By Gideon Chukwuemeka Ogbonna
See Finish was when your body got used to the pill that gave you the high. When you took the yellow and green capsule, you no longer felt the usual lightness of your body that came with the high. Blood flowed through your veins, the pill no longer made it flutter; no longer made you burst into R. Kelly’s “I believe I can fly”; no longer made your mind a sea hugged with inspiration. You thought you made “better” music with the pill in your system, and that happiness tugged at your belly. This birthed your defiance. Made you break the countless promises to yourself and your mother and your doctor to stop taking the pill because you knew the dangers of taking it continually. You tried to keep your promise, but you never knew how to say goodbye without memories becoming vultures hovering in your head.
See Finish was when your body got used to the pill that gave you the high. And with this feeling of nothingness came an incompleteness, insatiety. You wondered how you had learnt to bond with a little pill, how it had become a part of you morning and night, how it had woven magic and visions into your dreams. Not wanting to let go, you stepped up. Two pills brought back the high, the happiness, the music to your mind’s ears. Heat would course through your body, your hands would tremble, nausea would rage your throat. Warning signs but you didn’t care. Pleasures should never come easy, you’d said. So when your body found normalcy with two pills, you readily switched to four pills.
Then, your breathing became laboured. You puked all over the place like a poisoned dog, and your heart raced many miles that you feared it would tear your chest open. Drowsy, you staggered to your bed but you couldn’t make it. Your skin burned. I could swear that I saw it take up the color of a setting sun. You kept muttering, I was warned, I was warned. Then you fell to the ground, and jerked and jerked with your mouth foaming like a sponge.
I wanted to leave you, at least to choke on your saliva so that you could be an valuable lesson to others like you, so that you can be the validation of my warnings and pleas. But because your life is important, you are here in the ER. Stable and sombre. Maybe you’ve learnt a lesson, but if you haven’t…las las you go de alright.