“That dependslargely on you, Philip. If you relapse, you may find yourself backhere in an even worse state. And that's if you're lucky.”
Ipromised him that I would not return to the drugs and said goodbyeto him, the nurses and some of the other patients. There was nofriend or relation waiting for me. I was not expecting any. To myfamily, I was an outcast. My father had disowned me. To my friends,I was a disgrace and an embarrassment.
“You haveruined your life!” my father had shouted at me, after Morgan died.He had trembled with anger and his hand had been shaking, even ashe pointed his finger at me. “You’re no longer my son!” His angerhad not come as a surprise. The fact that he had not shot me withhis gun or cut me down with a machete, had surprised me.I didn't deserveany better.
I had killed Morgan andStephen. I hated myself for that, even more than my father hatedme. This was the same father who had proudly embraced me, when Icame back from the last Olympics Games with a silver medal in freestylewrestling.
“Welcome back,my son!” he had said, his face glowing with pride. Everyone had been proud of me. Iwas a worthy ambassador of the country. My victory been celebratedat the State House Pavilion. I had shaken hands with the President.I was a national hero. To Morgan, I was his personal hero. He wanted tobe like me. But I disappointed everyone. The depth to which I hadsunk, was painfully obvious.
Morgan was my immediate youngerbrother. Though I was about five years older than he was, we wereabout the same size and build. He also looked like me facially.People often mistook us for each other. They said that we were like identicaltwins.
Stephenhad been my best friend since childhood. We were more than friends.Our relationship had grown from mere friendship to the strong bondof brotherhood.
In retrospect, it was notsurprising that Morgan was the first to notice that I was takingdrugs. He was shocked at first, but had no real position on the issue because I was hisrole model; if I did something, that meant it was right.
Then,more noticeable, negative changes began to manifest. I was oftenstoned, drunk and irritable.
“People are saying that thesedrugs are not good for the body,” said Morgan, one day. He hadalways found it difficult to directly criticise me. He waved hishand at the table where I kept my drugs.
“I don’t care what people say,”I replied. I was already high.
“But do you really need it?”asked Morgan, looking into my eyes.
“I need it just like you needair. Now, mind your business,” I said, taking my time to prepare ajoint. As I started sniffing it, Morgan left the room.
I was also starting to lookunkempt. I was no longer frequent or punctual at the Sports Complex for my trainingsessions. Even when I went, I was not particularly serious; Imanaged to get one everyone's nerves. One day, myHead Coach reached the limits of his patience.
“Philip, I have actually hadenough of your indiscipline,” he said. “I put in an entrypersonally for you at the wrestling event of the State SportsFestival, three weeks ago. The weigh-in was last Wednesday, but youdidn't attend. Luckily for you, it was moved to Friday. You had about on Saturday; again you failed to show up. This behaviour isjust unacceptable for a professional wrestler like you. I’m washingmy hands off you.”
Someother professional wrestlers had tried reasoning with me, but asfar as I was concerned, they were the ones who had issues.Strangely, my parents were blissfully unaware of myantics.
One fateful day, I returnedhome from chilling with some friends. I wasn’t completely drunk;just a bit more than slightly tipsy. I swayed on my feet, feeling good and singing some bawdy songs.I entered my room and immediately went to my bedside table for my regular dose. To myastonishment, the table had been swept clean of my usual stuff. Iwas mad with anger. I flung the table with one hand and it wentflying. I ransacked the house, but I could not find my stuff. WhenI returned to my room, I remembered that I had stashed some ofthe Megamix powder in one of my trouser pockets. I grabbed all myclothes from the wardrobe and threw them on the floor. Then, Irummaged in the pockets of my trouser pockets. I became gleeful whenIfound what I waslooking for.
I snorted more than my usualdose. I had never felt so good. My breathing was faster than usual.There was some music playing on the radio. I had heard it before, but now it was simplyfantastic. I turned up the volume so much, that items in the roombegan vibrating with the sound. I started doing some drug-inspireddancing. It was like paradise.
In a sudden flash ofinspiration, I knew who had taken the drugs. Morgan! Some will tellyou that certain drugs induce an altered state or higher level ofconsciousness. The Megamix isone of them. I went to his room and searched, thoroughly. I found themin one of his bags. My anger spiked. How dare he? What gave him theright?
Unfortunately, that was when hewalked in with Stephen and Young, another good friend of mine. I donot really recall what happened next. I was not myself. They told me laterthat I seemed to have taken complete leave of my senses. Morgan, it seemed, after clearing my table, hadgone to call Stephen to talk to me about the dangers of doingdrugs. I was also told that as soon as I saw Morgan,Ilunged at him.Meanwhile, Stephen and Young tried to restrain me. Somehow, Ioverpowered two of them and grabbed an empty bottle, whichIsmashed on Morgan’shead. The bottle broke into pieces and Morgan’s head startedbleeding.
Still unsatisfied and clutchingthe neck of the bottle, I attacked Morgan again. I cut him in thehand. Neighbours were called and I was finally overpowered. Stephenand Young went out to get a cab. Morgan was taken into the cab withblood all over him and together, they had headed for the nearesthospital. It
