Sunday, 31 December 2006


from original blog archive may 06 before i started my methadone script, and was using around £80-£100 a day. this post speaks about when i purchased some methadone off a friend, thinking i would be able to detox on it, as it was my twin nieces birthday and i didn’t want to be using on it, or at their party which fell the day after.

I spent the only money I had yesterday on 2 bags of gear. My last 2 bags of gear, or so I told myself. The day before I caved in at 11am, after having gone just over 24 hours without a hit. I woke up at 9am and was feeling fine. Probably because I didn’t get to bed until 5am and that was because I was smoking a .5 bag, which I started at 2am but couldn’t finish too quickly as I was gouching out, totally beyond my control. I was going to save half for the morning but I thought ‘fuck it- do it all and start your cluck tomorrow’. Funny cluck, because I planned to take 30mil of methadone daily. Decided the best thing to do was wean myself off gear using methadone- though I had no money to buy anymore so I was relying on my scripted mates to donate some here and there. Hopefully. Anyway, I had been staying at my grandparents house as opposed to my own home because… well, I don’t know. I just felt happier there I guess. Today the weather was beautiful. In England, the winter is so long and drawn out. January, February, March… horrible months. Dull, cold… its as if the spring will never get here. But today, like yesterday was gorgeous. I took my methadone and I felt great. I went to meet my CPN (psychiatric nurse) in the street to pick up a letter I am to give to the welfare office to support my claims for benefits. I am still without any income… funny really, as I keep on managing to feed my heroin habit which is damn bloody expensive. I want to cry when I think how much I have spent. Anyway, he told me I looked brighter, and I bloody felt it. It was a combination of the weather (aside from PTSD, opiate dependancy and severe depression I swear I have SAD- seasonal affective disorder) and the fact I had not taken gear. Never mind the fact I had not a penny to my name to buy it so couldn’t anyway… it was still an accomplishment because I always find a way to get money. And I hadn’t. I saw my sister and my nieces (whose birthday it is well, right now actually) and I felt so happy I was bouncing about all over the place. Then I got a call from my ex-workmates asking me to go to the pub where they would buy me a drink. So I went there and that was nice. One of them asked me if I had any cash yet and I said no, so they slipped me £40. Instantly, I nearly recoilled in horror and was ready to push it back in their face but fifteen minutes before that, I kid you not, I had a call on my mobile which I didn’t pick up in time from one of my many dealers. He always calls to let you know he is in town (he drives down from the capital to sell his wares to us filthy scumbags). From the moment I took that money, I couldn’t get away from the pub quick enough.
Cut to here. I rung up, asked for 2b and stood on the corner of my old street where I grew up for 50minutes, when finally the driver comes along and I hop in his motor. Admittedly, he did give me ‘da two fattest bags ni-o-me’ but still, it didn’t compensate for me having to stand on that corner for 50 minutes. It looked like I was either a) touting for business or b) waiting for drugs. It was horrible, and I saw so many people I knew. A good few knew what I was up to which made me burn red with shame. I quickly rushed to my grandparents to down the dinner she had cooked and then pegged it to mine so I could do my gear. It is funny, I was feeling fine. Not ill at all. Well, I wasn’t physically 100% understandably, but because I felt more positive than I had done in a long while, I didn’t feel the sickness. But as soon as I got that money, kaboom, my guts started going and on came that clucking feeling. Crazy. I often wonder how much of it is psychological.
Tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow. What have I got. Lots of things. Got to think of how I can get some money, because I need more gear. I can’t be sick at my babies birthday party, can I? Thats just not on. And I must go put in my welfare claims. I can’t even do it when I’m on gear, so if I’m clucking… god forbid!
This first post is a mess. I wanted to present my life in a really wonderfully written style like bella de jour at blogspot. Then it dawned on me, you’re not a semi-high class hooker, you’re a junkie. An 18 year old junkie who is going nowhere, worryingly and particularly fast. So yes, welcome to my junkylife blog. Here, if you remember, you will be able to read about what it is like to be a teen hooked on gear. God, why would anybody want to. The worlds depressing enough. Christ, I am babbling. I know its my blog but I don’t want to put potential readers to sleep. Talking of sleep, I’m going to do a bit more gear, which means no sleep for me, just catnaps here and there. In between gouches. I hate heroin. Best piece of advice I could give to anybody: don’t touch gear. I used to sparkle. Now… now… nothing. Haha. Right, I’m actually signing off now. Finish my gear and watching a streetcar named desire. I’ve run out of smokes. Bugger.

