BY BENJAMIN YELTON

It was at the age of 18 when I realized I had lost myself in this cold and unforgiving world. While my friends were off to college or beginning careers as productive members of society, I found myself caught within the whirlwind of West Baltimore, chasing my newfound love — a love that a so-called “friend” had introduced me to. Her name was Heroin, and she was my queen. 

When we first met, we found ourselves in the honeymoon phase: Everything was great; she made me feel good. She made me feel warm. When I felt low, she would pick me up high. This new love was a blissful experience, but as time went on, I realized there was cyanide on the lips of her kisses. She was an abusive bitch, and I was enslaved to her love. 

For years, I would try to fight her off, but she had a knockout punch like Tyson. Finding myself face down on the sidewalk, I thought this love would be the death of me, and it nearly was. I was stressing and obsessing and hanging by a thread. Because of her, I lost my job, my home, and the love of everyone around me. She was working me, and it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had Elon Musk money; it would never be enough. 

I never thought the freedom from her chaos would ever come until the day I met my son’s mother. Our short time together — living, loving, and building a life together — will be one that is treasured till the day I die. 

Unfortunately though, like every other jealous ex, my old love Heroin just couldn’t let things be. She ultimately took the life of my new love, the mother to my son. Heroin had played her last card, and she had finally won. I despise both her and the man in the mirror. It’s because of her I’ve lost my respect and my dignity. It’s because of her I’m lost in the sea of my memories. It’s because of her I’m drowning in pain and regret, and it’s because of her I find myself, once again, lost in this cold and unforgiving world.