I was lying in bed, trying to calm my angry senses. And as I was trying to take my craving to a different part of my mind, I realized that this was the only thing I shouldn't have done.
All the memories were fading. I buried my head in the pillow and tried to shut it. The memories were unfolding from the depths of my subconscious, and I didn't want to face them; I wanted to avoid them. I didn't want them to come out; I didn't want them to come out of the grave where I hid them. But one by one, they were coming out in the horrible form. I started shivering and sweating, and then what I remember was, my sister was pouring water on my head.
When I woke up, my sister was not with me. But she was standing in the doorway looking at me.
"How do you feel?" she asked me.
I just grunted. Also, she asked me, "Shall I call the doctor?"
"No, but I want one thing," I said, looking deeply at her.
"Please tell me, what can I do for you?"
"I want you to go far away from me," I said. "I want you to let me be like me. I want you to take your things, and I want you to go. Don't think that you have a heavy burden on your head or that I need your help. I never asked you to come; I never asked for your help. I can be my own hero, and you don't need to take care of my sins, you got it?
I don't know why she didn't say anything in reply, but I know she was deeply affected by what I said. She just shook her head and went to the room. I was still thinking about what I said as she was leaving. She stopped; I saw her with a bag.
"You don't have to punish yourself anymore. Nothing happened; everyone is fine. He's fine too," she said, and I heard the sound of the door closing. The guilt presented itself in my tears.
I was angry and upset, and reality hit me with the ax. But then that my sister was no longer at home became an opportunity. I ran to her bathroom and opened the cabinet. I was rolling my eyes over her medicine bottles, hoping to find a fix. How much harm can a few pills do? I was desperately trying to find something, something. My hand was shaking as I picked up the little bottle. I looked at myself in the mirror, I was ghostly.
I opened the bottle, and the pills were all over the place. I couldn't keep my hands steady enough to grasp a few pills. All fell to the floor, and I also picked up the pills from the bathroom floor, crazy and perverted.
The Fix! The Fix! Five, six, seven pills. A minor fix, and as I said, it is not a matter of the choice of drug. The fix was within it, and that's where the choice had to be made - moderation or ecstasy?
"Who are you? Have you come to see my mother?"
"No, I came to see you."
The boy was confused.
"I should have come earlier, but I have come now. I'm sorry, take care of everything.
"I was leaving quickly, leaving the boy in a state of complete confusion. In the next few moments, he would call his mother and tell her that a strange woman had come to apologize. It will take her some time, but I hope she understands. She attended my funeral so that she will understand."
It doesn't matter which drug you choose. It doesn't matter how much you take at once or how often. Addiction is an addiction, there is no need to compare it with anything else, and every addiction has its value.
