DIARY OF AN ADDICT
EPISODE 9 ( Final Episode)
Steve
I open my eyes to an unfarmiliar room filled with the unpleasant smell of antiseptic I found irritating to perceive, and a bedside monitor. hospital?? Oh no! Why is she sitting by me? A strange woman. I feel her hands on mine as her eyes meet mine. She seemed clouded with relief the moment her gaze met me awake and she races out of the room. My head aches again, I can't remember why or how I got here. Everything seems strange.She comes back in with a man in a white coat, the kind they use in laboratories with something hung around his neck, i dont know who they are or why they stare at me. He removes the mask and tube from my nose and speaks to her about me. He asks some questions, She explains my greatest nemesis, addiction to him and I hear him talk about his suspicion that my body was toxicated and i'd taken a big risk combining cannabis a depressant with cocaine a stimulant. He said it was nothing spiritual as she earlier thought. that depressants slowed the body systems while stimulants made them speed up and combining them meant sending mixed messages (speeding things up and slowing them down) to my vital organs which led to an elevated heart rate, increased blood pressure and even breathing problems plus a stress on my brain as the effects compouond. I'd narrowly escaped death being on the verge of a cardiac arrest or a heart attack.
I remained in the hospital for days receiving series of treatment and medications. The man in white said my lungs and other internal organs suffered from continuous intake of drugs and substance which were toxic, i had temperal memory loss and psychosis.The pain in my abdomen wasn't helping, My insides felt sore I couldn't remember anything and wouldn't say a word. I was never happy, i needed something to give me that extreme mood elevation I always got. Often times I tried to run away from that medical dungeon, I couldn't. I was being watched closely like a prisoner. I hated them, I hate everyone, even my self. I'd scream endlessly at whoever was coming to render medications and even try to harm them sometimes. That woman, she kept saying she was my mum, explaining weird things I couldn't remember.
Weeks past, I was transfered to another prison, they said it was a "Rehabilitation center" and there I would meet people who would help me overcome all of this and I'd receive psychotherapy. At first I felt worse, lonely, dejected. days, weeks, months past , I remained here. They made me narrate my experiences to psychologist. I was told people develop tolerance from constant use of drugs and they may also loose this tolerance if they havent used drugs for a while, just like the horrible experiences i had in my bid to quit drugs, something called "withdrawal syndrome" and if not taken to a rehab centre or given medical attention after the break from drugs they may relapse, going back to drugs again like i'd done. And when people take their usual amount of drugs after a break from using it could become too much for the body to cope with, leading to an overdose. This can even go worse when the drug is combined, like in my case. Here, they understood how I felt It was like they were watching all my experiences, they had answers to all my unanswered questions, the voices in my head, the ill feelings and everything. i was still sad but gradually i felt better knowing they were people who understood my weirdness, my craziness, who made me understand I could be better again and people who felt the same way as me, other addicts. Gradually, I began to fight substance abuse and dependence, i regained my memory bit by bit though my heart and lungs still put me in deep pains I was given frequent medications, encouragement and therapy. My cravings for substance, depressions, anxiety and agitation died slowly. I learnt Luke was arrested during my stay here and was later sent to jail as well rasheed.
It's been five months now and as I leave this place, better than I'd always wished I know and realise I've made mistakes, endangered my life, wasted a big part of my youth, i've hard scars and unpleasant memories to forever live with yet I've learnt from my mistakes, I've learnt I could live again at my worst, I've learnt that just like the pauper never wishes to be born a pauper Nobody wants to be a slave to substance, an addict, it was never a choice. Everyday in Nigeria, an alarming incident of drug abuse by people, youths especially is recorded. The use of hard drugs has become a social menace. The fate of that insane man holding his ciggarate so dear in the street could not have resulted from voodoo/juju as we'd always imagine in this dark continent but from hard drug abuse. People die of substance abuse, careers die too, their future is hidden even before it is born. Don't get entangled in the web yet don't judge the addicted, they also yearn for a shoulder to cry on sometimes, they yearn for ears to listen, hearts to understand, depression, pain ,hate is what they feel. Its never a choice yet it shouldn't be an option. Spread the word, save a life, save our future. Don't say "just for today" today could turn into days, weeks, months, years, or eternity. Don't say "only a bit".
