(Pre-post: this post is sort of longer than usual and probably, it can make you feel like yawning while reading. However, I promise you if you have a cup coffee while you read this one, you’ll be just fine.)
A few days ago, I said to myself – I should pull myself back to the topic (drug addiction) since I’ve been sort of out of the topic for a while. Then I thought of Ms. Kathy’s comment about Alcoholics and Narcotics. As a result I came up with the question above.
Throughout my life, I used to stay close to these kinds of people. They are all seriously affected from their own cases, but there is one question about them – who are the most intensely affected from their cases?
Well, I knew a lot of Alcoholics, and one of them was whom I had spent 17 years living with. That person is my father. He used to be an alcoholic over 20 years. At the time he knew how to enjoy his life with the beer, I was only an unknown soul flying around wandering who would take me into their bellies.
My mother told me that there was once when my father woke up and found himself on the top of an electricity transferred pillar. No one knew how he got there. Even he himself did not realized how he could climb the straight pillar all by himself.
As far as I knew, when he was drunk, he was always shouting and blaming anyone for nothing whenever he got home. I remembered there were a few times that his friends brought him home since he was too drunk to come home by himself.
Consequently, my parents were often fighting about getting divorced, but they did not. Later then, my father went to a hospital. His doctor said to him that he would need to cut off his liver if he kept drinking. Fortunately, he thought about his wife and kids, so he quit being an alcoholic from then.
At that time I was impressed that he could quit in a sudden. He was tough. He did what he said. I think that is why I still call him “dad.”
I know a girl who is a narcotic. We used to be best friends, but now that we are so far away, we don’t know each other anymore.
She is very pretty. To boys, she is a magnet. Every boy wants to be her man. Every day when she rode her bike home, there were always a few boys after her.
That’s why I had a lot of friends who are boys because most of them came to me to get to know her. They are interesting though. They could think of doing every kind of silly things just to get her attention.
Unfortunately for them, the girl already had one, the one who broke her heart. He was my friend too, but I knew him before I knew her. One weird thing about him was whenever he was with me and other friends, he was a helpful and funny boy, but whenever he was with her, he was a jerk. I didn’t know why he was rude to her. I blamed both of them for that.
Later on, the girl started to cry herself to sleep. (I could tell that when I saw her in the morning.) She couldn’t sleep anymore, so she started to take sleeping pills to calm herself down every night. She had taken it since grade 7. Afterward, a pill couldn’t make her go to bed anymore, so she took more and more pills.
Five years later, she barely slept. She became weak and often fainted. Then her mother took her to a hospital. Her doctor said that she had only 3 more years to enjoy her life. He said her brain had a problem. That result was a combination of taking too much sleeping pills, drinking too much alcohol and an accidental hit on her head a few months before she went to the hospital – not only because she was a narcotic.
After I knew that, whenever I saw the boy, I hit his head very hard because of what he had done to the girl. Then he asked me to get them back together. He wanted to propose her.
What I said to him was “F—k off, you jerk! Do not talk to me about that anymore, or I’ll squeeze your neck till die!”
When you are a friend of a jerk, you always hit him every single time you think about his stupid mistake. However, it was difficult to keep hitting his head when that jerk always had his smile on his face. Anyway, if I didn’t know him since 1st grade and had studied with him 11 years in high school, I would kick him back to his mother’s belly.
Seeing alcoholics and narcotics probably not fun at all, but to see drug addicts are even more miserable. Most of them always end up with blood all over their bodies. For example, I have an interesting friend. That person is a HE. His name is Moniroth. I and his others friends called him Aroth – shortcut and impolite. I never remembered his last name though.
I knew his friend before I knew him. Anyway, we were in a classical dancing class together. He liked speaking a lot. Every time he came to me, he told me stories that I wished I could spend my time doing something else. I didn’t like the way he talked, but he was okay with that.
He had a lot of gang friends who knew how to do every kind of illegal stuff. Several of his friends were arrested from killing teenagers accidently.
I thought that that was why there were more opportunities for him to get free drugs. I don’t know if he used to be a drug dealer or not. All I know about him is that after he quit his high school at grade12, he stole his parents’ money and went to live with his gang friends in a guesthouse. Then he used to sleep with women for money and hang out with his temporary girlfriends sometimes.
He had only six styles of doing drugs – taking it directly, inhaling its powder, inhaling it from a bottle, smoking it, shooting it up and mixing it with water/vodka first then drink it.
My friend, who is also his friend, told me that after Roth ran out of money, he started to quit smoking drug. However, at first no one could be near him. Usually, he banged his head against the wall, he climbed the wall… He did everything he could think of doing to make himself bleed.
After that, my friend sent him back home. Then he got a medical treatment. The last time I saw him, he was sitting in front of his house and staring at whoever he saw – like a nasty dog guarding its owner’s house. That was scary. I bet no thief dared to rob his house, ever.
I don’t know if he quits for good. He looked like a zombie who was lost in an alien world. Once his soul came back, I’ll know the end of his story.
After all, no one was better among the three of them. No one had a happy ending yet. Each ones of them not only destroyed themselves but also destroyed everyone around them. The ones who are the nearest, to ones of them, get the worst effect.
I hope everybody out there would never want to be one of them or near them.
Please stay healthy, without drug, for yourselves, your families and your communities.
(Postscript: Thank you for reading this post. I do appreciate that most of you can read through the whole story – even without a cup of coffee. )