I took his hand and let him lead me into darkness. He did not force me, I followed him like he was my savior; leading me into the light. He was all the things I wanted and I was amazed that for once I could have them, I changed myself to please him. I let him shape me into a new person. One I neither liked nor wished to be. He did not force me to change. That is the important part. I changed on my own because it pleased him and while he was my world, making him happy was the same as making myself happy. He liked color and light so I became what he wanted dressing up in brights and never letting the smile leave my face. At night when I relaxed to go to sleep, I liked to imagine Iíd pulled a cheek muscle. He didnít see it but the brighter and happier I got outside the farther into darkness I slipped inside.
He rolled me my first joint the summer before 9th grade and with it he once again opened my eyes and expanded my world. Weed became my lover, my soul mate, my very best friend. There is nothing better than a thick joint or a hard packed bowl, sweet smelling smoke twisting towards the ceiling. One long toke and colors flash, my eyes glaze over and I am lost. In this new hobby, I found release from his rules which were growing, but he told me he loved me and no one had ever said that to me before. Well not a boy anyways, and he made me feel desired. That is a feeling that is almost as addicting as the drugs he fed me, tugging me in, making me fall deeper into my self-created void.
I hit rock bottom when I found the ultimate release; a razorblade, loud music, and myself. The human body; so quick to bleed, so slow to heal. I would time the scabbing process. How many days till it stopped bleeding, how many till the scab formed, how many till the scab fell off and the scar emerged. Scars I still carry today if you look close enough, across my chest, my stomach, the tops of my legs, my arms. I cut the parts of myself he criticized to punish myself for not pleasing him entirely. I let myself be led down this path and now I needed to find my way out
Christmas of 9th grade and I was alone. Mom and dad went to Las Vegas and I sat there in my grandparents living room. Staring at my reflection in the window, I realized I did not want to be this "me" anymore. I didnít like this "me". I hated my body, my scars, my mind, myself. Remaking one's self is the most painful process you could ever experience, ripping myself away from him was so hard. For too long I let him be my world, because he was beautiful. Thatís what I wanted. But then I didnít want him anymore.
So I stopped and I thought. I found support in other places and healed, I felt the emotional scabs form and I waited to feel them fall off, to let the scars come through. This time, however, I timed it in months, not days, and the scars that emerged will take much longer to fade than those that were left physically. I learned balance and control and escaped from my lover, because why love a drug when it will never love you back?
I am still scarred and I still think of him, my savior the one who taught me what darkness really is. I am now able to say I donít hate him, because if he hadnít shown me darkness, how would I have ever realized it when I finally reached the light?