" One is too many and a thousand is never enough" SAY NO TO DRUGS!
Story by: Martha Okenyi
Directed by: Alechenu Godwin
Powered by: Foga Luter Timothy

DIARY OF AN ADDICT
EPISODE 8
I took off my shirt hurriedly, sitting on the cold, bare floor in Luke's apartment while he watched, I unwrapped the first paper with the powder in it and sniffed deeply..... He soon joined too. I'd sniff wraps upon wraps and was never satisfied, my friend impressed at my intake like he'd never seen watched in amazement and kept hailing, with each wrap I sniffed, I yearned for more and more, I'd been starved for too long. I was happy too, This was my chance of provin how strong and manly I could be, not the kid they taught I was.
" Correct guy! You be baba for the thing!! Boss I loyal, I dey twale for you! King of charlie!!" he'd rain all sorts of praises on me. After sniffing close to five wraps, I grabbed another yet, the one with the dried herb-like substance, what we called "Igbo". I rolled it up in a paper, lit it sharply and began smoking. I was still high on Charlie but i wanted something more stimulating since it couldn't satisfy me. I smoked, letting smoke out from my nostrils and mouth, my insides felt warm, high but not as high as I wanted, my senses hadn't reached climax yet. I smoked desperately and hungrily in the music of Luke's praises. After a while I felt better a bit, my eyes had become a flurry of red now. I stood up, stretched as I felt exhausted again, then I yawned. I sat down for a bit, still not okay I stretched on my feet a second time, I felt really stressed out than ever.
After a while sweatdrops pervade my skin slowly, my heartbeat speeds up, I breathe in and breath out then it's restored. My freind still watched in amazement thinking I was in the spirit of "high". It was not my first time sniffing charlie or smoking igbo so i didn't have to feel any different besides. My heartrate speeds up again, my breathing slows, I begin to feel claustrophobic, gasping for breath. My head, my brain aches. I feel the pressure on my breath, its like my lungs were shut! It was like some painful acupuncture was taking place in my heart and abdomen.My legs wobble, I open my mouth for free flow of air no improvement. I start motioning to my friend for help but Luke keeps laughing like I was putting up a puppet show. My feet wobble and slowly I feel dem dissolve to the ground as my sight, senses dissolved too and my body, all of me drops to the ground.
* * *
Waking up from his unconscious state, Steve became different, something far from weird. As much as confused Luke tried to figure out what had happened to his freind, he couldn't tell what it actually was. The same person he'd just conversed and had fun with only a while ago was first...unconscious and now insane? No way... Two strange scenaros in barely an hour ....perharps this was a dream.
" Steve listen...its me, Luke..your freind.." All Steve would do was stare back at him, say absurd, weird things , laugh and try to storm out of the room. Soon he was becoming violent. With every attempt to calm him down his weirdness was triggered. Unable to withstand him, Luke let him go with hopes he'd return to normal after a while.
Days past, no one heard from Him or knew his whereabouts. Victoria, at first thought her son had left home as always again, to somewhere in the streets probably drinking or smoking herbs. When she hadn't heard from him for two weeks she got worried, searching round town until a few people attested seeing her son on the streets, in a mentally destabilized state. With their help, she was able to find him, getting him to the hospital was tasking as he tried to hurt whoever got close. Eventually he was taken to a health centre where he got tranquilise upon arrival to prevent further display of violence in his state.
