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Written By John. 

I was fifteen when I lost my mind.

My parents were getting a divorce and I was so confused. I was wondering what went wrong, I couldn’t grasp the concept of two people simply unable to tolerate each other. In my mind, parents were meant to stay together forever. So when my mom sat me down and told me that we were moving, that my dad is going to live alone, that we’re going back to her home town, my world shattered. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to see my dad once a month. I didn’t want to lose my friends. I tried everything, from yelling to crying to not eating – I even convinced my friends to protest outside my house.

Of course, nothing worked. My parents split up and I was forced to start my life all over again in a place where I knew no one. I watched my mother cry every single night and I thought it was because she still loved him. I tried to get them back together until my dad was forced to tell me he had a girlfriend; the day he told me that was the last time I saw my dad. It took me three years to speak to him again.

I was so worried about my mother’s mental health that I neglected myself. I became antisocial and distant, rapidly falling into an all-consuming depression. I felt like everything that happened to my family was my fault and I was angry for being so powerless.

That’s when I met her.

The White Queen. Beautiful and welcoming, it was impossible to not fall under her charms. I thought I’d only visit her once, a one-time encounter to partly drag me out of my depression. I thought I was strong; stronger than most people. I ignored everything I had heard about her, believing they were just words; meaningless, coming from people who easily fell pray to the charms of the high she could offer any man.

I was wrong.

At first it was fun, a little game we played. She treated me lovingly, like a real queen would treat her beloved kind when he returned from work. After each encounter I felt euphoric and excited.

My mom was thrilled by my sudden change in mood; I looked happy and composed. I was a confident young man ready to conquer the world. Of course my appetite still hadn’t returned and my sleep patterns were even more fucked up but she was not worried. She was just happy that I left the house.

I felt strong while I was on her. I felt like I had control, like I had power. She filled the void my parents left; she was the sweet presence that took care of me while my parents were caught up in their own separate worlds.

Soon though found myself swiftly succumbing completely to her; I grew more and more attached. It all reached a point of pure need. I felt like I had to have her, right there and then. I would suffer from insane thoughts while I was away from her. I hallucinated often, seeing my absent father or deceased grandmother. Sometimes my paranoia would reach such lengths that I would hurt myself.

Once, during her prolonged absence, I thought someone was trying to kill me. I thought they were trying to end me to take her away; I beat the wall over and over again.

My mother found me passed out in our living room, my fists covered in blood. I brushed her off telling her I just had a fight with a friend and it got physical; she didn’t believe me. After that she started noticing how odd I had become. I lost days of school because I couldn’t wake up, I was aggressive and looked, and felt, exhausted. My depression also returned, this time worse than before.

I was falling apart bit by bit, my mind slipping away from me, my soul powerlessly surrendering to the pleasure she could give.

I grew to hate her more than I hated myself. I wanted her dead for the control she had over me. I wanted her gone.

But at the same time I loved her. I needed her. I wanted her mine and mine only; I was unable to give up on her.

It took me a dose that almost killed me and a year in rehab to finally manage to slip away from her iron hold. Standing here, by pure luck, I can’t imagine anything more important that the simple gift of being alive; and able to live. I can’t help but relish in the feeling of freedom; a feeling her white-powdered love could never offer.

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