During the pandemic, I, in my loneliness and desire for purpose, fell into two traps—both of which I later found out were common coping mechanisms for those of us heavily affected by COVID isolation: a toxic relationship and belief in astrology. When I had my sanity, both situations would not have occurred, but combined, they created the perfect catalyst for spiraling.

At any other time, upon meeting my ex (who, for the sake of this story, I will only refer to by the nickname he first introduced himself with—not to spare his identity, but to emphasize how far gone I was), I would have immediately run for the hills. But these were not normal times. I had not been touched in months and had already taken the risk of meeting up with a stranger on the internet during a worldwide pandemic. It was not something I wanted to risk twice. The warning signs were there. He went by the name "Swoop," was a college dropout who had been living in his car, chain-smoked cigarettes, was covered in tattoos, and was at the time unmedicated and having regular manic episodes.  

Our first date was planned to be a beach day, which I was hesitant about for many reasons, and I spent days leading up to this, rattled with anxiety and contemplating suggesting something that felt safer. When I say safer, I do not mean my legitimate safety; at no point was I concerned about getting in a car with a complete stranger. By safe, I mean safe from awkward moments and lags in conversation. I had always been shy, a trait I despise but cannot help. Around new people, my brain goes blank, and I appear to be mute. This shy girl I present as is worlds apart from the girl I am once I am comfortable around someone. This shy girl can also come out of her shell after 3-5 drinks. This brings me to one of my fears—lack of alcohol. Opening a date with a sober, long drive to the Jersey Shore that was bound to have traffic felt like the exact environment where I would struggle to make pleasant conversation. Worse, it would allow for dreaded discussions about what type of music we listen to, a conversation I hate as it tends to show an ugly side to people. I could not let a man explain why Kanye is the best and why Taylor Swift is overrated.

Another fear I had was that the ocean would completely wipe away my makeup and show my true form way too early on. I had an image I liked to maintain, and that image was covered in thick layers of eyeliner. But in an attempt to seem spontaneous and chill, I agreed. Luckily for me, the night before our planned beach date, Swoop sent me a message on Tinder: "Should I just come over now and we get super drunk and then beach tomorrow?" Relief washed over me, and I smiled ear to ear at that idea—my perfect man. He followed up with, "I can pass out on the couch; I don't mean to suggest anything." Not only did he understand the value of alcohol, but he was a gentleman. A night of drinking to the point of blacking out led to a week of him staying with me at my parents' house, shot-gunning endless white claws and completely taking over my backyard. My parents peered out the window in pure horror as if witnessing a monster approaching the home as they watched this mystery boy smoking cigarettes shirtless with their oldest daughter, their pride and joy, sitting on his lap with googly eyes, asking what his tattoos meant and only coming inside to ask for more beer.

Let me backtrack to my second vice, astrology, as this is essential to understanding the mental place I was in. Astrology was something I always had a superficial interest in. Going to a liberal arts college, this knowledge was essential for making small talk at parties. It was something I dismissed as, for lack of better words, complete and total bullshit. But in my boredom, the words of TikTok astrologists began resonating with me. They spoke of "shifting," a trend where people claimed they could shift realities in their sleep. With a slight addiction to taking Benadryl to fall asleep, I had been actively lucid dreaming and fed into everything I saw on the internet. I had become delusional, seeking these lucid dreams as my salvation.

In addition to controlling my dreams, I was more obsessed with crystals. I spent endless money buying different crystals. Crystals to help with anxiety, to gain wealth, to rid myself of bad energy, for romance. In crystal shops, every crystal comes with a description of its powers; these descriptions are like the words of a fortune cookie; they are vague and can be applied to almost everyone. But I digress; I was not in a clear headspace; these descriptions truly spoke to me. I needed them all. And I needed to hold them each in my hand before bed and charge them in the moonlight. This obsession was contagious and gave me purpose in life. I would walk into a store and read a description saying, "This stone allows for inner strength and harmony. You will tap into your creativity and find peace," and declare to the storekeeper that I would take three, please. I truly believed these crystals' energy was powerful and handled them all with great care. I encouraged friends to join me in my obsession, speaking on how I could feel them working. Being equally deranged, my friends joined me, each taking weekly trips to the crystal shops and recommending different crystals to each other.

Of all the exciting crystals, there was one I refused to go near. It scared me to my core. This crystal is called moldavite. For those unfamiliar with crystals, moldavite is supposed to be one of the most potent crystals with the power to completely transform your life. While it was supposed to allow you to access your most authentic desires, it would bring difficult changes with it. My fellow crystal junkies took to TikTok to share their experience with moldavite. The TikTok astrologists would warn you not to get it unless you are ready, as even though they all ultimately got what they wanted, they also experienced job loss, divorce, and death. Someone would meet the love of their life, but only after all the members of their family died in a tragic accident. I did not want this witchy rock anywhere near me.