iraq tyrant executed

I didn’t turn on the news today or anything, infact, I stayed swiftly away. But 3 of my friends called to tell me that S. Hussein had been executed. It is still the holidays, I barely have anything to do apart from catch up on my clothing orders, so I have been browsing my favourite blogs, checking them out and seeing how things are treating people. Unsuprisingly, the former Iraqi Dictators execution seems to be the topic on the majorities list. My Momma rang me this morning and told me what she had seen on the news; him being led to the gallows by men in balaclavas. Me and my Mum seldom agree on anything; but today was different. She begun to tell me how she couldn’t bear, despite what he had done, to see a life being snuffed out on order. And you know what- me neither.The crimes he committed along with the other people in power were absolutely attrocious. I simply cannot comprehend how somebody obviously intelligent can have such a warped mind and believe that he (especially being religious and thus believing in the sanctity of life) has the power to choose who lives and who dies. And we will never find out. I have read reports by journalists, protesting against people who say the death penalty is barbaric- one of the report titles in the Daily Mail English Newspaper said ‘Killing Masses of People Is OK, Hanging A Tyrant Is Not’
I never once thought this for a moment, neither does anyone else saying his execution is wrong either, I am sure. It just seems rediculous- whether you have killed one person or a million- to punish killing, the ultimate crime against humanity, by killing the guilty party. Nobody has the right to end somebodies life, despite what they have done. Surely, this is what all murder trials try to prove, to prevent; they occur to prevent further people repeating such dreadful actions.
Surely, living in captivity till death is much more of a punishment than being killed prematurely? You will have many more days to reflect on your crime and being deprived of such a basic human right; freedom.
Capital Punishment is such a backward thing; which makes me not only sick to my stomach but shocked that America endorse it and use it in many state. It is just so hypocritical. Especially considering Bush is a Christian and Murder is one of the major sins depicted in the Ten Commandments. I know it was not America who ordered his death but they could of spoke out against it but of course they wouldn’t of since the supposedly free-thinking, free nation uses it. I am so pleased my country does not use it and it was abolished over 50 years ago. Is America any better than Iraq? I do not think so. America also puts to death people on a huge scale, as did Saddam. Not by his own hand, but under his rule. Just like America. God bless America? Yeah, right? A great nation? I don’t think so? It worries me that more Americans don’t campaign against the Death Penalty. What is their mentality exactly? It makes me feel sick to think of. They are no better than all the tyrants in history if they think its ok to kill people on demand.
A lot of people are writing in blogs rejoicing words about his execution. The same in papers. The news. The same is being spoken to friends, family, strangers. Really, shouldn’t we be thinking about changing society and the world so things like this do not occur again? Shouldn’t we be talking about how to make the world a better place so events like this are a thing of the past? Yeah, we should. But who is going to actually do it? Ask yourself.

Friday, 29 December 2006

where it all began...

