Drug abuse on the youth
“It Was Just One Puff…” — A Story Too Familiar
A few years ago, I stumbled into a conversation I didn’t expect to shake me the way it did. I was chilling at this small roadside joint in Accra — you know the kind with plastic chairs, booming speakers, and grilled kebabs that taste like heaven but burn like hell later. An old friend from school walked up. Let’s call him Kwame.
He looked… different. Gaunt. Eyes darting around like the shadows were talking to him. After a few awkward laughs and catching up, he leaned in and said, “Bro, if I could turn back time, I’d never touch the thing. Just one puff. That’s all it took.”
I didn’t need to ask what “thing” he meant. Weed laced with tramadol or something harder — he wasn’t even sure anymore.
And that right there, that “just one puff,” is where a lot of it starts. Especially with the youth.
In my experience, drug abuse doesn’t always kick in with a big dramatic moment. It’s rarely a shady alley or some stereotypical “bad crowd” dragging you into destruction. Nope. It sneaks in when you're bored. Or anxious. Or trying to “fit in” at a party where someone casually offers you a pill like it’s candy.
We’re living in a time where social media glorifies excess — from #lit weekends to influencers casually sipping lean like it’s juice. It’s not just peer pressure anymore; it's peer presence. You open Instagram and boom — someone’s showing off a wild night with a blunt in one hand and a bottle in the other. It looks cool. Fun. Effortless. But they rarely post the crash. The withdrawal. The rehab visits. Or worse.
I remember back in SHS, there was this guy — always the life of the party. Hilarious, charming, smooth with the girls. We all thought he had it figured out. Until one day, he didn’t show up. We heard later he collapsed after mixing codeine and tramadol. He was just 18.
It still haunts me sometimes — how fast it can all flip.
I’m not a saint, let me be clear. I’ve had moments where curiosity whispered in my ear louder than common sense. I’ve been in rooms where things were passed around, and I won’t lie — it was tempting. You don’t want to be the “boring one” or the killjoy. But something always held me back. Fear, maybe. Or just that voice in my head going, “This isn’t worth it.”
And honestly, I don’t think drug abuse is just about drugs. It’s about pain. Escape. Pressure. The feeling of not being enough. When there’s no job, when family’s stressing you out, when school feels pointless, when the world expects you to have everything figured out at 21 — you want an out. A shortcut. A soft place to land, even if it’s artificial.
But here’s what I’ve learned watching friends fall down that rabbit hole:
Drugs might numb the pain, but they also numb everything else. Joy. Dreams. Connection. Purpose. Before you know it, you’re not chasing a high — you’re running from yourself.
And recovery? Whew. That’s a whole other beast. It’s lonely. It’s brutal. It’s full of relapses and self-hate and slow, painful healing. Some make it out. Many don’t.
So what’s the point of all this rambling? I guess I just want to say: if you’re struggling, you’re not weak. You’re not “mad.” You’re not alone. But please — don’t romanticize the stuff that’s killing our generation.
Talk to someone. Cry if you need to. Journal your heart out. Watch silly YouTube videos. Listen to sad music at 2 a.m. Just… find other ways to cope. Because you deserve to feel good for real, not just for a few hazy hours.
And if you’ve already started down that path — it’s not too late to turn around. Hard? Absolutely. Impossible? Nah.
Kwame’s in recovery now. It’s a daily fight. Some days, he wins. Some days, not so much. But at least he’s fighting.
And that counts for something.
Stay safe. Be kind to yourself. And if no one’s told you lately — your life matters. A lot.