Now for where my vices merge. I shared my love for crystals with Swoop. He thought this interest was cute and would laugh as I did my nightly rituals. These were rituals I made up myself because, despite my passion, I did not have the attention span to read about how crystals were supposed to be used. My summer of binge drinking with my new lover came to an end when it was time for me to return to my senior year of college, and he was to return to his life that consisted of posting videos of him drinking on TikTok, sleeping in his car, and unemployment. I had planned to break up with him, knowing he was a mess and that I had my studies to focus on. Upon my return to school, I was faced with strict Covid restrictions and a student-imposed cancel culture, canceling any student who mingled with people outside their house and risking the spread of the virus. I quickly learned I would not be doing much better than a long-distance relationship with an unemployed, unhoused, and unmedicated man. We decided to date exclusively, and he would regularly stay with me for weeks at a time, drinking in my room and masturbating into my clean socks as I attended my classes. After months of this routine, I walked into my room, and to my surprise, he was not drinking or jerking off, but instead, he was holding my crystals with a look of curiosity. My heart was full. The boy I loved taking an interest in my passion. Maybe if he could just get a few crystals, he would be able to get himself a job, and I would not have to use my parents' money to support his drinking habit. He decided he had nothing to lose and might as well look into these crystals I had spent so much time preaching about.

One month later, I got a frightening text from Swoop. While on a boy's trip, I received a text at 4am that said, "I love you so much. I do not deserve you." The unsolicited late-night text expressing his love was riddled with guilt. I continuously FaceTimed him until he picked up, his eyes red from crying. "What the fuck did you do?" I asked as rage built inside of me, and I felt knots twisting in my stomach. He couldn't maintain eye contact and said, "I understand if you need to break up with me." My throat burned as I spoke. "Tell me what you did," I demanded, holding back tears and trying to prevent myself from having a panic attack. Swoop then began to blubber on about how he cheated, attributing it to his mental health and worthlessness, apologizing profusely as I sobbed on the other side of the phone, knowing the relationship I had invested so much time into was coming to an end.

That was until he flipped his phone camera to show me himself punching a brick wall. There was something on his finger, something I instantly recognized. It was moldavite. I instantly stopped crying, and my eyes lit up. Of course! Moldavite had to be the cause of his wrongdoings. "Swoop, stop!" I shouted into the phone. "Is that moldavite on your finger?" I asked as a wave of relief rushed over me. "Yeah, I thought it would help me fix my life," he said between sobs. "Take it off now!" I screamed, "It is dangerous!" He followed suit, confused as to why I was trying to help him after what he had confessed to me. I consoled him, "Swoop, this was not you who cheated; it was the moldavite; it made your life change and forced you to do this. You should not have gotten it." I believed these words as I said them. Swoop looked at me with a raised eyebrow, unsure whether to agree with my apparent delusion and get off scot-free or let me know he cheated on his own accord and rid himself of his insane girlfriend. "Swoop. Bring me the ring. Everything is going to be okay. The moldavite was too powerful." He looked at me puffy-eyed and agreed that something had to be done about the cursed crystal.

I did not want my roommates to know about this hiccup in my relationship. They would not understand the power of moldavite. It was essential to me to respect myself as a woman and not date anyone who would cheat on me. I actively preached hatred for men and insisted that women should leave at the first hint of asshole behavior. I liked to set a good example and held myself to high standards. I waited till all my roommates were asleep and began digging a hole in my backyard. Without a shovel or tool, I dug with my hands, my nails filled with dirt, and my clothes reeked of mud, but I had to keep digging deep into the earth where rain could not wash up any remains. I had to protect my relationship. When I got a foot deep into the dirt, I tossed in the moldavite ring and covered it, packing the dirt tight and smothering the ring as if it possessed the power to claw its way free and rise from the dead. I shook my head at the part of the ground where the ring lay buried beneath. This love for crystals had gotten dangerous. I returned to my home, covered entirely in mud and soaking wet from the rain. I acted as if I had just buried a body, sneaking around my home and ridding myself and the house of all evidence of the actions I had to take. If anyone heard me, I would tell my roommates that I was up late working on my thesis about the pathologization of the madwoman in the media and how women are not actually crazy. They had all known I was very passionate about that. I tightly clutched one of my many crystals—its supposed powers long forgotten—as I fell asleep peacefully, knowing I was protected.

I write to you now, reader, free from Swoop and from a life plagued by a crystal obsession. As the COVID mandates and restrictions began to lift, my sanity slowly began to return. I write this as a warning to others of the dangers of mixing romance and TikTok astrology. I will tell you something you are not supposed to know. Those tarot card readings on TikTok? Those predictions are only being shown to you through complex algorithms; they are not real. Do not text your ex. Do not claim the post in the comments. And God help you, if you find yourself on your hands and knees at 2am digging a hole in the ground to bury a crystal that you convinced yourself forced your boyfriend to cheat on you, please check yourself into a mental facility at once.