My Mistake. My Addiction.
The only way I could write this was passive. In this story, there’s no right.
I'll tell you about my addiction. I have to. Initially I thought it was stupid, writing about it. Because I bought a book. A journal for progress. Utter nonsense!
Day one — even the water bottle reminds me of crack. Lord help me.
Day Two — I dreamt about it, even played make believe but I didn't take it.
Day Three — Azu called me. How did he know I was planning to stop? God I'm so tempted.
Day Ten — Still haven't smoked, but the days are not getting easier.
Day Fifteen — This is stupid.
A month later — Who the hell am I kidding? I'm an addict.
And then I closed the book.
“Writing wouldn't save me. Not this time.”
I like to think of myself as better than other addicts. I have restrictions. I have class. I am neat. You wouldn’t know I smoked.
Earlier, I never liked calling myself an addict. I had control. Even when I was taking huge sums of money from loan sharks, I had control. I would stop when I wanted, I just hadn’t had enough.
Until it hit me. I couldn’t stop!
I’d cry myself to sleep. I’d reach out for help, people were praying for me. I was still smoking.
I was throwing up my lungs. That was the first vibe it gave me. Nausea. I always vomited. But that didn’t stop me. I’d go right back in. Go out again and come back to continue. See? I had “control”.
I was able to stop myself from going into the speed lane. I saw my guys, I saw what it did to them. And so I held myself. Until I couldn't. I wonder, if not for posh English and a lust for money, wouldn't I be worse off than them now? Granted I've never stayed at a bunk begging for free smoke nor given out private services in exchange. I've never sold my property or given out for collateral before. Everything I smoke, I buy. And in a day I could smoke well over a hundred thousand naira worth of crack. But I was not an addict.
My life's not great. I only happen to be making a decent amount of money. If not for the drugs, Lagos’ big boy would have nothing on me.
I make a decent income, I make it writing, yet I don't own any decent clothes. Given I'm the worst case of an introvert, but when the time comes, I literally have nothing to wear.
I lived in a rat-infested house. A zinc house. All I cared about was my smoke. I didn't see life, I didn't look beyond. I only saw the ecstasy that came with smoking crack. The smoke lust, the thrill.
I hoped to have left the smoking behind when I changed apartments, like Ibe always said, “Angel, na your mindset. Why watin you buy with your money go dey control you?
Tell yourself to say you want to stop and you go stop.”
Right. You're absolutely right Ibe, I'll just will myself to stop when I am ready.
The first few months into my new place, I spent the money on pimping up the house, it looked good. I felt good. But soon that feeling felt empty, I needed a smoke, that was the real win. Soon, Speed Lane came again and I went into a frenzy. But I'd always wanted to stop. I have a big life ahead of me and I'm not speaking health wise. “I'm supposed to go places. The big dreams I.B, don't forget the big dreams. Come on you've gotta leave this shit hole, get your book out there, bag a bestseller and become a renowned writer. I.b, the dream! Taking your family’s name off poverty.
Curse Timi! Curse the day I met him. Had I known, I'd have never taken a drag of his smoke. Now I'm stuck on Charlie. My prayers are finally being answered but I'm throwing my blessings away.”
I remembered what Ibe said, bless Ibe, he was a genius. This is MY life. I get to decide how I go out.
And on April 24 2023, I took my last smoke. Or so I thought.
Seven months! Seven months and counting I smoked nothing, not even the cigarettes I'd been smoking since 2016. Nor did I want to. The temptation came, but I still wonder where I got the strength to fight it off. I'd push it away instantly. Remind myself it only brought bad vibes, and the high was never enough. I'd eat instead and there it began, my love for food. I ate everything. Well almost everything.
I'd eat when I felt like smoking, I'd eat whenever. I was always eating. And soon I grew fat.
I hated myself. My body had become too big.
Everyone noticed. Everyone laughed.
I got even more reserved. Locked myself up.
I needed peace.
Especially from my family. Their taunts were the worst.
No Mom, I wasn't enjoying myself. I've been having all these grown ass problems you nor the siblings knew nothing of. I've been paying heavy ass bills. I've been so depressed because I found out I couldn't write any more. I've been dealing with imposter syndrome. I've been dealing with relationship issues. I ate to stop smoking. To stop thinking. Not because I was “enjoying myself.”
