Writers 
After the message that day, I became very quiet. My mind was a storm of confusion, tossing between two things I held dear: the happy pills that numbed my anxiety and God, who had saved me from myself. I didn’t want to sin. I loved being born again, the feeling of being washed clean, of having a second chance. But I also loved my happy pills—the way they made the world feel softer, quieter, less overwhelming. The two felt like they were at war inside me, and I was the battlefield.
That evening, after dinner, I retreated to the hostel. I sat on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring blankly at the wall. There was no night prep that day, so the Sunday evening stretched before us, empty and still. The silence was heavy, but it gave me time to think. I turned to Ayomide, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Ayomide... if we sin against God, does that mean we’re no longer born again? That we’d go to hell?"
He looked at me with those calm, steady eyes and replied, "No, Simon. Every time we sin, we ask God for forgiveness, and He forgives us. He erases our sin. He doesn’t take the salvation back."
His words sank into my chest like a warm balm. So that was it? I could take my happy pills, ask for forgiveness, and God would take me back? A flicker of relief sparked within me. Maybe I didn't have to choose after all. Maybe I could have both.
That night, I was about to take the pills when Senior Matthew appeared beside me. His shadow fell over my bed, and my heart jolted.
"Simon," he said, his voice low and curious. "What's that you take every night?"
I swallowed hard. "It's for my anxiety, sir."
He laughed—a dry, mocking sound—and snatched the packet from my hand. He examined it closely, turning it over under the dim light, and then his eyes narrowed. "This isn't anxiety pills," he said slowly. "I know what this is. Come to my class after night prep tomorrow."
My blood ran cold. He knew. He knew. The fear gripped me like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs. What if he reported me? What if the school found out? I couldn't bear the shame, the punishment, the disappointment. So that night, I took my pill—not just because of the addiction, but because I was terrified. I swallowed it and let the familiar numbness wash over me, dissolving my worry into a fog.
The next morning, during devotion, I bowed my head and whispered, "God, forgive me. Forgive me for abusing drugs." The words felt hollow, but I said them anyway, hoping they would be enough. I went through the motions of the day—classes, meals, study—but my mind was elsewhere.
At breakfast, Senior Matthew approached our table. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't forget. After night prep." Then he walked away.
Bethel leaned in, his voice almost a whisper. "Simon, what deal do you have with that senior? He's not a good influence. There's a rumour going around that he and his gang deal with hard drugs. Nothing's been confirmed, but the suspicion is strong."
Ayomide nodded, adding in a hushed tone, "That's why he and his gang always come back late after lights out."
I forced a shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Wow," I said. Just one word. That was all I could manage.
The day crawled by, each hour heavier than the last. When night prep ended, I told Ayomide to go ahead without me. "I'll come later," I said, avoiding his gaze. I watched him walk away, feeling a pang of guilt twist in my gut.
I made my way to Senior Matthew's class. He was waiting with two others—Senior Grace and Senior Peter. They introduced themselves with smirks that didn't reach their eyes. Then they led me to an old, abandoned classroom. The walls were crumbling, the windows broken, and the air smelled of dust and decay. It reminded me of that creepy place Tanko had taken me to. My skin prickled with unease.
Senior Matthew turned to me, his voice cold. "Bring me all your happy pills."
I handed over the packet, my hands trembling. He opened it, sniffed the contents, and laughed. "You call this happy pills? This is cannabis. Small stuff."
That night, they introduced me to a world I had never known. They brought out bottles of liquid, smoked strange substances from pots, and handed me a cough syrup that burned my throat. "This will do for a start," Senior Grace said, patting my back like I was a child learning to walk. "Since you're only used to the small stuff."
I stumbled back to the hostel that night, my mind a blur, my body heavy and uncoordinated. I don't remember sneaking in. I just remember collapsing onto my bed and falling asleep like a fool, oblivious to everything around me.
The next morning, I woke up groggy, my head pounding. I still wasn't myself. Ayomide sat on the edge of his bed, watching me with worried eyes.
"Where were you last night?" he asked quietly.
I forced a smile. "We went to study with Senior Matthew."
He didn't ask further questions, and I was grateful. But I could feel his gaze on me throughout the day, heavy with concern.
Two weeks passed. I drifted further from my usual circle. Bethel and Ayomide tried to talk to me, but I avoided them. I spent all my time with the SS3 gang, even though I was only in JSS3. Bethel and Ayomide would catch my eye during meals or in class, but I looked away. I didn't hate them—I hated myself. I hated that I couldn't be like them, pure and steady. Here I was, always begging God for forgiveness, while they seemed so good, so whole. So I withdrew, drowning in my shame.
The seniors introduced me to more substances. I lost count of what I took. My body craved them, and my mind grew foggy. Sometimes I forgot to even ask for forgiveness. My grades slipped. My focus shattered. I was a ghost of who I used to be.
One night, we gathered at our usual spot. Senior Matthew said we were waiting for our supplier. My heart hammered in my chest as we sat in the dark, the silence broken only by nervous whispers.
Then the door creaked open.
I froze. My blood turned to ice.
In walked Mr. Alex—my guardian. The man who had taken me in, who had given me a home, who believed in me. He handed Senior Matthew a bag full of substances, exchanged a few words, and left.
I dove behind an old locker, pressing myself against the cold metal, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart felt like it would explode.
When Mr. Alex was gone, I crept out of hiding. Senior Grace looked at me and laughed. "Smally, why did you run?"
I could barely speak. "That's... that's my guardian."
They all burst into laughter. "Don't be hiding, joor," Senior Grace said, waving his hand dismissively. "He won't do anything. He's a coward."
They said it like it was nothing. Like my world wasn't crumbling around me.
We finished everything that night, and I snuck back to the hostel, my mind spinning. When I walked in, Ayomide was sitting on his bed, waiting for me.
"Simon," he said softly, his voice heavy with hurt. "I saw you. I saw what you and the other seniors are doing."
I was high, but I heard every word. "It's late, Ayo. Go to bed," I muttered, turning away as I changed into my sleep clothes.
The next morning at the dining hall, Ayomide and Bethel sat beside me. Ayomide didn't waste time.
"Simon, everything you're doing is wrong," he said, his voice gentle but firm.
"But I ask God for forgiveness every time," I replied, my voice cracking.
Bethel shook his head. "No, Simon. When we ask God to forgive us for something, we don't go back to that same thing. That's not repentance. That's just... empty words."
I sat there, my head bent, the weight of their words crashing down on me. The reality of what I had become hit me like a tidal wave.
I had backslidden.
I had lost myself.
