a quick fleeting visit

Facebook. Facebook. Like everybody, I also have a love/hate relationship with it. It does two things for me which is A) allows me to stay in contact and get back in contact with some very important people in my life but on the downside which is B) Shows me that in comparison to my peers, I am an absolute loser and waste of space who has done nothing with her life for the past 7 heroin and crack cocaine filled years. I can't help but feel remarkably inferior as I watch others from my classes at school already settle down into a life of marriage, mortgages, children, fancy foreign holidays etc. etc. Ok, Ok, I am 22 but quite a number already have either married or got kids, or the others are starting new careers after recently graduating from university.
Why oh why did I choose heroin addiction as my two-fingered salute to my mother and other authority figures? Why didn't I just get up the duff instead? Kids are a lot easier to deal with than a habit. FACT.
A member of my family was commenting on how I could have had a really good car, really nice designer clothes, a house even with all the money I had spent on drugs. It made me think that if anything in my life is paved with gold, its my fucking veins. I imagine a little town going on in the channels and arteries in my body with little high-end boutiques, luxury hotels and resturaunts... thats how much money I have pumped into it. If you have a habit, that will make sense. If you don't, it won't. But last year I was spending at least £100 a day on my habit, so multiply that by 7 and times by 52, and well.... its enough to make you sick. I would care but, I don't care for things that make most people happy. The only thing that makes me happy is doing a big fat hit of heroin and crack cocaine and even then the happiness doesn't last that long. Its a bit of a swizz, just like everything in life really.
My sister is about to give birth this December, her due date is the 21st actually. Its a boy, to add to her 7 year old twins. She is still striving on with her university degree, taking care of the kids single-handedly. I have to hand it to her, at 25 she is much more of a decent person than I'll ever be. It wasn't always like that, she was the naughtiest kid going and ended up in care growing up with a long criminal record. Now she is due to be a psychiatrist. How things change. But hey, we grew up in a household with a manic-depressive alcoholic self-harming suicidal father so I think she is more qualified than anyone to discuss peoples problems and help them through it.
DRUGS. What can we say about that. Each days its snowball upon snowball upon snowball. Heroin doesn't cut it anymore, infact I don't even bother with heroin unless I have crack cocaine to go with it. My veins are becoming more and more difficuilt to find. I'm resorting to worse and worse places to inject but after all you go through as a junkie, thats the least degrading thing you have to deal with in comparison to most other stuff.
Christmas soon. Financial, this time of year makes me panic my ass off as my family always expect nice expensive gifts and you have to deliver. Now, I have my boyfriend and his family to buy for too and they are upper middle class so I can't palm them off with something crap, it has to be better than what I'm getting my family. Eeeeh. I don't want to think about it. If it really was 'THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS' I would make everyones presents on my sewing machine but something tells me internally, everybody would be thinking I was being a cheapskate. Never mind the money, its the christmas shopping. It gets so busy at this time of year I nearly have panic attacks, or I do, as I can't bear the crowds. My nan turns 84 on 5th December. I always wanted to get clean for her. Because I don't really drink anymore, people think I'm clean in all aspects. Thats good enough, I suppose. I suppose.

Summer sun, something's begun

It's wednesday night, it's beautiful out and has been all day. Right now it's Ok because we are indoors; earlier on we had to ride back and forth between Roytown and Cambridge in the trusty Escort being slowly roasted by the sun. It is really muggy, humid... I don't like the heat much at all. But Carl can't stand it and his medication is effected by it. We had the air conditioner on (affectionately named 'the monster' by him due to the nom-nom-nom sounds it creates) but had to flick it off as I had well, some powders

I am just sitting on the bed in Carls room listening to him. I never had a natural flair for playing anything, even though I really tried, especially with the saxophone. Can't sing either. He can not only play the guitar extremely well, but he sings beautifully. Sure, sure, you think. But you would think that wouldn't you? It is not only me who thinks so. I have only just realised who The Damned are but he got to play support to them, he would play the main stage at the Strawberry Fair and toured around Europe. He has tried to get back into it and this is him doing it. He suddenly said "I think I'm going to write a song tonight" and minutes later we grabbed our stuff and trudged upstairs to the bedroom.

sorry about the gap

in posts. I haven't had too much internet access. Anyway, I am absolutely fine. I have been using, in fact, I am using now but the doctor has switched me from Methadone (i took myself right down to 25ml) to Suboxone (buprenorphine 8mg plus 2mg naloxone... wiping out the street value as you can't bang them up) which I intend to take from tomorrow or Tuesday (ha- reminds me of my favourite quote "I'll quit, as long as its next Tuesday").