Story: Martha Okenyi

DIARY OF AN ADDICT
Episode 7
As the abrupt change instigated by his recent discontinuation of drugs put him in a muddle , ridding him of the comfort of his own body, Steve struggled to put his sanity together. He'd gone violent, wild enough to hurt any being at his hold if there was. He'd scream about the whole room, throwing glasses, just anything he could lay his hands on with the head pounding inside and spinning like some spiral was there. He moves his arms up and down his body hurriedly, searching every pocket on the black shorts he'd worn on matching blue collar neck shirt designed with thin stripes of blue and white. In an ultimate search for his brain's coolant, he starts raiding the whole house, opening bag, throwing all of it's content out when he found nothing. "Shit!!!" He'd scream flinging things across the room, banging the door, walls, cursing, muttering under his breath whenever his search yielded no result. The violence and craziness continues for hours before normalcy begins to set in bit by bit. His nerves start to relax slowly and the muscles too. As he struggles to get balance, his eyes settle on a neatly folded folded piece of paper, not sure of its content he draws closer for a better view and With the speed of light he reachs for the paper and unfolds quickly realising it's content.
* *
Steve
I look closely at my most saught cravings that was now in my possession. My head still ached a bit coupled with the anxiety and exhaustion, I wanted to devour it as a famished vulture would do to carcass.The sight of the powder alone was slowly curbing the exasperating feelings in me earlier. Though my conscience pricked me, I couldn't put it away knowing it was the only thing that could save me from these horrible experiences daily. For a moment, I had a rethink, I turn my eyes away from it, putting it aside, remembering why I was going through all of this. The goal was to " Quit drugs, substance" yet in my quest to get better without those I was dying alive. My mind, senses, became evocative of drugs, anything equivalent at that instant. The powder became magnet attracting my soul so strong I couldn't bear the frustration....
Tatse....snort! Snort!! Snort!!!
Snoooooorrrt!!!!
And that was it...all in! I throw my head up in a sigh supporting it with both hands. I could feel the euphoria, the pleasure it brought in my insides and that wasn't just it, I wanted more! More and more of it...so much more!!! The familiar tone from my mobile phone interrupted my magical moment. It was Luke.... I picked, listening to his husky voice
" shit man! are you serious????.....Am coming straight away. No no....am not taking much time, in fact I dey road as I dey talk to you so, I'll be there in a few minutes" I put the phone down in a rush, wipe the powder of my nose, lips, grab my wallet and immediately I head out of the room.
Story by: Martha Okenyi

DIARY OF AN ADDICT
Episode 6
Steve
It's been six days, six trying days and hell since I returned home. I was gradually getting over Wole's death now despite the lullaby of nightmares i got almost everynight. Luke phoned, he was okay and safe, Wole had been killed by some cult group he refused to settle scores with, so unfortunate for him.
I promised mother I'd cut down on drugs and liquor. She's been quite better, happy seeing me this way. I still wonder how I got to make that promise to her and how I got caught up in the strange web of sympathy, fear that pulled me back here, home. On my first day here I'd sniffed cocaine agan in secrecy, I tried so hard not to but it really was a tough thing to shove off that feeling. You know that feeling when you crave deeply for something like its become a part of you and it's there, next to you, giving you that death Stare. You want it so bad, you know you want it yet you try to hold back that desire not to reach for it but in the end, you find yourself entangled in its web again.Yes, that feeling, and I couldn't help but sniff the whole thing to calm my nerves. On several occasions I had sneaked out to local stores in the neighbourhood for liquor, tramadol, anything to cool my head. I was careful enough and thankful mother never found out. And before you think I wasn't ready to give up drugs, they were times I tried, I tried really hard to do without any of those for at least a whole day but my body failed me. My undying taste for stimulants rendered me helpless at the mercy of codeine and its kind,The desire has become so strong than ever before these days that i could snort a hundred wraps and still not be satisfied if i ever got the chance to.Mother said she was helping me do without them, she said I could live without them.She was always thinking "spiritual" , thinking I was possessed or oppressed by witches, she dwelled on superstitions, and none of that was easing my terrible encounter. I'd been desolated by the daily tribulations of anxiety, depression, paranoia and sleepless nights my body battled with for the past few days I hadn't tasted substance. Often times I found myself loosing it, being restless, violent with everything yet suspicious of everyone around me, sad feelings, strange involuntary actions occured, they were phantom moments I couldn't deny. Some days I became extremely sad with negative thoughts, trying to hurt myself until mother came to my aid. I knew I was me, it was my body yet I couldn't control my actions or bring myself to a halt, strange even to myself. Cool one moment and crazy the other when that feeling for it pops up. I became weird. Weird mad, weird sad.
