Chapter 1
Where I was in my life
Set the scene. What was your life like then?
Today, for the first time in my life, I was walking down the street and I saw a person lying on the ground. Some people stopped, took a look, and walked away. Others didn’t even glance. I decided to go to the closest hotel and tell the receptionist. Then I went to the veterinary clinic; maybe they had something to help this person. They weren’t shocked or surprised, because it wasn’t the first time they’d seen this kind of tragedy. I didn’t know if I should call 911, because I wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was, especially when a dozen people had decided to look the other way so they wouldn’t have to face this situation, especially if they had decided it wasn’t their problem. I think we’re so used to seeing it that, for us, it’s not a big deal anymore. Just another day in the projects. The thing is, the person wasn’t moving. Maybe she was asleep from all the substances she’d taken. Or, God forbid, she was already dead. Either way, the situation looked very bad. You don’t need to have lived in the projects to understand how bad drugs are. Where I used to live, drugs were on every corner, sold in every possible form: powder, weed, liquid, rocks. And there were so many ways to use them: snorting, injecting, swallowing. I even heard that some people inject into their genitals. I mean, how? But mostly, why? Why, of your own free will, would you decide to hurt yourself? In my case, I have never taken any drugs, thanks to the book about Christiane F., a thirteen-year-old addict and prostitute. I picked it up one day while wandering around the library, and I swear it’s traumatizing, because I read it when I was actually thirteen, and it could have been me. After reading it, I promised myself I would never touch drugs. Maybe thirteen was a bit young to make such a promise to myself, especially since, less than twenty years later, drugs would be more varied, cheaper, and, with digital innovation, easier to get.
