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21
SLEEPING PILLS

When I first arrived at San Pedro, I didn't feel safe leaving my room; now, nine months later, I didn't even want to. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have, because I didn't have the energy. For two days I hardly ate, and after that I couldn't get my appetite back. The sight of meat made me sick and I stopped eating it altogether. Even if it was cooked, I still saw that man's brains spilling out onto my plate.

I couldn't do anything. I was depressed. On the rare occasions when I was hungry, I ate. I drank when I was thirsty and went to the toilet when my body told me to. That was all. The only thing I actually wanted to do was sleep. And much of the time I couldn't even do that.

That was the period when I started taking sleeping pills. I was having real trouble sleeping, so I went to see the doctor for a prescription. He didn't ask any questions. Why would he, I suppose? On the scale of drug problems in San Pedro prison, sleeping pills didn't even rate.

Once I started taking pills, I did even less. I only saw light once a day. With less food in my body, I didn't need to go to the bathroom as much. When I needed to urinate, I did so in a bucket that I emptied whenever it became full. And when I got sick of emptying it all the time, I bought another bucket.

I couldn't think properly. Even my mind had slowed down. The only reason I ever had to get out of bed was for the lista, and if that hadn't been compulsory, I wouldn't have gone. Getting up was a lot more of a struggle with the sleeping pills in my system, but somehow I still managed to set my alarm clock and make it down to the courtyard every morning. If ever I didn't wake up, my neighbour Gonzalez would bang on my door and force me to get up, or they'd send for Ricardo, who had a spare key to my room.