As I sit here alone, thinking about my strange encounter for the past days I begin to feel uneasy ,anxious, cold sweat prickles on my skin. I feel that strong desire whirling up inside of me again,my skin starts to itch. I scratch the itching spot for a few seconds, I feel relieved, better for a while then the uneasiness starts again, it comes stronger, I feel the tingling sensation from from the pores on my hairy arms and muscles my skin begins to bite on the arm... Everywhere! My head aches badly, i feel insecure, unsafe, miserable.
"You'll never get better"
" you're the third wheel in the friend circle, the worst "
" Such a looser! Everyone hates you!! "
"Do it! Good for nothing do it!!" .
My own voices start cursing at me in my head, my mind. My heart beats so fast almost jumping out of my chest to the ground, I become exhausted and at that moment I really felt like poking my chest with a knife till I could see my heart ripped out, strangling myself with a rope if I found one or jumping into an imaginary lagoon to free myself of the hassles......
Story by: Martha Okenyi
Directed by: Alechenu Godwin
Powered by: Foga Luter Timothy

DIARY OF AN ADDICT
EPISODE 5
I could hear sobbs, feel tear drops that weren't mine on my rough skin, a warm hand squeezing mine as I lay helplessly. My body, ached badly down to my bones like it'd rained bricks on me. I tried to open my eyes slowly but they hurt, I shut them and opened again well at least I could get a view of whoever it was kneeling next to me, "oh thank goodness! You're alive." She said squeezing my hand in her palms, I loved the comfort of it. Looking around in a fleet manner and unable to remember what led to my lying on the ground, the bruises on my skin or why my body hurt badly images of my freinds fleeing and Giant figures approaching crept my mind in someway. " what happened to you son? Are you hurt? " mom queried wiping the dirt and grass off my body as I struggled to sit up. I had not a clue what exactly had ensued between my freinds and the attackers and i wasnt surprised anyway, getting into trouble was normal to every street boy's existence yet I was thankful this guy and his squad didn't shove the bullets up my head for whatever reason. I looked up at my mom, she'd gone quite darker than before, thin with red, swollen eyes from releasing too much tear drops than the could hold making me wonder why women were always so
Sobber, her hair was tied up in a scarf. She tried to wipe her wet cheeks realising I was staring at her but the tears kept pouring faster. A part of me wondered if perhaps she was right about my life earlier, it was no good.I hadn't seen her smile in a while, a long while.guilt, pity, sympathy beclouded my mind even in my furtiveness. I felt stupid, ashamed for her to see me this way. She was crying for my sake, how she managed to find me here again I had not an idea, but she was here, for my safety even when I screamed at her, stole from her, even when I went wild. I knew I'd put her through a lot, sometimes I wanted to show how sorry, how guilty and feeble i was. I wanted to say i wanted to cry and pour out my heart to someone, anyone..to her but I couldn't bring myself to say the word "sorry", that word seemed to render me submissive, weak , it sent cold shivers down my spine, I wasn't a fan of it.
" let's go home mum.." I spoke, my way of saying I was sorry, I was changed.
Story by Martha Okenyi
Directed by Alechenu Godwin
Powered by Foga Luter Timothy