It seems like it happened about a hundred years ago. That is how much my life has changed. But in fact, it has barely been a couple of years. I went to Laila’s house and sat on her bedroom floor- it was a small room- just enough space for a single bed and a desk at the other end by the only window. When you entered the room, you had to stand straight up against the wall to your left so the door could close. You really had to inhale if you were large or it would not be able to close- that was how small it was. Cosy, is the polite word us English would give it.
Anyway, I sat on the floor while she sat on her bed fashioning a foil tube around a biro pen. At her desk there was a computer chair but it was covered in clothes and books which I didn’t want to move in order to sit there. I observed her as she done it, for future reference.
“There” she said, handing me the tube, “Now,”
She ripped off a bit of foil, I would say about 8 inches by 8 inches and handed it to me
“Burn it off, just like me. It is bad to smoke if off foil. You have to try and get most of the bad chemicals off it first. Otherwise you might get pleurisy , so I’ve heard,”
I watched as she took the piece of foil in one hand, and with her lighter, flicked the ignition and drove the flame up and down the width and length. To get rid of the chemicals, so she said. But that was the last thing on my mind.
I had wanted to try heroin since I was about 12. I know that might sound crazy, especially when I tell you this next bit. When I was 9 my cousin Jimmy came to stay with us from Bradford to get off heroin. He had bin on it since he was 13 (he is now 30, but at the time was 24) and my fathers sister, my aunt, decided the best thing was to get him away from Bradford. So he came to stay with us. It worked, I suppose, for a while. Indeed, for the whole 9 months he was with us he never used. While he was here he used to speak to me and warn me off it. I think he sensed the same attitude in me that he had.
“Never try heroin,” he would warn, “You are so strong, and everyone tells you that. But nobody is stronger than heroin. It feels beautiful. When you take it, you feel like God himself has wrapped you up in cotton wool and nothing else matters. But soon after, that feeling goes. And you need it just to feel yourself. Except, you never feel yourself. It fools you into thinking it is good for you, and you need it, and you can’t live without it. It’s awful,”
I heard that and I thought maybe I should try it. From the age of twelve I had done cocaine, mushrooms, cannabis, speed, LSD… and none of them felt good to me. None of them were my drugs. None of them. So after my Dad had committed suicide, after having to spend years in therapy to get rid of the image of his decomposed, maggot-eaten corpse that lay in his flat for 2 weeks in the brutally hot summer of 2001, I teamed up with one of the girls I met at the YPPS. That being the ‘Young Persons Psychiatric Service’. I met her in Group Therapy. There was no obvious connection, we didn’t even talk. Though in the group, I was gently coaxed into talking about why I was dependant on alcohol and why I felt the need to take other drugs. When we left, after an hour, I was happily listening to my music when I felt a persons presence. I turned and it was her, Laila, just getting off her bike. We exchanged a hello, how did the group feel, where do you live? Turned out, we lived but a few minutes from each other. Five at the most. She didn’t take long, about a minute before she said “Look, I was wondering, do you know where you could get some cocaine?”. Of course I did but I told her how I would feel guilty, how we were at therapy together to try and get better. But anyway, we ended up going to the pub where I drank myself stupid and she didn’t. That was the beginning of our friendship. A very destructive one. A couple of months later we got heroin. Cut to the bedroom. She had been taking it for a couple of weeks on top of me, so unbeknown to her at the time, she was already on the road to addiction. Another couple of days and she could not live without it.
After the minor preparations were complete, she got up and picked up something from the top of the wardrobe, and began fiddling with it. “Here, hold it out carefully. Make a trench,”.
“What?” I replied, clueless,
“Give it here, I’ll do it,” she sighed, annoyed. Annoyed because she was desperate to take hers, I know now. I watched as she made a fold on the side of the foil and curved the two edges either side to indeed, make a trench. “Now,” she said sternly, “Hold it bloody bloody still,”. And I did. I held it as she tipped on these grains of light brown powder. She picked my tube up from where I had left it on the floor and placed it carefully between my lips. I took my lighter and got ready for her instructions.
“Light the flame and carefully put it under the powder. It will burn fast so make sure it’s a bit away. Tilt the foil away so it can run and you can chase the smoke more easily. Remember, that’s what you have to do to take it; you have to inhale the smoke through that tube. Otherwise, it won’t work,”
I sort of hesitated so without even having to ask, especially since I had the tube in my mouth still, which was making saliva drip down my chin, she took her foil and showed me how to do it. I felt reassured as it was so simple. So I positioned the tube over the grains, lit the lighter and kept it a safe distance away and put it under the powder. I caught a bit of it but when she shrieked I let the flame go out and pulled back to look at what I had done. Indeed there was a few stray bits of smoke going up but I had got as much as a first-timer could and I knew this, because as I inhaled, as was told, I could feel it going down and could certainly taste it.
“OH MY GOD!” Laila screamed jumping on her bed, “Look at the fucking wastage Naomi, Look at the fucking wastage!”
Quickly she put her tube in her mouth and followed the smoke rising in the air, trying desperately to suck it in so the sacred swirls didn’t just disappear into thin air.
“For Gods Sake!” she spat at me, making me feel really bad.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I know you said it would burn fast but I didn’t realise like that, with so much smoke,”
“But I told you!”
“I know, Laila. I won’t do it again, it was my first time, I’m sorry,”
“But…” she bellowed

“I’m sorry!” I screamed back, furious that she was getting so uptight. It was my money so she didn’t lose anything, so I didn’t understand her problem.

Believe me I was sorry. Very bloody sorry.

