The Galte Monastery

Chapter 1

February 27, 1989

"I'm sorry Mrs. Díaz, but our philosophy, like that of the rest of the country's rehabilitation centers, doesn't allow us to retain people against their will. We wholeheartedly want your daughter to reconsider the option of returning here and cleaning herself completely. Our doors will always be..."

My mom hung up the phone without letting the secretary of the Rehabilitation Center for People with Drug Addiction Problems most famous in Madrid finish speaking. The table vibrated when she did it and I should have done it too when she turned to look at me, but at that moment I absolutely didn't care. My condition was such that I cared little what my mom wanted to do with me. If she wanted to hit me, let her do it. What if she prefered to scream at me? Perfect too. Nothing mattered.

I had escaped from the center for the sixth time in a row because I thought I could never quit the drug. I destroyed my mom as many times as I could, most of them unconsciously, but I needed the money. I'd give anything for a puncture became my daily motto. I had fallen into the world of heroin four years ago, with only fourteen years and in 1989 I was already of age, so if I wanted to be a drug addict there would be no center that would force me to stay between its walls.

At that time I had already told my mom multiple times to leave me alone, that I had no remedy or cure and that the drug was the only thing that made me happy. The only thing that made me feel alive. In the end I wasn't right, when my dad left she completely disregarded me, and although my mom has always been a fighter to get me ahead as she was, she couldn't stand being alone, so every week there was a different man in our house. I couldn't stand that, so I began to go out more with people who didn't suit me. First the poles arrived, then the LSD and Valium tablets and finally the heroin. I had read a lot of news that more and more young people were dying of this drug overdose, especially in Germany, but I didn't care. I thought that would never happen to me because "I knew how to control myself". What a drug addict doesn't know is that before starting to consume, even after the first drinks, he has already crucified himself. When you start taking heroin you think that you can control yourself and consume when you think it is convenient, because in total, nothing happens for a puncture. On numerous occasions you will repeat to yourself that you only need a little to get in tune and that you will not consume again until the end of the month or even until the following month, but the reality is that every time you will need a stronger dose and with more frequency than at the beginning. The heroine running through my veins is the best feeling I have felt in my life, especially at the beginning, because like any drug, the body ends up getting used to it and the dose that at the beginning made you fly for a few hours now is not even worth getting rid of terrible withdrawal syndrome.

My mom was staring at me with disappointment. It was no surprise, I already knew perfectly well that I had disappointed her on so many occasions that even I had lost count. Her hair with gray, dry and careless roots fell a few inches under his shoulders. Her face had more wrinkles than the last time I saw her before entering rehab for the sixth and last time. At forty-seven, my mother looked almost sixty. And it was all my fault.

"You know what?" she broke into tears "If you want to die, go ahead. I have tried to help you as much as I could and more! But nobody is going to be able to do something for you if you don't want to improve. You are alone Ana. Alone!"

She walked quickly out of the room and I thoughtfully looked out the window while the rain collided fiercely in the windows. Pensive, not sad. As I said, I could no longer feel anything.

By the time I wanted to move from the couch it was already eight o'clock in the afternoon, it had been a long time ago. I still didn't know anything about my mom, supposed that she was in her room or anywhere else in the house that would take her away from her offspring that caused so much damage. I got up as I could, abstinence was already doing its job and needed to prick me as soon as possible or that was going to end badly. I had reconsidered starting my own cure at home, but I knew that would not be possible, since as soon as my mother lost sight of me it was going to take very little time to get more drugs. In fact, they didn't give me a peseta at Christmas because they knew what I was going to spend it on.

Sometimes I had lucid moments, to call them somehow, and I begged my mother to help me, I promised her again and again that I was going to change and that I was determined to clean myself completely. She yielded excitedly and made herself available to me the first four times of the day, but that illusion was transformed into distrust because she began to be attentive and prepare for the next disappointment when I returned home and wasn't in bed because I was pricking me in any grubby bathroom at the bus station.

When I arrived at my room I found her with a suitcase on the bed putting all my things. She no longer cried, now her face radiated anger.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"You're leaving."

"How am I leaving? Where?"

She didn't answer. While she was still putting things in my suitcase without stopping, I looked into the closet from where I was and didn't see the box in which I kept my drug kit. I immediately got nervous, I needed to prick myself.

"Where is it?" I said aggressively.

She didn't answer me and kept folding pants.

"Tell me where it is!"

I pounced on the closet and took out all that was left of clothes and shoes in it, scattering it all over the floor. The box was nowhere. For a moment I thought maybe I had hidden it somewhere else, but the double bottom of the drawer in which it was was the safest place, and that double bottom was open and empty.

"I threw it away." she said in a calm voice and without looking at me.

"But you don't see that I need to prick myself! Look how miserable I am!"

She looked up, her eyes were still bright and very red, it was obvious that she had been crying all afternoon.

"How did you find it?" I said leaning on the wall, I was a little dizzy.

"Did you think I didn't know where you hide the drug? Do you think I'm dumb?"

I opened my mouth ready to argue, but she didn't let me speak.

"You are not my daughter! The fucking drug has destroyed you! Do you not see yourself? You just said that you are miserable, of course you are! And if you continue like this you will die miserable and alone because neither I nor anyone will help you. I'm tired, Ana, very tired! You do not know how much. I have done everything I could for you, I loved you more than anything in the world and I raised you by myself, striving every day to get you ahead. I've always put you ahead of me because I'm your mother and you're the best thing that ever happened to me. But you can't go on like this! Do not you understand?"

At that moment my mom burst into tears. She stopped putting clothes in my suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed.

"My God, what have I done to deserve this?" she sobbed "It's not fair for her or for me!"

Meanwhile, I was still completely insensitive to my mom's sadness and wondering where I could hide the drug. After searching the entire bathroom I ran down the stairs and headed almost stumbling to the kitchen. If I had thrown the drug in the trash it would be of little use, I would manage to get some.

But there was nothing in the garbage, nor in the pantry. I even looked inside the washer rubbers, but nothing. It had disappeared. Withdrawal syndrome was hitting me hard back then and I felt weaker and weaker. I thought I was going to faint on the kitchen floor at any moment, so as I could I crawled into the living room. With great effort I managed to lie on the couch and that was when the strong tremors and punctures throughout the body appeared. I tried to suppress my cries of pain as cold sweat ran down my face, but that had no result. You deserve it. I deserved it.