There he found himself again. Gasping for air, droplets of sweat frantically racing down his cheek, brushing the imaginary dust off his nose, he had the dream again. It was his second week in rehab; it felt like a year. He had had the dream so many times that it became the norm to wake up almost every night, clutching his chest wishing he could just once more feel that magic powder in his system, but he could not.
He had to succeed for his wife, for his son and for himself. Each day became harder than the next. His head was pounding demanding for the substance he had abused for so long. As he tried to drift back to the dark trance that was sleep, he recalled all those times he woke up not remembering where he had spent the last hour.
He could not count the number of times his body had been tormented by the bodyguard of a drug lord asking where his payment was. The times when he emotionally hurt his wife were burned in his heart. He hit her, screamed at her, degraded her but she stayed out of love and loyalty.
As he slept he dreamt of his son’s face those hazel eyes of innocence. He had a smile that could light the world twice over. His messy black hair which frolicked in the wind was fondly remembered. Those gigantic ears ready to listen and understand. He was a boy any father would be proud of, and his father was very proud
Finally the smiling sun gently caressed his cheek. He had survived another night. This fact alone gave him hope, shone a bright new light in the dark corner that was his disillusion life. He had newfound determination. He could do it; the chains of addiction that had kept him captive could be broken. Finally, at last freedom was attainable.
By: Chris Goldson
Third Year Law Student
Faculty of Law, UWI Mona
Contributor, The Mona Law Precedent