The following story was written in 2008 by a
12 year old girl, now 22; her creative abilities are getting stronger. Thanks,
Zola.
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 we met there. I began to feel strange things going on
in my mind and I saw drunk and sniffed all in. Few minutes later we began to
dance with some girls lights I couldn’t see before, however, I didn’t know how
to tell what it was got some more drugs. 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 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.
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