Drug Diaries Finale: In My Veins

 

“Every single thing changes, nothing stays the same, nobody is perfect, but everyone’s to blame”

– Andrew Belle-In My Veins

 ***

The soft pinch of the needle as the doctor injects my last dose of whateveritis into my fragile system. One more tiny prick. One last shot and I’m out.

Free to do as I want.

Drug free for the first time in years.

The thought is sobering…no pun intended.

Mother is in the reception signing whatever relevant documents needed for my release. Apparently I’d been harbouring all sorts of ailments and that’s why my hospital stay was extended for an additional week.

An additional week that was missing one core person.

Ever since I apologized, Dare left and hasn’t returned. True to his word, all my things were sent to my family and they incurred no bills at the hospital. His parting gift to me I guess.

I deserve it.

Mother comes back and glances at me warily. Ever since the whole “discovery”, she keeps looking at me as if I’m going to disappear in a cloud of meth smoke or get violent and start shredding everybody.

She doesn’t get it. I’m exhausted. I’m done fighting or doing whatever it is I’ve been doing for my entire life. The looking glass is shattered and all I’m left with is blood stained hands and sobering reality.

But at least it’s not going anywhere.

I just want to go home.

I take mother’s hand as she leads me into the car and drives towards the one true thing I never lost…the love of my family.

***

Two months later

***

Fresh out of Reikers Rehablitation facility and poised to enter some fancy-feet college. Apparently my essay on overcoming drug addiction to write brilliant prose fiction for my portfolio was enough to get me into one of those fancy colleges. I guess I can help with their diversity too; I’m black, bisexual, have one financially supportive parent and very smart. I’ll definitely help with their diverse student reputation. Just one more week and I’m off to school.

Living with the parents has been hard. Hard because I have been completely forgiven.

I cannot forgive myself and my family has welcomed me like nothing has happened.

Maybe it will help that they aren’t going to be spending so much on me in school. I’m on a scholarship and I plan to support myself by writing editorials for select newspapers. The pay is shit, but I don’t care much for money.

I don’t care much for anything…not even me.

Because I’m healed, but I’m dead inside.

Because at night, I can’t sleep and when I do, I have no dreams and nightmares.

Because music has lost its appeal to me.

Because silence is all that exists for me.

Because my conversations are prosaic, my expressions, forced.

Packing up my things, but all I have is a medium sized suitcase, a quarter of it filled with writing pads and stencils, a quarter with things of sentimental value and half with clothes.

Then I notice it’s missing, my first sketchpad. The first time I came to terms with the fact that I love art, but I would never be good at it. The first time I tried writing. Horrible one-lined prose.

It’s in Dare’s house.

*** Dare ***

More news on the ever-spreading Arab Spring; I chuckle to myself as I mentally calculate how much more I could make if I could snake in one or two dictators as clients. Dinner is Chinese as usual. I still can’t bring myself to use the kitchen. Not since it was covered in blood. Not since insane things have happened on various hard surfaces within its radius.

But at least life is life.

She got better. I got my life back.

The food has lost its appeal. There’s someone at the door.

***

 “I might have left something…Good evening” she says.

One, two, three.

“Well look at you. Don’t you look…healthy. Not that the addict look didn’t work as well.”

She smiles.

“You look good” she says.

“So do you.”

“I might have left a sketchpad here. Green, medium-size, horrible scribbles, ever more horrid handwriting.”

She remembered

“Yes yes I have it. Come in.”

I retrieve the book and hand it to her

“So I guess its goodbye then.”

“Yeah…see you on the other side.”

She heads out.

***

One two three, twenty steps out of his apartment and I find myself turning back…

***

I haven’t left the door.

Ten, fifteen seconds.

There’s another knock.

Two deep breaths and I open the door.

***

One two three…knock knock.

Stark silence…the kind that makes the loudest white noise. And then…

“Hello David.”

***

It’s the neighbour. She came to pick up her keys.

And the realization hits me that’s she’s gone…and never coming back.

I can’t stop the tidal wave of depression that hits me.

She’s really gone. Didn’t even bother to tell me she was leaving the country. Some fool I am to believe she regretted using me. Guess I was just her ticket to redeeming her life. She’d gotten it back on track and I was left dead and hanging.

***David***

“Fareeda.”

“Can I come in?”

He looks shitty…maybe it’s the sober lens I’m viewing life with, but he never looked this bad.