Wednesday, 6 December 2006

london 2 brighton

Yesterday was my Nannas birthday. It was lovely, really. She was 81 and all throughout the day, members of the family came trickling through the house with gifts. It felt strange in a way. Probably because this is the first ‘family thing’ that I have been involved in for a long time, after all, I was cast out due to my habit. But the day was a bit of a ‘welcome back to the family…. for now’. Many comments were made to me about “Isn’t it nice to be back. Carry on doing well and you will never ever be treated like you were again,” So not said without exercising some caution, and quite rightly so. I obviously never told them that actually, I have slipped up awfully and have spent over £420 on heroin this past 2 weeks. I know this exact figure because I checked it on my bank statements online, just now. Awful. Anyway, I stumbled out of bed yesterday and greeted my Nanna in the kitchen with some beautiful Fair Trade Pink Pastel Roses and a bottle of Cherry Brandy. My Nanna loves a tipple, or two, or ten.
Later on that day, I had to go out and meet Dylan which upset me a bit because just as I left my Nannas my twin nieces came over. I wanted to see them for a lot longer but I only had enough time to have a quick chat, a kiss & a cuddle. Anyway, I went to see him. I felt he was being really odd with me, and I do not blame him. At 10:22pm Monday he sent me this text; “Ok its official. I didn’t want it 2 happen but it has & i dont know what 2 do i just love you, u mad crazy girl. u drive me mad, i cant stop thinking about u, fuck & bollox, what r we going 2 do x” So, since I did not reply, he obviously did not know how I would take it, so was a bit unsure. Even I don’t know how to take it, yet. We sat in the pub for a while, but as it was my Nannas birthday I wanted to get home and see her again, so he left early. Before I was about to leave my sister rang and asked where I was. When I said pub she immediately said she wanted to come out and I suggested we go see London To Brighton. So 20 minutes later she was sitting in the pub with me at 6.30pm and we were downing vodka & oranges which was very bad for me as I hadn’t had one thing to eat and had been drinking since 3ish. The cinema we saw the movie is actually above a pub, a really cheap Wetherspoons. We had a rediculous amount of booze that by the time it came to the movie, we were so messed. We ended up getting popcorn and fanta and 6 beers, which we happily devoured. My sister insisted on going to the toilet halfway through and I realised she was gone a real long time. When I exited to go find her, I found her behind the popcorn counter taking some beers out the fridges as the stand was unattended. She did this purely because she was drunk, god knows why of course. I quickly ushered her back. It was a wicked film. I agree when they say its the best in a long time. The end kind of disappointed me, if you see it you will understand what I mean.
I did a stupid thing on the way back. I got a call from the boys from London, to say they were in town. They said they would meet me on the way back from the movie so I got out £79 and got 4 bags. I did this because I was drunk. Today, I realised I didn’t even need them. I had a tiny hit this morning but it was horrible. I passed out in the bathroom and woke up about 40 minutes later… too stong for me. Their gear changes all the time and its impossible to estimate the strength, and when your veins are tough like mine to get, you dont have the choice to “do a bit, if it isnt good enough do another bit”. The stupid thing wasn’t buying it, moreso buying it infront of my sister. I told her that it was for Laila and she hardly believed me. Luckily, she has not told my family yet. If she does, I am up shit creek.

Monday, 4 December 2006

something i wrote

from a lined piece of paper i wrote on while having a drink in the park on friday. or was it thursday?

