"Give yourself to others

 ..."

"My friend, give me a little of yourself,

strength, courage, trust in people...

I want to live differently.

... Give me more

, my friend, give me a little of yourself,

so that I too can give myself to others." I

've probably read this poem for the hundredth time... it didn't mean as much to me as it used to, but it was still my "credo." My life is still a mystery... I never know what will happen tomorrow.

Will I break down and will all this work be in vain? I would have let myself down, and Kotana too.

He is the only person who has never abandoned me... Marek always believed in me, even though I kept destroying what he was trying to build...

I will never erase that from my life. The specter of the needle and syringe will always hang over my life, whether I want it or not.

"It" started a long time ago... I don't even know exactly when. A few years ago - but what a long time. Nine, yes nine. I remember the candles on the birthday cake... back then there were fifteen of them. Fifteen little flames, which I blew out in one fell swoop. My sister told me to make a wish. I thought—now I regret it. The wish automatically popped into my head: "I want to change my life." If I'd known it would come true—like it did, I would have preferred not to think at all. Blow out the candles, eat the cake, accept the wishes

and gifts... then enjoy them, and at the end of the day, fall asleep and return

to the monotony of reality on Monday.

When the "celebration" was over, my sister took me to a little restaurant called "Amber."

I'd always wanted to go, but Agata had promised me she'd take me there on my fifteenth birthday. So I did... the place was... normal. An ordinary little restaurant—like any other, except with a real stage, where someone was always playing or singing. I liked it there.

There was something captivating about its intimacy. The walls were painted pale green, and the tables were draped in heavy navy blue tablecloths.

"The decorators in this place must have some twisted taste," I said to Agata as we sat down at a table near the door.

"You're so meticulous... it may not look impressive, but the atmosphere here is great. Especially on Tuesdays—they have a karaoke-style show—it's a good laugh.

" "Maybe, I'll judge when I get here on Tuesday," I replied. "

Wait a minute, I'll order a Coke," my sister said, and walked over to the counter.

I propped my head in my hands and looked around the room. Gray people sat at the tables. Despite Agata's "praise," I felt out of place here—but I liked it. My attention was caught by a group of people sitting on the steps outside. I had a good view of them, as I was sitting right by the door and through the window, I could practically see them in front of me. They were dressed strangely—which was what made them stand out from the gray people sitting

in the cafe. Baggy jeans and colorful shirts.

"Well, here you go, your table is served," Agata said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Thanks," I replied, taking a bottle of Coca-Cola from her. My sister sat down across from me and took a long sip of her drink.

"Who are these people?" I asked.

"My friends," she replied, taking another sip of her Coke.

"Hmm, from my perspective, you don't seem to fit in..." "

Because our worldviews are a bit different... but they're fun to talk to... maybe I could

introduce you to them?"

I nodded.

Agata wordlessly took my hand and led me outside.

"Hello again, let me introduce you to my sister... Dorota," Agata said. "

Welcome," they replied in unison.

"Welcome," what a timely greeting, I thought.

"Dora, this is Czarny," she said, pointing to a tall boy with curly black hair. The boy nodded.

"And this is Marie." This time she pointed to a tall blonde with purple lips. Marie smiled broadly.

"This is Amar," she said, and pointed to a boy with long black hair. He looked the oldest of them all. His cheeks were sunken, and his expression was very sad. He didn't even bother to nod.

"Dorota, nice to meet you," I replied, as was the etiquette. My words brought a sneer to the oldest boy's face. I didn't understand why he was laughing; just because he said hello didn't mean you couldn't say "nice to meet you."

"Our group often hangs out here," Marie said. Hearing the word "group," the correct answer, "clique," flashed through my mind... we'll see which one is accurate. I hoped it wouldn't be "clique" and that with time I'd somehow blend in. I wasn't wrong, though... "

Shall we go?" Czarny asked. The others nodded.

I nudged Agata on the shoulder and asked in a theatrical whisper, "Where?" She didn't answer, just nodded back. Slowly, all this was starting to annoy me. First, she brought me here, and now she's leaving.

Everyone went ahead—only I remained. I was about to go home when Amar turned around and asked,

"And you? Why aren't you coming with us?" I feigned surprise, but in reality, I was waiting for such a question. I concluded,that they "wanted" me in this group, so I quickly ran to the rest.

After a short walk, we came to a house. Or rather, a cottage. Marie took

her keys out of her pocket and opened the door. We all went inside.

It wasn't so critical inside. It was like a normal cottage, except there were no electrical appliances, just a small radio playing an ABBA song.

The atmosphere in the cottage was very pleasant... We sang songs, and Czarny played the guitar.

