By Garnet
When I was a kid, I thought growing up would mean finally avoiding vulnerability. I actually thought that.
Little did I know that adulthood was vulnerability in itself.
I had an adventurous childhood. I spent the better part of growing up moving from grandma’s house to a rented apartment, and back to gram’s house after a few years.
It happened a lot it became more like a routine. I and my siblings got used to the drill.
I was always at granny’s place, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
While growing up at granny’s place was fun, it was more like ‘all man for yourself’. I had to learn how to be very independent, and how to shoulder responsibility.
Our house has an odd setting. The kind you’ll find in an old time Rivers State as there were rooms for everybody.
My grandfather had two wives, and they both had rooms to go round…for themselves, and their kids.
I had a step uncle who was not what you’d want your ideal uncle to be as his apartment was always a den for thieves, drug lords, gamblers and all kinds of people who perpetrated evil vices.
Whenever his friends came around, they smoked, they drank, they gambled and they always fought.
Back in the day, I wasn’t really keen on visiting cinemas, or going out because my house was a movie that always had multiple scenes ‘airing’ at once.
I used to be everybody’s sweetheart. The child you call at any hour of the day, & be rest assured that she would answer.
Whenever my uncle and his friend rounded up their first round, my name was the first one called to go clean the room, and tidy up the mess.
As kids, you’d agree with me that the zeal to try out virtually everything was at its peak.
I started cleaning my uncle’s room when I was 14yrs old. I always beckoned on my cousin to help me out. When we’re done cleaning, we take the ash tray to the back of the house and finish the leftovers of whatever it is they were smoking and drinking.
The very first time I was called upon to clean my uncle’s room, I was super excited, and I have no idea why.
There was no prior thought before that day about smoking, but here I was with tiny bits and pieces. Your guess is as good as mine. The urge to try out something new was one I wasn’t about to say no to.
I had no idea how to smoke marijuana, I had no idea what it felt like or what it was going to do to me. I just wanted to smoke it, and I did.
Sue me, but I didn’t have the luxury of growing up with both parents or having a mom that was always present.
Mind you, my mom did an awesome job grooming my siblings and me, but I guess the urge to try out virtually everything out there was stronger than the morals my mom instilled in me.
Well, I graduated from smoking leftovers of cigarettes and weed to using weed to cook.
My uncle would give me tiny wraps of weed to cook for him, and then he’ll make me eat the food with him. I was fourteen years old at the time.
I didn’t tell my mom for a lot of reasons. First, I wanted to save her the disappointment.
Then I wanted to save her from heaping coals of regret and guilt on herself, because, believe it or not, being a single parent is not a roller coaster ride.
I continued smoking leftovers of weed.
When I was a kid, I thought growing up would mean finally avoiding vulnerability. I actually thought that.
Little did I know that adulthood was vulnerability in itself.
I had an adventurous childhood. I spent the better part of growing up moving from grandma’s house to a rented apartment, and back to gram’s house after a few years.
It happened a lot it became more like a routine. I and my siblings got used to the drill.
I was always at granny’s place, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
While growing up at granny’s place was fun, it was more like ‘all man for yourself’. I had to learn how to be very independent, and how to shoulder responsibility.
Our house has an odd setting. The kind you’ll find in an old time Rivers State as there were rooms for everybody.
My grandfather had two wives, and they both had rooms to go round…for themselves, and their kids.
I had a step uncle who was not what you’d want your ideal uncle to be as his apartment was always a den for thieves, drug lords, gamblers and all kinds of people who perpetrated evil vices.
Whenever his friends came around, they smoked, they drank, they gambled and they always fought.
Back in the day, I wasn’t really keen on visiting cinemas, or going out because my house was a movie that always had multiple scenes ‘airing’ at once.
I used to be everybody’s sweetheart. The child you call at any hour of the day, & be rest assured that she would answer.
Whenever my uncle and his friend rounded up their first round, my name was the first one called to go clean the room, and tidy up the mess.
As kids, you’d agree with me that the zeal to try out virtually everything was at its peak.
I started cleaning my uncle’s room when I was 14yrs old. I always beckoned on my cousin to help me out. When we’re done cleaning, we take the ash tray to the back of the house and finish the leftovers of whatever it is they were smoking and drinking.
The very first time I was called upon to clean my uncle’s room, I was super excited, and I have no idea why.
There was no prior thought before that day about smoking, but here I was with tiny bits and pieces. Your guess is as good as mine. The urge to try out something new was one I wasn’t about to say no to.
I had no idea how to smoke marijuana, I had no idea what it felt like or what it was going to do to me. I just wanted to smoke it, and I did.
Sue me, but I didn’t have the luxury of growing up with both parents or having a mom that was always present.
Mind you, my mom did an awesome job grooming my siblings and me, but I guess the urge to try out virtually everything out there was stronger than the morals my mom instilled in me.
Well, I graduated from smoking leftovers of cigarettes and weed to using weed to cook.
My uncle would give me tiny wraps of weed to cook for him, and then he’ll make me eat the food with him. I was fourteen years old at the time.
I didn’t tell my mom for a lot of reasons. First, I wanted to save her the disappointment.
Then I wanted to save her from heaping coals of regret and guilt on herself, because, believe it or not, being a single parent is not a roller coaster ride.
I continued smoking leftovers of weed.
Life is very funny. When you think you have it all together, something or someone somewhere comes and throws you down this tall cliff with no support whatsoever.
You either crash land, or you come up with some sort of survival skill before you hit the ground.
I had the key to change my destiny in my own palms, but I chose to keep it locked somewhere and live the life I thought was best for me.
It is believed that our past has a role to play in who we turn out to be in future.
While that may be true, it is somewhat reassuring to know that whatever happens in the world, the tide goes away…and it still comes back in.
My journey to being a junkie started with this. And for the next couple of years, that was the life I lived.
To be continued….
0 thoughts on “Diary of a junkie: How I became a drug user”
the courage to put it all out there is a good thing. keep it up
Tears pouring down my eyes right now. Cus I understand deeply what you wrote. May God give you the strength to put it all away.
Please continue. ….it’s beautiful
It’s a bold step,a step to unlocking ur innermost potential…BRAVA…kip it up
Yo te saludo granate. Mis lágrimas canta para usted.
Yo te saludo granate. Mis lágrimas canta para usted.
Yo te saludo granate. Mis lágrimas canta para usted.
Hmmmm. I am in tears… Beautifully put together…