Been a bit of a silly sausage. Only the other week I was sitting in a meeting with my key worker at the DDU (Drug Dependency Unit), telling him how happy I was and proud of myself for keeping off heroin for the longest possible time in my life. Which as you know, is a pitiful small amount of weeks, so embarrassing it does not even nearly reach four. Four. Four? Pathetic I know but it is the best I can do. As I left, I handed over a sample tube of my lukewarm piss and was given a firm handshake and ’Congratulations- you look so well, keep up the good work!’.
I mostly owe it to them, actually. They decided after a few months, to put me on a community script. This means I pick my methadone up from a chemist and do not have to go to the DDU Monday to Friday between 8.30am and 12.45pm like everyone else. A few of the others there gave me a bit of stick when they found out. I do not blame them. Most have been going for years, some about ten or fifteen and they still have to go daily, even though they beg for a community script. And then I join up and after a few months I get handed a community script I didn’t even ask for!
So how do I owe it to them? Well, when I had to go everyday, I would set off around 12.15pm and go in and down my methadone. Then, as I would come out I would see everybody else that had just been in there congregating at the bus stop nearby having a drink. I befriended quite a few people and as a result, I started to sit there with them everyday for hours drinking and chatting. And of course, you would get somebody shout out “anybody want to go halves on a bag with me?” and at £5 for half a bag, it wasn’t that great a loss. I should know, I did this almost everyday. It was so easy to do. The staff at the unit were not dumb, and knew I was hanging about with the others, who lets face it, were in most cases at least about 10-20 years older than me. They decided that I would recover better if I was away from other junkies and alcoholics. And you know what? They were actually right. It is so much easier to stay away from something when your nose is not rubbed into it.
But me being a silly sausage, I got back in touch with the girl who first gave me heroin. Or rather, she got in touch with me, to borrow moneny. I decided to get a bag with her. We went into the pub and I bought us a couple of drinks and while I downed my pint she went in to toilets to do her hit. The hilarious thing about the toilets was, the lights were on a scensor, so you really had to rush with your hit if you wanted. She came back after her £10 hit and saw me borrow £20 off a mate as I had no money left after buying our drinks. She say there and began to whine and get tearful for another £10. I explained I really couldn’t do it because of my need to buy alcohol and pay my rent. However, I am a soft touch and she threatened to leave so I got her another bag. It was horrible, really. When I went to do mine, it took me about 2 hours and by the time I found a vein, the plunger had bust. You just couldn’t push it down without dislodging the pin. If you keep on pushing and pulling back the plunger chances are it will stiffen up and fail to expel the air/contents. It just slides upwards. That was a bummer. A waste of £10, too.
This didn’t particularly make me want to do heroin again. I was unfazed by the experience. So, the next day, I did not go near it. But by the next I got a call from the dealer Joe, who drives up from somewhere in East London with bags of crack and heroin. £20 each or two for £35, three for £50. What a deal! Since they would meet me merely 3 minutes from my home, I thought, ’Why not?’ and went and met them. But instead of getting a twenty, I thought I would get 3. And these are good bags, about point 5. I had to see my sister that night and while I was sitting drinking a crate of beers with her, they were burning into my skin from the pocket in my jeans. I couldn’t wait to get back to mine where I tried to get a hit. 40 minutes or so later and BINGO. It knocked me out straight away. Maybe it wasn’t wise to do over half in a pin when I hadn’t used for long. I didn’t wake up until gone 5am, having done it at midnight. God I felt rough when I did.
Winter depresses me. It is just so… so…. Long. Cold and dark, drags on far too long. I have been in a lot during the days, then going to the pub about 5pm until kicking out time. When I am at home, I listen to music. Like Lou Reed, for example. And watch films like Trainspotting and Sid & Nancy and read books like Christianne H and Junk. Heroin is just so romanticised. I found myself, while consuming whatever piece of media, drooling and getting almost rushes of sexual excitement. From somebody that has not had an orgasm in over a year, I find it amazing I still can get a feeling like that. Even if it is when I am fantasising about heroin. So, when you are bored, what do you do?
TAKE HEROIN OF COURSE! So, I went and got some more. Took it, had to do it in my groin which was a big mistake. After a few hits in the same spot it started to really ache and my thigh swelled and hurt when touched. BACK TO SMOKING. Which is never as good, but smoking it the other day, I did vomit. Just like I used to vomit when I first took it. God, that was so good. You will never get that first rush back, but little bits of it is just as good. It is the closest you are going to get.
I am laying off it for a while. Even though I have £180 in my pocket. Off to the pub I think. Then to score after, I suppose. Silly sausage that I am.
The past few days have been particularly bad. Physically, that is. I had to stay at my Nans house because for the past couple of weeks my old condition returned. Ever since around two weeks into my methadone script, I started to get really bad heart palpitations, dizzy spells and fainting. I must say, I have been on it for months now and at first I just put it down to being physically addicted to alcohol. Turns out its not. According to my doctor, it has just caused a minor problem- arrhythmias. Luckily my Mum is a nurse and is therefore 100% clued-up when it comes to medical terminology. Hang on, am I that lucky? I strolled away thinking, “ECG? Maybe that is the name for a swanky new blood pressure monitor,”. Errr, no. She tells me what it is and explains they wouldn’t waste their time doing one if they were not pretty concerned. Heart problems scare me; my aunt had a heart attack at 34, her sister has angina, my Dad had heart disease, my grandad has had a triple bypass. I just know I am going to die of heart disease at an early age due to my excessive smoking and drinking. If heroin doesn’t kill me first. Or something else attributed to my disgracefully wreckless behaviour. I have been vomiting all day every day for the past four. Yesterday I had an awful attack and thought ‘I feel a bit weak’. Before I knew it I was waking up with my cheek stinging like hell with my Nan standing over me, trying to haul me up. My heart beat seamed to slow down and I had very slow, dull, painful beats in my chest, and it hurt (maybe the pain is from panic?). I suddenly felt weak and dizzy and I just fainted. Not for long- about 3 minutes? Nan heard my fat ass hit the floor from 3 rooms away. I DON’T LIKE THIS. I was up until 5.16am this morning, as my chest meant I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t. It is probably the methadone, alcohol and heroin combined that is doing me no favours. Ha- No Shit!
and next week I have to go for a appointment at the cardiology department for outpatients, which includes an

