Published on January 26th, 2012 | by thetoolsman24
Coming Soon: Drug Diaries.
Hey people, Toolsman here. So, let me begin with apologies. We won’t be able to bring you this week’s episode of #43 Fafunwa dude to some circumstances far beyond our control. Kindly accept our apologies… Yes, @cikk0 sends his apologies too.
But not to worry, you know we always have you covered. As a matter of fact, I’m quite excited about the opportunity this has presented us. Today, I’m going to be previewing out next series which will replace #43F while it goes on break for the first season.
It’s called Drug Diaries and it’s written by that amazing young writer I introduced y’all to a while back, @Fareedakhalo. #DD, (yes, that’s what I call it) follows a young drug addict as she wades her way through several issues while on her road to recovery. I’ll just let the writer herself do the talking. Enjoy.
In two motions, I spit out and crumble the half smoked blunt. This shit is bitter as fuck. As much as I like the damaging stuff, I hate bitter tasting stuff more. Dear God, now I’m laughing at myself. It’s amazing how deep depressed humor can run.
The TV cackles with life and I turn towards it. It’s some psychologist asshole being honored. Bullhsit crap. Giving plaques to people who charge you money to fuck with your mind. I’ve had enough psychological fuckery to last me a lifetime. The asshole’s name is Dr. Ladipo and he’s supposed to be some miracle worker. For a moment, I wonder if he can cast his mental magic and change my life
Nah. Fuck that, I’m too deep into muck to ever be saved.
The socket fizzles and the TV goes off.
And then I see it, my reflection in the television.
There’s nothing wrong with it.
I look beautiful, slim, detached maybe, but nonetheless all right.
But I’m not all right
I’m in pain, I crave help, I need redemption.
I look around the house, and its state resembles exactly what I feel inside. Organized chaos that simply refuses to be tidied up.
I look at the television one more time. Then I pick up my laptop. In a few minutes, I’ve filled out Dr. Ladipo’s psychological analysis check sheet.
I’m going to see him.
So here’s what I did”
And with that, I took my trousers off.
Dr. Ladipo panicked
“What are you doing?”
“Relax, I’m not sexually assaulting you. Well, not on purpose anyway” I said laughing. I closed my eyes and for the briefest of moments, I wanted to zip my pants off and blot, but the meth was fueling my mischievous instincts and some sane part of me egged it on.
Blue. Stunning powder blue. Gorgeously milk white visuals. Beautifully tall and lean coconut trees, the fruits swaying like a woman’s breasts as she runs free of all life’s bullshit.
I am so high. And like every time I’m high, I start to think about them.
It’s 11:00; I should go see Dr. Ladipo.
I went the last time. Stood outside the building for one hour gathering up the courage to enter, but I couldn’t. I was sober, sorry and to be honest shy, because of my apparent lack of shame in my last…session.
“Get off me man. I’m not in the mood”
“When are you ever not in the mood? Playing hard to get eh? I’ll get you a hit, loosen you up”
“I don’t want a hit”. I’m lying. I NEED a hit, but I have to stay sober…for Dare and for me. I can’t risk visiting him high off my high horse.
David is persistent. I pinch his balls and he yelps out in pain. Then I grab his head towards me “I mean it, I’m not in the mood” and then it strikes me
“David?” I call “Get into your clothes. We’re going to see a friend”
It’s been five days. Why the hell am I counting?
Still…it’s been five days
She said: “see you next time”
Dare, get a grip on your thoughts…and other thoughts.
Selfish Rich Dare Ladipo had never felt this kind of turmoil, before. Life had pretty much been easy. Good schools, good grades, good looks. He’d gotten the parents approval, bosses favor and the hot girls. Dealing with an emotionally unstable eighteen-year-old drug addict he was 13 years older than was not part of the plan.
This is not one of those stories where I go on and lie to you or more importantly myself that I’m perfectly fine and any problems I have are normal for your average 18 year old Nigerian female. Because I have a problem, a serious problem with myself, and no the roots cannot be traced to any family issue I have/had. I grew up in a perfectly fine family, I didn’t suffer from abandonment issues, in fact, I had an overprotective father. My mother was always home because she was a businesswoman who conducted her transactions in the comfort of her house. She never made it big enough to expand and open shops, although I personally think it because she didn’t want to. She was a simple, very beautiful, deeply religious woman who had a very uncommon content with her life as it was.
My sisters were the usual pain-in-the-ass petty females that exist in every reasonable human family and I was your average tomboy-turned-proper girl who never for once exhibited signs that she would become the oddity that is me. I’m going off rehashing memories because it helps with the pain. I think of and enact the good memories I have and with the life I’ve led, my family is the one good place in my head I can go to and manage to subdue those cravings just a little but less. My name is Fareeda and I’m a recovering drug addict.
There is no doubt that drug rehab programs can help anyone with a drug addiction let go of this life-threatening habit.
#DD premiers in a couple of weeks and I certainly can’t wait. Kindly use the comment box to share your thoughts. Cheers.