This cottage was Marie's apartment. She was an adult – her parents had left it to her so she would have a place to live, as they themselves had emigrated to the USA.

At one point, Amar stood up and went to a beechwood cabinet. He took a key from his jacket pocket and opened it. He took a small package from it and placed it on the table, then sat down on the couch. A moment later, we were all sitting around the table. Everyone knew why... except me.

Amar began unpacking the package. It all seemed like some kind of ceremony. He opened it, and everyone waited.

The package contained a few things: a pocket knife, a syringe, and several bags of white powder. When I saw it, a chill ran down my spine...

I knew what was coming... I nudged Agata again, and she gave me a look that said, "Do not disturb." So I sat quietly, still unable to comprehend

that Agata... My sister... A model... that she was on drugs!

"Bring me a lemon and a spoon," Amar said to Marie, and the girl obediently disappeared

into the next room... probably the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a teaspoon, a knife,

and a lemon. She sat down next to Amar and halved the lemon. The boy took the spoon, poured some white powder into it, and squeezed a few drops of lemon juice into it. Then he took

a lighter from his jeans pocket and began heating the spoon from the bottom.

"What is he doing?" I asked Agata.

"He's cleaning the stuff," she replied, not taking her eyes off Amar.

I was genuinely shocked that my sister knew so much about it. "I wonder what this boy was doing... drugs... he's about to inject himself," I panicked

silently, but I was afraid to move for fear of being ridiculed. Once they'd accepted me, I couldn't let it go... they trusted me not to betray them.

I wouldn't betray them, I decided, no matter what.

Amar set the spoon on the table and unwrapped the syringe. Then he unwrapped the needle and attached it to the syringe. Then he picked up the syringe and sucked the spoon's contents into it.

I turned my head sharply away. I didn't want to see him "stick himself." I always fainted at the sight of blood...

After a while, I turned my head back to the couch. This time, Marie had the syringe in her hand...

I wonder if she'll reach Agata, I thought, and turned my face away again.

The entire event took place in complete silence... only in the background, some unfamiliar song by "Omega" played.

The silence was broken by the Dark One's gruff voice:

"Do you want a sniff?"

I turned my face away. Amar and Marie were sitting on the couch, eyes closed, leaning against

the back of the worn-out couch. I was seriously scared.

The Dark One took a pocket knife, unfolded it, and scooped some white powder onto the tip.

"You want it because the others are waiting.

" "Are you talking to me?" I asked.

"Yes, you do...?"

"No... if I'm supposed to look like them, I don't..." I said, feeling a surge of disgust at the white powder. "

Dora, come on... it's just a sniff... not the full thing... they're already lost...

" "And we can end this at any moment..." Agata finished.

I nervously looked into their eyes, then at Amar and Marie, then back at Agata...

"One goat kills another," I replied.

I don't know why I did it... whether I wanted to show courage, or whether I wanted to fight for a higher position in the group... I don't know... although that position is probably an exaggeration... after all, I'd only known them for a few hours.

That's when it all began... That's when my hell began...

My life began to revolve around one sniff after another... then from one hash to another acid... and then I was hooked like Marie and Amar...

Every day after school... and sometimes even during school, I'd go to Marie's house... Sometimes Amar didn't have the goods, and we had to help recruit something.

Agata and I sold our tape recorder—that lasted for a while. Amar was a dealer, I don't know why, but he was always the first to use... after that, he stopped contacting me, and we could sniff as much as we wanted. Sometimes someone managed to get their hands on "something new," like LSD. I didn't even notice, and I couldn't live without that white powder... let's call it what it is - without heroin.

Once, me, Czarny, and Agata decided to try it... with a syringe... the sting wasn't so bad, but then... I felt dizzy, and then a sudden state of bliss took over... the next day we tried it again, and the next...

Oh God, how stupid I was...

One day, my mother began to suspect something. She noticed the lack of a radio... our pupils... first she started with Agata:

"Agata, what's wrong with you?"

Then to me:

"Dorota, what's wrong with you?"

And that's how, thanks to our mom, we ended up here - in Markota...

I arrived here when I was 17. I took it quietly for two years... at one point, I even wanted my mother to discover that something was wrong... either she didn't see, or she didn't want to know, that I was taking it.

She couldn't cope... she sent us to Grandma's in the countryside, but there are drugs everywhere, even in a backwater like this. My mother never spoke to me again.

Now I know she went to my aunt in France... and I was left here alone with this hell.

And as I said... we ended up in Markot.

We were forced here... Only because we were forced...

As newcomers, we were assigned to group 3 – first, of course, for detoxification.

