One last time

Claimer: Any resemblance to any person, incident, feelings etc is NOT co-incidental. This is dedicated to all of us, who are held in fancy by their love for caffeine, heroin, shopping, love, lust, sex and the worst…people.


Just one last time I tell myself…I stand there after telling everybody who cared about me, or worse who couldn’t see me going down the same road, my eyes looked hollow- the very same did my words sound to my own self.



So what was the reason that got me hooked? Peer pressure? Bad company? Emerging trend? The wannabe syndrome? Nope.I wish I had a sad story which I could remember every time I felt an overwhelming need running through my veins to justify it… but I don’t have one.



I wanted to try it- the good stuff, escape the little niceties others refer to as trials and tribulations of life. My stepdad didn’t beat me up, my mother didn’t have a boyfriend, and my sister didn’t get knocked up. In short, unlike clichés that dominate celluloid, no violence or disease made me this way.Just like the rest of us; I carry the regular amount of heartache as my unclaimed baggage- along with my cell phone and wallet.



I thought I knew who I was or what I was getting into but I was mistaken to think I know all sides of me. Instead of my day being about work, fun and people, the day spent away was the time spent in a silent frenzy waiting to gain momentum.



Just like those who wait for the right time to hang by cliffs, life became only about an ecstasy only I knew.



The rampant increase in phone calls should have been a clue, but I was too busy to see them as anything but foreplay. A single meeting had left me wanting for more…with one whiff of his smell, I had struck gold.



Just like the hangers risked their lives, I risked my sanity… every time I did it, every time I met him. In sometime, I was hooked –everything else dissolved into the smog that engulfs the city, conversations became foreplay and meetings turned into happy endings.



The time spent apart from him seemed like an entrapment, on me, on those around me since my restlessness and erratic change in behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by the few who cared.



One day I couldn’t get find him and the day was spent thinking…wondering…calling up the one person who could possibly understand my obsession-my dealer aka the link. He had laughed at my misery, telling me he hadn’t seen this coming. He said he’ll get back to me. I hung up, staring into space and rapped my fingers on my keyboard till he showed up at my door.



One deep inhale and I was happy.



That was also the day I was sure of one thing. He was my drug I needed a snort of, everyday.



Yet he was the one to end whatever this was. He wanted to be away from me saying we had taken a rash, unhealthy toll. I breathed in, blocking his words out, sniffing my dash and not listening to a word.



And so I cut off, like I had so many times before, from so many more.



I made sure I had company till I slept yet I was completely alone. There were days I smiled…smiled when I thought about those moments I shared, following strangers whose scent became a reminder of what I had once experienced.



Remaining sober made me scream in my sleep; land me in a room with medical equipment and a feeling I couldn’t strip off.



That had been months ago.



I now stand at a door that separated me from something I had never wanted so badly in life. Now I remember what I had heard but never listened. He had said- if you come back, I wouldn’t resist.



The door opened and a gust of fumes unleashed into the air around me. I don’t know what prompted him to turn around but that he did, as I stepped inside with my eyes half shut.



As I opened my eyes to confirm him standing there, looking at me, I said to myself…one last time….