In this week’s article, Sreepriya Menon gives us an insight into the struggle that goes into overcoming and dealing with substance abuse.
#TheDiaryOfASocialWorker – 8
This letter is based on the people’s accounts who I have worked with and become friends with over time. They have been struggling with substance use in varying degrees. The fragmented sentences, the emotional tone of the letter, and the style of writing accurately portrays a person struggling with substance abuse and with life. This letter is an attempt to find a connection with people who feel the same way.
Dear Stranger On The Road,
I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I saw you looking at me when I was leaning over the sloping wall near the tapri, burning my insides with a cigarette. You must have thought that I desperately wanted to look cool. I was beyond that phase by then.
I only know that you are about my age and perhaps you are fighting the same demons. I am from a small middle-class family, the previous generations of which had seen better times – a simpler life. My parents moved to the city after getting married and immediately set out to secure a better future for themselves and their family. This city has seen my childhood and youth, friendship and loneliness. Everything.
I don’t know if you seek out friends during times of trouble or turn inwards. I did a bit of both, but as years passed, and although I learnt a lot from the best teachers – life and time – I was also ashamed and anxious about a lot of things.
If you have examined your dreams and fears, you will know that when you are happy your dreams fuel your spirit. When you have failed and have tasted dirt after a fall, it is your fears that keep you down.
Because we only have one life, which passes all too quickly, dreams have become cheap, and we all want to achieve great things for ourselves, so we sacrifice and we compromise. At least a little. I have compromised a lot. I don’t know whether you can make out from afar whether I am a girl or a boy – I don’t think it matters, life is still tough. When I began smoking there was nothing wrong with my life. In fact, I had the chance to taste freedom, to do as I pleased. To learn, invest, grow, and seek out good things for myself – and I did.
Then, I learnt that when things don’t go as planned, you also have to be gentle with yourself. I tried to be but in the wrong way. In the short term, you think you are helping yourself, even rewarding yourself with a smoke. The long term effects are a different story.
And before you know it, you have wrecked something important – your health. Too soon, it took a toll on other equally important things – sleep, appetite, some friends (who couldn’t breathe around me), my finances (not my own hard earned money), and more. I did realise that I wasn’t the only one suffering, my friends were too. They must have felt the need to cut their losses, but we were all in it together – in one giant troublesome phase that can be summed up with the words ‘changing’ and ‘demanding youth’.
Freedom hurts, but it also feels so sweet. It makes you feel alive despite losing the little bits of you that get chipped away in the process. I might sound masochistic but who isn’t? Why would we constantly do things to hurt ourselves otherwise? Breathing in this polluted city air, poking fun at people who are different from us, not seeking help when we need it – the list is endless. It’s not just youthful arrogance; it’s a plea for distraction, a break from having to care about yourself, others and life in general.
We are coached not to give a damn about most things, but can’t stop ourselves from caring because that’s how we are built. But that doesn’t mean that we show it. No! Instead, we choose to appear powerful, unflinching and uncaring. We ensure that our vulnerability doesn’t invite attacks from the social predators – mostly ghosts created by our own minds. We don’t realise that others have similar ghosts too and that there is nothing to fear but fear itself.
In the end, when I did escape that city and that place, I promised myself that I wouldn’t go back to hurting myself. I simply didn’t deserve it. Nobody does. I was compassionate to others, I had listened to and soothed so many of my friends’ woes. Why couldn’t I do that for myself? Because when you go down that road of hurting yourself indirectly, a lot of your other defences go down too – you make silly decisions, your judgment is blurred, and you are driven by fears rather than dreams. You don’t trust yourself or your true friends either. This affects your health – both physically and emotionally.
You may think this story sounds familiar, that it’s similar to yours, your neighbour’s or your cousin’s. You are right, it is. But it also sheds light on an important social issue – the mental health of a generation. Substance abuse disorders, which are caused by dependence on substances such as nicotine, alcohol, caffeine, marijuana or other more severe psychoactive substances like LSD or ecstasy. These disorders affect very young children on the streets who consume glue, whitener, shoe polish, meow meow, kerosene, and more. It affects mothers and housewives who unknowingly are dependent on painkillers, sleeping pills or just a simple Crocin.
Society teaches us from a very young age that verbalising your problems – especially emotional ones – with anybody, especially outsiders, is wrong. This creates a big problem because when emotional turmoil arises, it is often rooted in situational challenges at home, school or work. Sometimes it occurs within close relationships, and if you have to seek help it has to come from outside your social circle. Now, who do you ask? Who will treat your vulnerability with respect? In an ideal situation, you can seek help from a teacher, a guide or a counsellor.
If you have good relationships and trustworthy confidantes you are lucky, but most of our countrymen and women do not. They are close to a lot of people but are limited by the conditions of that love and by their differences in beliefs.
If this is how I feel, I am sure one day you will feel the same way. After all, you are also my age and look like you could understand my position. So, today I reach out to you, stranger on the road, who may have been looking at me with concern, curiosity, judgment, hatred or even pity. I hope you understand, and perhaps reach out to someone who might be in a similar position. The next time you think about raising your voice or lamenting about the condition of people like me, think about what created those conditions.
And remember, not everyone can save themselves without a helping hand.
Sincerely,
Another stranger on the road