The following story was written in 2008 by a 12 year old girl, now 16; her creative abilities are getting stronger.
Today, like every Monday morning, I have an appointment with Victor, a poor drug addict known in town for assaulting, stealing and having continuous trouble with the police. Despite being 23 years old, Victor looks like a man in his fifties. Before becoming a drug addict he had been quite handsome for his big blue eyes now blurred and dull due to the substances, the deteriotion and the poor hygiene, although I am almost sure that they once were smart and happy. This morning he opens the door and, more like a dead than a living man, comes towards me clumsily to fall on the chair in front of my study table. He says he remembers his parents very well getting upset as he talks about how well they had treated him and how fortunate he had been in his childhood as the only child of such a caring family. In addition, his family never had any financial problems and “they even had a beach house”… Victor broke down crying. He felt useless before this situation, he firmly believes he is not a drug addict and always tries to convince me. Then, he feels very alone and suddenly realises the reasons why he is here: because he needs psychological help and treatment. At that moment he shudders and gets up, starts to make his way towards the door, he tells me that I am crazy and repeats the same sentence a couple times as always: “I am not a drug addict; I only like to try new things. This week I quit it”. I try to calm him down and assure him that he is going to be cured and I will not let anything bad happen to him. He returns to his seat, relieved, and tells me something that he had not wanted to tell me until now and that he would have to tell it from the beginning:
“Doctor, one night I started doing drugs at a party a friend organised for my birthday to make me up for my dad’s death, a few weeks before. We went to a club to have fun and there we met a dealer that convinced us to buy some grammes of coke and crystal meth. We were extremely drunk and sniffed all in. Few minutes later we began to dance with some girls we met there. I began to feel strange things going on in my mind and I saw lights I couldn’t see before, however, I didn’t know how to tell what it was very well. I mentioned it to my friend and he replied me that he was feeling the same way, so that’s why, the following day we went to the club again and got some more drugs. We liked to do the same every week with the money I took from my mum until I was told my pal had popped off. I already knew this but I didn't give a shit for this or for what I had become. My mum also died few months later and here I am now, stuck and waiting for my own death. My body, my mind, my blood and my life are made up of marihuana, hash, cocaine, nicotine and many other substances stronger than me or than my love for life. So I need you, so that you can help me to stop this thing that is killing me. Fuck! What was I think of that day when I thought to try that horrible and dangerous thing?” I prescribed him some pills and advised him that he should only take one capsule a day, only one. Then he left the place. Now the days pass by and, like today, every Monday first thing in the morning I mark “Absent” in the box for Mondays 9:00 AM. I take advantage of this time to write what I am writing now, the life of a boy who threw his life away for a few grammes of powder and doses, whenever possible, for he didn't always have the money do business with the ‘dealers,’ and it is then when he loses his temper and becomes aggressive, but anyhow, he is a good person. The worst thing is that there are so many people like Victor, who think they have their brains in order and then they only want to do what they feel like and… oh, one moment… What is this? Look at that! There’s a note on my desk with today’s date: child-like scrawled with lack of practice but readable:
THANK YOU, DOCTOR. THANK YOU FOR PRESCRIBING ME THESE PILLS, NOW I WILL BE OK, EVEN THOUGH YOU WON'T SEE ME THERE ANYMORE. ANYWAY, I WILL NOT HURT ANYONE ANYMORE AND I DON’T THINK ANYONE WILL MISS ME. I WILL TAKE THE WHOLE BOTTLE AND I'LL WAIT FOR THE RESULT. DOCTOR, YOU HAVE BEEN THE LAST PERSON I HAVE SPOKEN WITH AND THE ONE WHO LISTENED TO ME MOST, FOR THAT I THANK YOU. AS I AM NOT GOING TO COME BACK TO SEE YOU, I WANT TO TELL YOU DESPITE YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE ME, BUT THIS IS NO LIFE, AND I CAN’T SUFFER ANY MORE. PLEASE DON'T BE WORRIED ABOUT ANYTHING, DON’T TRY TO COME FIND ME BECAUSE BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I WILL BE DEAD. IT’S BEEN A PLEASURE TO KNOW YOU, DOCTOR. P.S. YOU WERE RIGHT, YES, I AM A DRUG ADDICT, BUT DON’T BE ANGRY WITH ME BECAUSE SOME TIMES DOCTORS OUGHT TO LEARN FROM THEIR PATIENTS.