Why I Fear Them
I can still see myself sitting on a public Target parking lot, screaming for help and holding my friend as he seized. He had abused illegal drugs in a toxic household, and his body couldn’t handle it. No matter how strongly I held onto him, his body wouldn’t stop shaking. I watched bubbles drip from his mouth. Local security rushed to the scene, examining my friend, who became scared of the strangers surrounding him and afraid of what his punishment would be. Would he be arrested? Sent to a rehab center? Would he lose his friends and family?
We waited until he was calm. I helped him sit up and drink some water. Every movement was awkward and tedious, and he struggled to pull himself together. I ignored the staring crowds surrounding the scene; my friend was my responsibility and my priority.
We attempted to move over to a bench to sit, but his heightened alertness and apprehension kept him from relaxing.
He stumbled in circles, punching glass windows of neighboring stores. My friends tried to contain him, holding his arms and pushing him back from the stores. I sat in silence on the bench, calling his name, and flinching with the noise of his fists. His violence and behavior seemed out of anyone’s control.
I was afraid of him.
At the end of the night, he was picked up by his rehab family. My friends and I stayed with him until he left, ensuring that he was safe and taken care of.
After he left, we talked with security about the situation. We apologized, saying that he had a “history of drugs” and was “not a stable person”. Those are harsh terms, a label that nobody deserves to have.
As we left the disastrous situation to go home, a young male security guard approached us. He understood the stress of what happened and the fear we were all going through. He said that “if it weren’t for us, our friend would be in a much worse situation”.
As I tried to fall asleep that night, the sound of his fists punching the glass echoed through my head.
Drugs turned the sweet, funny boy I knew into a violent monster.
“Addiction makes good people do terrible things.”
He wasn’t punished as he expected; he wasn’t arrested or neglected by security. Instead, he emotionally destroyed himself and the people who cared for him. He let the drugs take control of his future and capabilities.
My friends and I fight against the destructive person for the sweet boy hiding inside. As he fights his addiction, I hope he will remember this night as much as I do. I will always remember it. It stays in a special place in my heart, reminding me of the monster people become when they abuse illicit drugs.
As I move forward, I desire to help good people overcome their dangerous addictions. More importantly, I want to guide those around me away from their temptations and away from the destructive character they would become if they abused illegal drugs.
I’m exposing the trap before another person I care about falls into it.