It stings. It burns. It hurts so bad, as if fire is flowing through my veins. My head starts to spin…spin…spin round the thoughts that killed me moments ago. Everything goes blank. My nose starts to bleed. I feel the blood in my mouth; the salty liquid erases the bitterness that came from the poison I took a few minutes back from my taste-buds. My legs feel numb. I feel like dying… Then suddenly the world changes around me as if I am flying. My head is so light--I feel like floating. My hands are not attached to my body anymore. My body is so much in rest – I wonder if I am sleeping in a lake. A blue lake with fragrant water that cleanses my body…my soul…my memories…my pathetic being…my deceitful family…my cheating girlfriend…my expensive mobile…my ruthless behavior…my losses…my heart-broken friends…my soul…my mind…my body…my heart-wrenching memories…

I walked in on my beloved father taking bribe from a client. I acted surprised as if I didn’t know anything. Really? Who paid for my Pulser? Was it the man doing a 9 to 5 job in an accounting firm? I guess not. But when I shouted for a bike it never hit me where the money would come from.

Was I always that demanding? Why didn’t my mother forbid me? Why didn’t she slap me on the face like she used to when I was a kid? Was she too busy visiting the old-retired-richer-than-my father uncle in the neighborhood? Otherwise why did she wear make-up every time she went out?

What’s wrong with me? Does it bother me that my mother looked beautiful for someone other than my father? If it wasn’t for that ‘someone’, who would’ve bailed me out when I was arrested for assaulting a pretty teenage girl? No, I don’t care. My mother earns too, who cares wherever she spends it. As long as I keep getting my money I’d keep quiet; quiet from the society that treats us so well because we are nobody, a stereotypical entity who lives a life so normal, so ordinary that it doesn’t even deserve to be in the gossips.

I’m so good in keeping quiet! Otherwise who could’ve kept his mouth shut after letting his ‘friends’ rape his girlfriend? Was it a crime? She was willing too, wasn’t she? That provocative look, those tempting chats –what were those for? Then why’d she scream? Maybe because she didn’t know that after her so-called boyfriend made love with her, he would let his friends have her. Yeah, it was what she wanted. She thought I wouldn’t find out about those chats she had with her cousin. I did, you know? That’s why I gave her the opportunity to have what she wanted.

So many memories; they don’t feel as bad as before. The evening we stole from a house, the day we burned our exam-papers, the time we threw garbage at our ‘respected’ teacher’s door-step for expelling us, those wild nights we smoked joint together, or the day when we told on our friend to the police because someone had to take it for the group –all memories feel like nothing’s ever happened. This is why I love the injections- the pots- they make me forget, make me feel good again, make me feel like I need to live, made me laugh about all the attempts I made to kill myself.

What happened? How long has it been? Why do I feel my stomach again? God! Why did I just puke? Damn it! It’s fading away. All the good-feelings are going away. Why? Why? Why? Why is my hand shaking? Why is there a beast inside my stomach that’s trying to crawl up my throat? No…no…the poison is gone. It lasted so much longer before; I spent a whole night on just one smoke. Then it became hungrier day by day. I tried to stop it. I cut my hands… I burned my tongue…I pierced my lips…my fingers…but nothing worked. The smiles on the faces of those people in the rehab didn’t work either. They gave me medicines that tasted so bad that I almost cried. The food was ugly. The toilets were horrible. But it didn’t help no matter how hard I tried. It never made me forget what I’ve been through. It never made me forget how disgusting my life was. I was alone…so alone…I tried to kill myself because nothing seemed to work…so I escaped. I ran through the streets. I slept on the roof-top in a rainy night. I tried to jump off the roof but I couldn’t. So disturbing..! I didn’t know what I could do. So I took it again. The poison that made me feel good…made me feel like swimming in an ocean…a deep blue sea that cleansed my body…my soul…my memories…

In 2009, 21.8 million (approx.) Americans aged 12 or older were illicit drug users. This estimate represents 8.7 percent of the population aged 12 or older. Illicit drugs include marijuana/hashish, cocaine (including crack), heroin, hallucinogens, inhalants, or prescription-type psychotherapeutics used nomadically. Alarmingly, in India & Bangladesh the scenario isn’t much different. Though we like to think that only ‘spoilt brats of wealthy families’ are the main users of drugs, in reality ordinary people are equally prone to drug-abuse.

The paper is an anecdote by an actual drug user who comes from a very ‘typical middle-class’ family of Bangladesh. This piece is written with permission from the person who is currently under treatment.