I be shady

Hi. My name is James, I am 13 years old. I have an addiction.

I think it started two years ago, but I can’t remember exactly when; my mind is a muddle of crazy tintinnabulation thoughts ongoing ever since I took it up. I can’t even name it now - it’s too horrible to bear...

I didn’t ever suspect how something so innocent could cause so much damage to my life-but then it wasn’t really my fault. My family is not normal, my Ma ran away when I was 5 and as for my dad, well, let’s just say he isn’t much of one. At least, he wasn’t much of one. He was downed in a punch-up at his favourite pub; broke his neck. And my brother, the only person in my family who showed me some kindness, was separated from me when we were picked for orphanage.

Anyway, long story cut short, my life was screwed up from an early age, and to make things worse I turned to an infatuation which proved not only unhealthy but destructive. And what makes the pill all the more bitter to swallow is how it really wasn’t my fault-it was introduced to me by one of my orphanage professors who gave it to me as a consolation. And being about ten and a half years old, I ate it all without further ado. And it consoled me all right; I loved the stuff...a bit too much, even. I wanted more, I needed more. I went crazy and was in hospital for a week, on terms of ‘emotional stress’. The ignoramus of a doctor who prescribed my treatment I would have sacked there and then, had I the means and the power. But how could he estimate the balance of such a critical situation in the small years of one whose parents were lost? He could never understand. And I, though only a mere 10 year old, knew a lot. I was smart for my age and realized the calibre of my fix. I had to drop my habit before things got serious. And yet, knowing all these things, I was too young to fully comprehend how serious things could get. I carried on, thinking I could get away with it for a week or so, and then give it up. But alas, the folly of youth, quoting Shakespeare. A week turned into two weeks. Two weeks turned into a month. A month turned into half a year. And then I started thinking, and made my first serious attempt at giving up. I put a good solid dose in front of me on my desk and sat staring at it, meaning to break the practice of my own free will whilst fighting with the urge to rip off all restraint and gorge myself. I failed miserably, lasting only ten minutes before promising myself that maybe (just maybe) I would try (perhaps) to give it up forever (most of the time anyway) another time, and gave myself rendezvous for another six months time.

A surprise awaited me within those six months.
One night as I was doing my special ‘orphanage edition’ coursework my supervisor came in and asked me if we could talk. I said of course we could. And then he told me something that struck me like a blade; “I’m sorry James. We received a call that your brother just died of drug overdose”. I was too shocked to respond and must have passed out. When I woke up I realized how alone I was, how isolated I was from a life so many people found normal. My last known and only loved relative had disappeared from my life just like that, without even asking me first. Rage welled in deep inside me. All thoughts of abandoning my drug abandoned me. I ran away, sprinting blindly past my grey concrete neighbourhood and cursing at the perfectly timed dramatic torrential downpour. Eventually, cold and exhausted, I collapsed in a heap in a dark, dank alleyway and slept. When I woke up I was in hospital. I felt perfect. A nurse approached, smiled, and told me I’d been sleeping for two whole days. I found my throat dry so I smiled back instead of replying. I felt the strangest sensation of calmness and strong resolve.

The next day I was out of hospital and pacing my room. I felt so happy, so content.
In an hour I will join my brother, and I will defy the no-visit rule because he was my brother, after all. So what if he was a bad influence?
On my desk there is a portion of my drug. An overdose. In all honesty, more than I have ever seen in one place before. I am sitting at my desk, staring at the face of death in mock denial. It’s odd though, how so many others eat so much of this particular tablet and don’t get high. It is something I have often pondered.
But I‘m special, and I know that what would only give other people heartache, would kill me. So I go to my doom.
My hand reaches greedily out for the first bar. The first bar of chocolate.