In my short life, I've been through over four detoxifications, and each time was worse...

As usual, there was a welcome talk... a few new people also came to Monar.

New - new? From my perspective, they were just old junkies brought here by social services... "How generous this government is," I thought.

When we arrived, Marek Kotański greeted us. He gave us a thorough talk about "who" or "what" we were and "what" or "who" we wanted to be...

Every drug addict wanted to be human... just human... is that so much?

The next day, we started immediately... Plans: how to escape, how to get another hit.

The latter wasn't even a problem, because there was so much of it here—I don't know if it was temptation or illegal. But how to escape...

I was slowly losing my connection with Agata, and arguments were breaking out more and more often.

One day, when Kotan generously arranged community service for us... we simply escaped. Me and Agata. Right afterward, we went to Marie's house.

Agata knocked gently—no one answered. She knocked again a few times, but there was still an impenetrable silence behind the door. My sister tried the doorknob, and surprisingly, the door gave way... "

They probably took a little too much again," Agata sighed and went inside. I followed her. We quickly had to get something to buy—but to our chagrin, no one or anything was home.

"Oh my God! Dora..." Agata said, terrified.

"What?" I asked, frantically searching the cabinets for packets of heroin.

"Come here!" she ordered in an older sisterly tone.

"Oh my God!" I screamed and jumped back when I saw Amar lying on the floor. Next to him lay a syringe with the plunger half-pressed.

My hands started shaking... I didn't know if it was from fear or from the hunger for heroin... Suddenly, I started feeling dizzy, a cold sweat broke out all over me, I saw glowing yellow spots before my eyes, and I felt myself sink to the floor. I fainted.

I woke up the next evening in an uncomfortable bed. But it wasn't a hospital—it was Markot. I didn't have the strength to lift my head, and everything hurt. Images from yesterday... from yesterday's visit to Marie's house... flashed through my mind.

A woman in a white coat approached me.

"What about Agata?" I mumbled.

The woman didn't hear me.

"I'm sorry, what about Agata?" I repeated the question, only a little louder. She had already heard.

"They didn't bring anyone in except you," the nurse replied soundlessly, giving the impression she answered such questions at least five times a day.

"And Amar?

" "Boy, I don't know who you mean, but Boy was brought in with you, but he's not..." she replied, but the last word didn't leave her throat.

I didn't even feel sadness. Drug addicts don't feel. Drug addicts are nothing.

The next day, I found myself back in the rehab ward. At the end of the day, I had another conversation with Kotański.

What was he trying to convince me of? That I'd get out of this? Impossible... I won't get out of this—I know that.

There were a few more escapes. Three—three too many. On the second one, I received a "punishment." My head was shaved. I got rid of my beautiful, long, blonde hair.

After my third escape, I spoke with Kotan again. During that conversation, I called him out on it. I was even surprised that such things could even come to my mind.

And all because plan A didn't work. I should have tried plan B: you're a drug addict, you're trash, you're nothing!

Anyone could have said that to me—but not him. Those words from his mouth hurt terribly...

That was the last time I saw him. After that conversation, something inside me broke...

I haven't been using for seven years, but I will forever be a "non-using" addict.

I got out thanks to him—Marek Kotański. Thanks to Marek, I graduated and am a counselor-psychologist at Markota.

I never saw Agata again. Ever since the incident at Marie's house, I had a feeling something bad was about to happen... When I was in therapy again, I got a call from my mom. The first

and last call from her since I started using.

Agata had overdosed. I didn't go to the funeral; only my grandmother and mother were there... and

a few family friends.

I owe it to Kotan. If he saved me, I have to save someone else.

I'm certainly not his equal... after all, I'm only human... he was also a human being—an ordinary human being, yet so exceptional.

I just heard the news of his death on the radio. "My story" immediately came to mind, not the most beautiful, but true. Written by life.

And why did he die now? The Pope is coming to Poland, and he's not there. "God rich

in mercy"—that's the motto of the pilgrimage... Marek was the richest man I've ever known. He loved people. He loved everyone others despised.

He fought everyone: people, the government, drug addicts... he did the impossible, but he succeeded, managing to pull some people even from the very bottom.

God, why did you take him away from these young people who now need his help... do you think he's already done what he was supposed to do on earth? And who will replace him...

"Dorota, they brought a sixteen-year-old for therapy," Aneta said, opening the door.

"I'm coming," I replied.

Before leaving the room, I glanced at Marek's photo hanging in the office. My eyes filled with tears. I couldn't believe he was gone.

"Marek, this is for you—I give myself to others..." I sighed.