Private Investigation Version III

The Road to Freedom

IT WAS A BAD DAY, AND I was annoyed, I was frustrated and I was confused as I stood begging them for a pill that would subdue my urges. But the supervisor of a detox camp, where I was taking a daily harm-reduction pill from, insisted I should bring along a guardian they could trust to hand over the medicines. I knew I had to get rid of the substances before I start my life afresh.

I was leaving home to pursue a career outside the town and was requesting for a stock, at least, to fight my powerlessness over drugs. Leave alone, giving a thought or planning for the journey I was about to embark! It was no more an issue the skeptical guy trust me or not Đ for, well, a junkie is a junkie. A shot was all I needed; if not, this chemical I desperately wanted to possess.

It was a do-or-die situation, I thought. Those time I wish I could break his shoulder blades, as I was so desperate and the only thing he wanted was someone, accompanying me whom he could trust. Unfortunately, I had no way to convince him a third party was not needed to make me a more sane person. I gave up as the sun lost its sheen at the break of twilight in evening sky. I felt pain and irritated and discouraged and nervous and hysterical, and darkness engulfs my consciousness.

It was four years ago in Imphal. But then the life that I dream of, and the life I was living was like the tale of two different cities Đ without an atom of similarity. The evil experience started with pots, drinks and plenty of painkillers during my high-school days. I graduated, with remorse, to higher forms such as smack and powder before I went to college. During graduation exams, I used to take a break and rush to a haven situated at a walking distance from our college.

I was inspired by Paulo Coehlo. When I look back, I was always in search of adventure and exciting dreams. I have abandoned tradition, do away with giving in to authority. I did drugs. I filled my soul with ego. Finally I ended up discovering quite a different reality.

One day, I waited and did nothing as I was making up a way to get some amount from somewhere. It started in the early morning, with the previous day gone away a lifetime ago. But it doesn't mean I did not regret the life I was living. I waited the whole day, while my nose started running; there was not an ounce of hunger and my soul was longing to get out of the listless body. I felt the hunger and thirst of my body to get high was the centre of the universe. I was lonely, feeling sad and desperately yearning for a kick. Nothing in the universe but a piece of powder could gave me serenity.

When it was dark, I finally got the fifty bucks Đ the price for my existence. And I got looted. The cops whipped me for loitering around the notorious area, where the stuff was available. I was so close to my dream, yet so far. The chase and hassles for meaning in the things still remains elusive as ever. I got beaten, I got bruised and I got angry Đ that was a part of my life. They took away my money and all I could do was to get a couple of broken fingers and a gash on my body from their lathis.

But that was then, and now the times-they-are-a-changing. Every day is a fucking great day now. I don't wake up with a nightmare anymore and have left long ago the things I always did first thing in the morning Đ seeking and searching a way to get my choice of chemical and subdue my intolerable urges.

I am free now. I don't depend on substances anymore. I did drugs to live my life and lived my life to do drugs. Not anymore. It was an experience of a lifetime that the things I did in a decade of self-destruction. I still remember my ex-supervisor. I hope he has climbed higher in his career. I have no ill-feelings nor any grudge against him. However, I would have had not puked inside the bus. I was high after a fix just before the journey. 



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