A Boy and One Hell of a Drug

Once upon a time… in a Bayou deep and far away

A pretentious chef and a soulful woman happen to allure one another.

Tuesday, 1:30 p.m., the parking lot of my apartment complex. I sat captively writing positive insight on the back of my car, nonchalantly expressing my depression to the world.

Until I was bewitched by a six-foot dark curly hair enigmatic man casually strolling by. 

When single and captivated it’s compulsive to sneak a peek at any possible he/she prospects.

They say, “The eyes are the gateway to the soul” and at that point, our eyes were locked.

Immediately pretending we didn’t just have an intimate stare-down; I lowered my head as he asked,

“Are you the car with the notes on the back?”

Evidently responding, “Umm yes?”

“Sweet, those notes make me smile” – mystery man

We got as far as exchanging names before cutting it short as I was late to class.

“Hope to see you around” – mystery man

Sitting in class pondering how our meeting was pure happenstance, I realized one thing; I was crushing over a guy on the edge in every area of his life.

Oh, the enduring delight of an enigmatic man… They’re passionate about something, have a knack for making you laugh, and they’ve got a rebellious streak that’s just the right amount of danger to get you going.

As I eagerly approached home, there he was Mr. Enigmatic harmlessly cruising down his now repetitive path. Avoidantly walking as if I hadn’t just pulled up at an earlier crossroad. I couldn’t help but think, how coincidental…

Ignoring that draw of luck I anticipated telling Kennah… (20, corky, enticing, vulnerable, and my sister)

It was around the time of our afternoon leisure. On our path towards the sunset, I was spilling the tea on this man’s dashing yet intoxicating smile when a note on my car stopped me.

Seventh-grade me was pissing her pants. Being desperately available he had my number just a few hours later.

Conveniently he lived in the apartment right above mine. Here’s the big question… How did I not come across him sooner?

The next two weeks consisted of vulnerable conversations, sexual escapades, and a spanking-new sneaky link. Aka the perfect rebound.

At the time I just needed something to take the edge off… a little excitement for the blue girl.

Mr. Enigmatic spilled all the tea on a recent toxic relationship. Attempting to compel me with his perceived reality, “She was crazy, abusive, and controlling.”

I’m not sure if it was his uncanny provocative personality or my longing for an evident recreational distraction. Either way, I was hooked. With no strings attached.

Making himself overly available, introducing me to the life of a dedicated follower of BDSM, gifting overwhelming compliments, and prime obsession.

As if the list of red flags weren’t apparent enough. I found myself inebriated once again by evident trauma bonding.

Mr. Enigmatic was my drug. And I was sky-scraping. Who cared about age, intention, or heartbreak? It all felt so good.

I’d do anything to keep this high. And just when I thought I couldn’t get any higher, I realized he was infatuated with pride. Saying three words, eight letters…

100 love letters and 4 AM intimate conversations later, reality hit. Like usual the morning after… As the saying goes, “The end of the honeymoon phase is when real life settles in.”

Our casual sexually romantic fling reached the end of its trial period, and I paid a fleeting visit to real life while Mr. Enigmatic began his career as a haughty.

My ego could no longer make reality fit the story of itself and what I imagined it to be. Like all drugs, my state of euphoria soon gave way to despair.

One regretful I love you and predetermined goodbye later; I said so long to the bayou and hello to long distance. In toxic relationships, u don’t just get anything for free. There are always strings attached. Instead of outgrowing the boys of my past, I found myself entangled in my feelings.  

Oh, how the tables had turned. I was attached to Mr. Enigmatic and questioned my addiction to his love drug. This sparked my thought, Are guys one hell of a drug or is it ego?

Do they get us high with their lavish attention and exquisite interest just to bring us down? Ruled out by their exploitation and left questioning why we tried them to begin with…  

They become addicting the more you use them, are easy to overdose on and delude us into thinking things are just peachy. But is it one’s ego that makes this intuitive lovegame a reciprocal relationship?  

Not only was my initial euphoria subsiding but so were Mr. Enigmatic’s bare minimum efforts.

Desperate with an ulterior motive, I panicked and did what any solicit woman would… I paid Mr. Enigmatic a surprise visit.

On the way back to my haunting past inhibited by guilty pleasure and dressed hot as can be, my gut was overruled with confusion.

It was the beginning of a dysphoric dream. His reaction was like never before. Enraged.

One aphrodisiac and good excuse later, I found myself hooked once again. However this time I left the Bayou questioning my intentions.

What lovegame was I playing? Was it all a delusion?

My gut was struggling to trust a guy whose lies and excuses weren’t adding up.

He said he loved me. But why did it hurt so bad?

At a snail’s pace, time went by with no word. With our last convo concluding moving in together, I was low and left clueless. Despite the absurd idea, I pondered being the lowlife I was.

Just when I thought I couldn’t get any lower, I was served a cold cup of lies with a sprinkle of truth. Sold by yet another hopeless promise. And just like that, I was ghosted.

I didn’t realize I had repeated yet another desperate case of the perfect love bomb. Unfortunately, no one told me about the end of love with a sociopathic asshole.

In love relationships, there’s usually a fine line between pain and pleasure. However, I was in an S&M relationship walking the fine line of a Masochist.  

Did I ever really love Mr. Enigmatic or was I addicted to the chase of pain and pleasure…

As I spiraled into my redundant pattern questioning if it was me, not him, I couldn’t help but think… Was I the real sadist? Tricked into playing his mind-bending S&M game.

He may have been the one with the rope. But I was the one who tied myself up.

Tied to a man who was only chasing what he couldn’t have.

20 tattoos, 6 piercings, and an iconic “Gaslighting & Narcissistic Abuse Recovery” read later, I was untied from Mr. Enigmatic (so I thought) and bound to a new intoxicating addiction.

Once again, I was high, but nothing was liberating about it…

Why have we become so addicted to the intoxicating emotions that fuel our ego? Is it the desire for love or the feeling of being wanted to fuel our sense of purpose?

What are your intentions going into a relationship?...

k.