The first time he was told to try it, he was sure convinced that it was not a gateway drug. Homie was taking diazepam pills just to make him forget things. Things he didn’t want to remember. Things that brought a bad memory to him. Those bad memories often jostled him back to reality in a flash of a lifetime.
The more he took them, the more he delayed to wake up. He could not remember basic stuff. He never remembered who his name was nor what was his purpose in life. What brought him to that joint. He couldn’t comprehend the most of the simplest commands. The whole while we thought, “ah, ninja just needs to hard reset his brains”. What we never knew was how much money he spent behind those drugs. The guy who sold him those pills replaced us as his best friends.
The more pills he bought from him, the more his guy kicked up. One day he fainted when he had just taken a step off the escalator. His guy “the dealer” just came and felt his pulse and said that he was okay. So there was no need for an alarm or panick.
An ambulance came and picked him up and he was rushed to hospital, since the local clinic could not handle him. The dealer never followed up. He never wanted to know if his client was okay. He got to the hospital and his parents who had just arrived were shocked to know that their beloved son was suffering from clinical depression. He was given a prescription and was assured that things would be okay.
Funny thing he was prescribed the same drugs his dealer used to give him. So he needed more to numb and mask his anxiety. He was abit afraid that most of his pals had turned grey and others were found in the bathtub, noses draining blood. No sign of life from them.
You see, he could be one of them. One of those who could have been found in the tub. He is super mad at the dealers. He is mad at the guys who have been making profit out of them. Murderers who have never faced the judge at any point of their flamboyant lifesto yet them, the consumers die a miserable death each day.
He remembers Peter, Albatross, Kristabel, Svenka, and Sterling, of how their dealers made a killing out of their healths. None ever reached 30. They all died at a miserable age of 28. “Is this how he would want to end?” He wonders.
Things took a quick turn for the best of him. The same symptoms have been emerging against the various users of the diazepam pills.The national government has caught wind of it cause the pills were accessible to every one. But you see this type of problem has been raging from Mandera to Vanga. It jumped from being a rich persons problem to the burbs. Now it has become everyone’s problem. Even the young ones would access it and mix it with some cough syrup just to get that type of way high.
So how do they beat this up so that the dealers won’t go out on business? They jacked up the prices of cough syrup. Someone was about to upset the game.
Then he realized that his drug dealer was his doctor. The same prescription that he gave him when he was busy racking up and pressing F5 to refresh his mind was the samn damn prescription he gave his parents. The doctor/dealer told his parents that he would heal him but instead he added more problems to his family. Maybe the doctor tried to kill him for that extra oomf. For that extra buck or kick.
He got out of depression well. But the voices deep within him never stopped whispering. They’d always scream, “open the damn bottle. We want to be at peace.” But his body had taken quite a beating from the sudden withdrawals. His hand gripped the throttle and poured the first contents of the pills onto his palm. But this just didn’t give him the high he so desperately wanted. He was running out of speed. He just needed to kickstart his high and from there he’d just have to be fine. No one really cared of how fine he was.
He couldn’t get more pills to get more high because his dealer had sky rocketed the price beyond ceiling level. He wants to forge that prescription and stamp. But his dealer told him that he no longer dealt with toys. Especially when morphine, heroin, cocaine and mandrax was more of his budget. All these needed some way to use a needle. And he had vowed to never use a needle, but sure fuck it. He now sees the world through the sheets of his eyes.
He is caught up, nauseous from time to time. He has got no options and he is getting exhausted. He regrets cause this was not what he started. He only needed something to numb his brain. How did this even happen? He feels like a walking carcass, he can’t go out of his apartment cause he lost everything he wanted and his blinds are way too far drawn.
He is mad with his best friend. Best friend with the thing that is killing him. He doesn’t think if he would be making out of this percocet. He thinks would not get any healing. It’s his best friend that is his enemy. He felt that maybe that Death certificate would sign up the prenup if he doesn’t come back from this reverie.
He says a simple prayer. He asks God to grant him a little serenity for him to accept the things that he can not change. The courage to change things he knows he can. And the the wisdom to know the difference between a drug dealer and a good doctor.