Monday, 30 October 2006

vol 2 post 1

I abandoned this blog for a while because I got sick and tired of all the responses I was recieving. I know that if you record your life and publish it for the whole world to see, you should expect to recieve replies, otherwise, why would you do it? I am by far too sensitive and as pathetic as it may sound, the amount of venom written about me by people living thousands of miles away who I will never ever meet or never ever know, actually really hurt. Nobody at 18 should be a heroin addict whose veins collapsed years ago, resulting in them having nowhere else to inject but in their groin or neck. Thats why I started this diary… I wanted to share what it was like to be a heroin addict. You see them portrayed in the media, and often not as true-to-form either. When I began heroin at 13, I never thought for a minute that I might have to inject in my groin resulting in Deep Vein Thrombosis or absesses and ulcers which could quite easily result in gangrene and the eventual amputation of my legs. Where was that in Trainspotting or Sid & Nancy, eh?
I thought if the documentation of my daily life would make just one person, whatever the age, reconsider choosing or using drugs then christ, it wasn’t so vain and egotistical after all! Not only that, writing is my therapy. I can never verbally speak about my feelings so writing is the perfect way to release some of the emotions bottling up. Oh yeah, and also, my heroin and alcohol addiction means most things are just a blur and I tend to forget them after a day or so. It is not all bad, I can have some good times and I want to be able to look back on them in a few years (assuming i am still here) and feel nostalgic. Or even better, I will be clean and the diary from my past will serve as a stark reminder of a time that seems not too disimilar from most peoples idea of hell.
I deleted my posts, which at times were novel length.
Not a lot has changed since I last posted, except maybe now I am on a methadone script. THANK GOD! Three months I have been drinking 75ml of methadone a day. Every day before 12:45, bar Sat & Sun I had to walk to the DDU (Drug Dependancy Unit, Cambridge) and queue up with hundeds of other junkies outside a tiny bullet-proof post office style window which kept the pharmacy staff and doctors in, and us out (our prescriptions are a major currency… everybody sells and swaps their methadone, benzos, amps outside like we were back in the schoolyard dealing with the contents of our packed lunches). We got our medication passed under the hatch. I had a major problem everyday… I would be shaking from alcohol withdrawel and would constantly spill my methadone out of the flimsy plastic measure. In the end, they had to go buy some drinking straws from the Spar Shop next door and I had to suck the disgustingly sickly-sweet sugary mixture through one.
The reason people have to go everday is because the staff have to carefully monitor you to make sure you don’t sell your meds or overdose or something like that. Some people I know have been going everday for 15 years. Brilliantly, after just 3 months I got told I could pick mine up from any chemistl THANK FUCK! People could not stand it but I do not care, I hated going everday and bumping into everyone. All I ended up doing was drinking with them all day long and taking loads of smack.
Surprisingly, I don’t do heroin THAT much anymore. I suppose its a combination of the fact I have NO MONEY and the methadone takes away any withdrawals. Scary thing is, I am moving into my new place today and I will be extremely far away from any friends or family- not that either of them speak to me, like! That means I will probably start doing heroin all day every day just like before. I hope not. Hang on, what am I saying… I love it. As much as I know I fucked up my life big time by taking heroin, I don’t hate it. Not one bit. I’m still just as in love with it as I was when I first tried it.