Cigarettes have always been my go-to since 2016. Was my therapist. Without it, everything was falling apart. All my emotions, all my feelings. They were everywhere. Every time. The food slowed down my brain. But now I'm fat and I hate myself even more.
Seven months! Seven months I didn't smoke.
Until I did.
I remember how it happened. Towards November 2023, things had been hard. Finances were running low. I'd been struggling trying to raise money for the house. I'd been bitter, I'd been resentful. It's a shock my lover put up with me throughout.
I became frustrated. Nothing seemed to be working and so I gave in. I went to buy Charlie. And from that moment the circle started spinning. Again.
In December I got this huge contract. Would have changed my life. I was to buy land. Imagine how Mama felt when I told her her last born was getting land. She'd never been prouder.
I have two dogs. Would buy the land and start rearing birds on it. Try my hands at business you know, there was money on the ground. There was plenty of money on the ground. At 23! I would own a land. I was so happy. I was so grateful.
But I was also a crackhead and so I started smoking again. Besides, there was plenty money on ground. And there you have it, that's your story, I lost the money. I lost it all.
Imagine the look on mama's face when I told her I had no more money left for the land. The disappointment! But it didn't match mine. To think, I would have been a land owner by now.
My mistake. My addiction. It ruined me.
You know I registered for a gym, and was pretty serious about it too. But the day I relapsed, that was the end of gyming for me.
I had a pretty rough 23. I visited the hospital for the first time in my adult life. My health was shit. I kept spending money on healthcare and I grew tired. Hence relapse.
I'm not attempting excuses, the only way I could write this was passive. I'm here to tell you a story. There's no right.
I'd like you to imagine something. Crawling insects. Yes!
Cockroaches, ants, spiders, rats, springtails, even mosquitoes... These animals became my worst nightmares. For some reason, smoking crack wasn't as fun anymore. Whenever I did, these insects always found their way into my body. Went into the clothes I was wearing. Need I say mixed with the sweat dripping off my body like I was under the shower. Bad trips, man. Bad trips. I was a dump. Smoking crack made me a dump. And this was home to these animals.
Still, I continue to smoke.
Did a lot of thinking after I lost that money. 24 has to be better. Angel, you are no longer smoking at 24.
On the 31st night, I took what was supposed to be my last cigarette. I went to church and prayed like I'd never had.
“Lord, thank you for all the blessings you sent my way. I don't why you think I deserve it. In all my imperfections you're still helping me. Thank you.
Lord, I'm no gluten, if you do nothing else for me, you have done enough. To live like I do. To transact as I do. Me! The girl with no home? That was the jackpot. I'm no gluten, but one favor Lord, that's all I ask. I can't do this on my own. Lord, I'm trying but I can't. Please, I'm begging you. I'm in church dammit. I need your help. I need to stop smoking. I'm wasting my life. Help me. Help me please.”
I don't know what I expected God to do. I have to be the change I want.
I made big talks, big promises to friends, “Don’t worry, I'm done smoking, you'll see.”
Last night being the 15th of January 2024 was the third time I smoked. Spent so much money as well.
Throb watched. She was angry.
The first time she was sad. She knows how bad I want to quit. And so she sympathized with me when I relapsed..
The second time she was quiet, didn't even acknowledge it.
But last night. Last night she was mad.
Usually I'd say, “Babe, don't worry I'll stop it.” but somehow I know that I can't. I've tried my options with rehab but the facility that's good is states away from me.
I've prayed about it.
I've willed myself to stop.
But here I am.
So I figured, the one thing I haven't done is write about it. For various reasons.
One, people would get to know.
Two, it's stupid. It won't help.
Three, I don't have the time.
But here I am, I'm speaking my truth. I don't care who sees. My entire life I've fought to get to where I am. I can't sit back and watch this thing ruin me. I need help, I don't know how and by what means it will come. Yet somehow, somehow I feel that writing this draft was a step in the right direction.
Maybe the next time the urge comes I'll read this. Maybe seeing how brave I was to put this out there could help me at that moment. I'm not stupid, but I am a crackhead and when I have crack on my mind, my sanity fades away.
Just maybe writing can save me.
Glossary
“Angel, na your mindset. Why watin you buy with your money go dey control you?
Tell yourself say you wan stop and you go stop.”
—
“Angel, it is your mindset. Why would something you bought with your money control you?
Tell yourself you want to stop and you will stop.”
