I grew up in a dysfunctional house, my father used to physically abuse my mother and she eventually turned to alcohol to help her forget her miserable life. I was 13 at the time and as I child, I craved some parental love but I didn’t get any. Instead I was neglected and to make it worse, I was an only child. I made friends with some people who I took as my family because they would comfort me. One day, one of them, Peter (not real name) suggested that I try smoking marijuana promising that it would help me forget my grief. My first experience was exhilarating; the ‘heights’ were good because I laughed like never before. I started using marijuana so often that not a day went by without smoking it. I started smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap alcohol. My drug dependence became severe after three years when I realised that I was completely addicted. I was in senior three at the time but had no interest in school. My father had left us and my mother was getting worse. After ‘O’ level exams, I dropped out of school and joined my friends in selling illicit drugs. I disappeared from home and was constantly looking over my shoulder for the police. By the time I was 18; I was a real dealer and knew my way around the drug market. I didn’t bother to check up on my mother because I always blamed her for what I had become. Police arrested me twice but they would eventually release me after realising that there was no evidence against me. I met a girl shortly; among the prostitutes I used to have sex with and she moved in with me. I taught her how to make more money by selling drugs for me. This arrangement resulted into two pregnancies that were aborted. At the age of 22, I hit rock bottom when my girlfriend died and the doctor told us that she was infected with HIV. I had no doubts that I was also infected, so locked myself in the house and proceeded to go on a two day binge drinking and smoking marijuana spree. I think I smoked over 20 sticks of marijuana, three packets of cigarettes and copious amounts of crude liquor. I did all this on an empty stomach and whenever people knocked on my door, I wouldn’t open. I think I passed out on the night of the third. Next thing I remember, I woke up in a local clinic and I was told that I almost died. Peter told me that they broke down my door and found me lying on the floor in my vomit. The doctors treated me and after one week I went back to my place. After that moment, something told me to reach out to my mother but I didn’t know how to do it since it had been years since I last saw or heard from her. I told Peter to accompany me, we were lucky to find her but her state was worse than mine. She had also contracted HIV after sleeping with numerous men. She begged me not to leave her. As we both sat there crying, I made a decision to stay with her and try to take good care of her the best way I could. The transition wasn’t easy and I constantly slid back into drugs until I met a local pastor who persuaded me to go to church. I was dead anyway so going to church wasn’t a big deal. I went but that’s when I got my turning point. I’m five years now into sobriety but I’m still fighting the urge. I constantly rely on the grace of God to get through the day. My pastor has supported me financially and even offered me a job as the church administrator. My mother is now well and goes with me every Sunday. We have never heard from my father and do not know his whereabouts. God is sustaining us through his mercy and we are grateful for each new day. As told to Dean Karemera