This will only take a while. Apologize, make amends, get out of this country and start afresh.

The apologies start spewing. And for a while I can’t stop. For getting hooked, for degrading myself to the point of almost death. Everything.

He just keeps staring. Silent. Expressionless.

Then it hits me. He’s too high to function.

And then the fear comes creeping. When David gets this high, I either get raped or beaten.

“I have to leave” and I stand up…slowly, cautiously.

He doesn’t move.

I head to the door grateful this part of my life is over but…

The door is locked.

He gets up, advancing slowly, his eyes dead of all reason, mental faculties face deep in intoxication.

And I do the only thing I can do at that moment.

Run Fareeda run

***

The phone beeps. It’s a text from a strange number.

Three words…enough to get me angry and self-loathing.

Help. David. Rape.

I curse as I get into the car and speed as fast as I can to her previous residence.

***

He’s gotten stronger.

My whole body hurts from being thrown around so much.

I tried running, only for him to grab me from behind and slam me into a table. My head feels like it’s been split open, but I get up and try to defend myself. He rams me into the wall, now stained red with my blood. My hands have been locked into a grip with his. His pants are off and with each second the terror claws at me like mental fire running through my body, painful and all consuming.

There are no locks in the house. I can’t hide anywhere. It doesn’t stop me from struggling.

I will not be molested, I will not slip back.

Then the pinch comes…soft, all too familiar.

He injected me…thrice.

Now my body is on fire.

The all too familiar feeling comes, only this time, it’s painful and forced.

The colours are getting brighter. I’m getting limp.

David releases me and I stagger round the room, crashing into stools and falling over chairs. I’m shaking, tears falling down my eyes, struggling, struggling to get out.

Finally, I fall headfirst into the shower, and stay there limp and lifeless, mind body and soul empty.

My clothes are coming off.

“I missed you baby. Welcome home.”

***

Finding a house in a slum is difficult, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop.

After what seems like eternity. I see the ramshackle house. In seconds I’m up the makeshift stairs kicking furiously at the locked door and screaming like a mad man.

Because I am mad…at her, at myself, at fate.

The door won’t budge, but finally it does.

I don’t expect anything good, but what I don’t expect is a needle aimed straight at my neck.

Ouch

I lose my balance and another sharp pinch hits me.

And another.

What is going on?

My vision clears and I see him; naked, expressionless and very very scary.

“Fareeda!!!”

I see her legs hanging out of the shower. I somehow manage to shove David aside and he doesn’t get in my way as I grab her and head for my car.

The wooziness hits me. Wow!

I have to get her…us out of here.

I start the car and drive as fast as I can, but I won’t make it…I’m too high.

I park the car in the safest spot I see and turn my attention to her. How badly is she hurt?

She’s smiling, reaching for me and being very inappropriate.

But weirdly…its okay.

***

He came…my hero.

A giggle erupts from him…I’m smiling too.

Best to clear the air now. I would never have been able to do this sober.

“I’m sorry I used you, but the truth is I do like you and I’ve felt dead ever since I moved back home. Happy, but dead.”

“So why are you leaving then?”

“You know I’m leaving?”

“Of course I do. Just because we didn’t talk didn’t mean I wasn’t keeping tabs on you…for professional reasons of course. Okay I’m lying. I like you very much, but you used me. Its hard to get past that”

“I’m sorry I…”

The rest is meth filled history…good history

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Comments
  • minini

    I'd like to believe she didn't get hooked again and that was just a one off.
    I loved the series, sad to see it end.

    May 10, 2012
  • All Heart

    I am also glad this is over. It was a very disjointed one. Sometimes it feels like the story was being dragged for no reason, and then all of a sudden it speeds up and you are forced to try and reason and put the pieces together. Like Max said, it is like a script for Africa Magic. I hope the series that will replace this will be much better.

    May 10, 2012
  • "something for Africa Magic" …. *rme* y'all are just mean…. it wasn't perfect but at least….
    anyway….
    liked the series a lot….maybe a little reworking style-wise (hell what do i know).
    well done Fareeda…

    May 10, 2012
    • thetoolsman

      Max's comment made me laugh…
      I wonder how DD can be likened to something for Africa Magic and 43 Fafunwa isn't.
      @Max, can you help please?

