peace that transcended my fear. For the next six hours, I allowed a team of health professionals to care for me. They sent me home to rest, and even though my cry was sincere that night, I still had to face you in the morning. “I must throw you out”, I thought. Just then the phone rang with a request from a sick loved one who needed my help. I couldn’t tell of my own depleted state. I was obligated. But how would I be able to do all that would be necessary in my condition? With a knowing smirk across your face, you so gently called my name and said, “I’m right here to help, my Darling” and with an insidious laugh added, “I’ll always be here for you.” Feeling as though I had no choice, I reluctantly allowed you to help. In small doses over the next few days you encouraged me to do what I must. However, you were not satisfied with a supportive role and wouldn’t stay in the shadows for long. You couldn’t stand having my time split between you and another. You constantly called to me, distracting me from caring for one so desperately in need. I couldn’t endure the tug of war any longer, so grabbing you by the hand I ran out, headed back home leaving my dear sick friend alone, and in pain, waiting for his much needed medication. There I gave you my full attention. But somehow, you weren’t the same. No longer was there a thrill. The euphoria that I once knew was replaced with a dark heaviness. It seemed as though my soul had separated from my body and watched as you had your way with me. My eyes blurred as I tried to focus on what you now required of me, there before the light of only a computer screen. Another twelve hours would pass, and as my body grew weary, I turned to look for you once again, but you were gone. I searched the room high and low, but you were nowhere to be found. There I was, abandoned, with only the raw, naked images on the computer. Eventually, as the morning sun peeked around the window shade, I could no longer keep up with this indulgent madness. With my ears ringing and my head pounding from the pressure of your vice-like grip, I stumbled to the bed with a great crash. Nothing would stir me, but the rising of the next morning sun. I was met that morning by an image in the mirror I hardly recognized. A face, grey and gaunt. Eyes as dark and hollow as the tunnel from which they just emerged; reflecting only the image of my selfish, heartless conduct two days earlier. At once my ears echoed with that same prayer: “God help me for I am weak and powerless. My life is unmanageable and I hate what I have become.” I could not go on like this any longer. I picked up the telephone, made the call and confessed to the helpful individual on the other end, “I desperately need a refuge and that Higher Power to restore me to sanity.” Somehow my cry was heard by that Power that is greater than me, and greater than you; because my desires have changed. Although the insidiousness of the disease you had awakened within me, at times calls to me with the tempting sweetness of your voice, reminding me of only the fun times we had, I will instead call on my Higher Power for strength. I will recount all the good things you took from me. So, dear Crystal, I now live each day turning my life over to my Higher Power; one day at a time. Asking only for the knowledge of His will and the power to carry that out. Behold, all things have become new! Goodbye Crystal.
*A street reference for GHB. In certain subcultures it is often used in conjunction with crystal methamphetamine. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamma-Hydroxybutyric_acid
**Refers to the use of Xanax, a brand name for Alprazolam. In this context used to off-set the effects of anxiety associated with methamphetamine use. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alprazolam#Recreational_use
Raymond Merrill is a native of Northern New Jersey who after a progression of unsettling life changes found himself indulging in drug use and sex parties. He subsequently found recovery through professional treatment and a supportive 12-Step program. He now works as a Substance Abuse Counselor. Raymond is part of a writing community in New York City called Meet the Writer Workshop as well as the online literary community Silver Pen Writers.