      May 10, 2012
      • Max

        A Comparative Analysis

        For me, the only similarities to be drawn between 43 Fafunwa and Drug Diaries are in genre and platform. Every other element records significant divergence. Viz:

        Style: Drug Diaries is bland; monologue after monologue, like the entire story is set in a void. Perhaps this is done to create the ‘diary’ feel, but the monotony is rather banal and it makes the reading a tad confusing at times. The writing of 43 Fafunwa is intricate, with enough character and detail for days. The writer takes time to develop the environment, the context, and personalities of the characters, painting a vivid picture of the setting.

        Characterization: Even the flat characters seem fully formed in 43 Fafunwa because they are extensively yet indirectly described and the quality of the interaction with each other serves to ‘volumise’ them. Each character is dynamic and although one could argue 43 Fafunwa has more time to develop characters, the story also has more characters to develop than Drug Diaries. In Drug Diaries, the very protagonist (if we can call her that) is static. The writer makes both the plot and the players in the story seem so under-developed and one-dimensional.

        Plot: Drug Diaries has drama but no depth which makes things predictable in an unexciting way (for me). There are a lot of inconsistencies in the script, which I will elaborate on in my next essay. The forced paradoxes got old after the 2nd episode: she doesn’t find requited love till her life is in danger; she’s sober but suicidal; she’s happy but dead inside. There seems to be no end. (It’s so easy to beleaguer your protagonist and get the sympathy vote.) Drug Diaries is not a true tragedy because there is no catharsis, just one crisis after the next. Let’s not mention the fact that there is no sub-plot. The writing of 43 Fafunwa is so well done that the story just seems to naturally emanate from the setting. That's really all there is to it.

        In summary, I have nothing personal for or against either writer. I prefer one story because it is better developed, more enjoyable to read and ‘occupies the mind’. The other story scores low points because it is too linear and it seems like the author was always trying to ‘force the hand’.

        To the Drug Diaries author, please do not take this criticism as condemnation. There are people who love this story, I’m just not one of them. Take your time to create the imagery and setting for your story and the rest comes much easier. Try to diversify your technique, also. It comes across like you have a formula for 'writing a good story' and you follow it to the letter. I don't know what kinds of books you read, but it might help if you go back to English classics like Thomas Hardy. I hope you take this in good faith. There is always room for improvement. You can only get better!

        Toolsman, you asked for it!

        May 10, 2012
        • @jaytownnerd

          Jesu!!!

          May 10, 2012
  • kenni

    I don't have any problem with this series. But this episode is just -___- !!!!!

    May 10, 2012
  • E

    I liked the series, but I can't say I'm sad to see it end. Well done

    May 10, 2012
  • sola

    I loved the series, can't believe it has ended 🙁

    May 10, 2012
  • Frankices

    The End!

    I'm glad its over. Kinda. Its almost like the death of a relative whos been ill for a long time.

    It wasn't all bad tho. I liked some parts of it.

    P.S. Commenting is sooooo frustrating. Wat is "intensedebate" n why do I have to log in 1st? Bring the old one back. Thank u.

    May 10, 2012
    • thetoolsman

      Err.. You don't have to login to comment. You can comment as a guest. This comment system works better for those who do not want to keep logging in everytime they want to comment. Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

      May 10, 2012
  • Mizztosin

    I actually like the series cuz it was enlightening for me, didn't know much bout drug addiction.

    Afmag thou?????? Nawa for mean people o.

    May 10, 2012
  • end scene cut!!!
    tools shout " that's a wrap people!!!!! "

    May 10, 2012
  • Tiki

    I feel so…bereft.

    May 10, 2012
  • it’s over. but i don’t get. did she get back to being an addict

    May 10, 2012
  • It was fun while it lasted.

    May 10, 2012
  • omotooke

    Loved the series, hated the last paragraph, loved d series a lot….

    May 10, 2012
  • Lisa

    Good series so far, but the ending was just bleh like the writer didn't just know how to end it. Anyway it was fun while it lasted.
    Next.

    May 11, 2012
  • Farida

    I kept coming back to read. The series has ended? What is meth filled history??? did dare become an addict too? did they have an accident? didn't they get David arrested or something? what happened to Fareedah? Anyways Season two of 43 fafunwa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! next thursday? *whoop whoop* Thank you TNC!!!

    May 11, 2012
  • Sunshine

    i loved DD…up until the silly end….like seriously???!!!…*rme*
    it was just messed up mehn….
    #covering my face in disappointment#

    May 11, 2012
  • It was refreshingly different. Liked it. It had depth. Keep it up F.

    February 24, 2015
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