Rehab was good. Painful, but I needed to break out of my cycle of alcohol consumption in a medically equipped setting. When I got there (its a psychiatric ward, with 2 detox beds) I knew the other detox patient, who is an absolutely lovely liverpudlian. I knew a couple of other people too, from my psychiatric care group. The morning I went in was quite scary. I had stayed at my Nannas and since it was a 11am start, I got up early. I knew they breathalised you when you arrived to make sure you were not over the DRINK DRIVE limit, and I was petrified I might be. The thought of getting there with all my things and being sent back to my Nans (she, and all my family were pinning so much hope on this stay. To come back merely minutes after I left to start my "NEW LIFE" would be crushing to them all, especially my Nanna. And to me, also. The lady based at the Bridge Project on Mill Road that done the referrals for alcohol detox (she was also my old drugs keyworker that oversaw my methadone programme) assured me I would be OK; that I could drink normally the day before and have one drink to "get me up and the morning of admittance, if needed. This worried me, as when we (users in Cambridge) had to go to the methadone clinic every morning weekday 8:45-12:45 certain people (the known alcoholics) were breathalised and if they blew red, they were refused their scripts. This was terrible if it were Friday, as you were without your methadone and perhaps your valium until Monday, where you would have to see the doctor as it had been 3 days without and have them decide to carry on prescribing you. I was scared because I remember Beckie stopping drinking around 10pm and still blowing red the next morning. I drank none the less until about midnight and when I woke up at 7am the next day, I had to drink. I had brandy and coke and a couple of little bottles of stella, about 1.5 units each. The amount of stuff I packed was rediculous. I was well prepared so I didn't get bored. Tim gave me a lift there, stopping off at the Bridge Project to get breathalised prior to going to hospital, just so I knew it wouldn't be a wasted journey. Time was getting on when we got to Fulbourn Tesco (hospital is next door) and I dashed around getting last minute things; socks, cigarettes (I didn't get enough; I found I would smoke around 60 a day, and had to call outside people to deliver them), sweets. I had to have a drink, so I got two small cans of Smirnoff and Cranberry. I downed them both just like that, my last 4 or 5 units. Tim helped me take my stuff in, and we waited till I got admitted.
I was worried what they would think of me, they being the staff and other patients. I thought they might think I was faking it, because I didn't look like the typical alcoholic. And I had so much with me; ipod, clothes, laptop... And although I was very ill, I didn't have a fit. I accept now that that is just the part of me that gets self-concious all the time. I had just downed the vodka and was petrified I would blow red on the breathaliser but actually, I was fine. I will write more about the hospital, later.

I only stayed in for one week. It should of been two. But basically, I met a bloke. Silly to abscond on the account of a man? Maybe. But its been a while and right now I am the happiest I have ever been. I have settled quite a bit. I now drink about 3 times a week and when I do, its a bottle of wine to share with my boyfriend, Carl. He himself has not drunk in a few days. It doesn't bother him too much. Life is going quite alright; I am going to college in September and I am hoping to move ASAP in time for that. I can only hope and pray.

off to rehab today

I don't know why I suddenly became so resentful of the internet.... hang on yes I do. I wrote that and the thing below last night around midnight when my computer just crashed and switched off. Noooo,.... I thought, I have to pack for rehab in the morning so I wont have time to re-write something. Phew, turns out blogger automatically saves but for some reason, not everything I wrote. Anyway, I know one of my friends who reads this commented a while back saying when I don't write he thinks I am dead and it worries him.

Anyway, its 6:48am in the morning and I am surrounded by shit loads of clothes that need packing. I am apprehensive that I am going over the top; my bag is huge. Its one of those ones backpackers use and goes down to the backs of my knees so when I walk he whacks against them and neigh-on trips me up. I always get self-concious thinking "omg, alcoholics and junkies don't care what they look like is the common conception so people will think i'm not really ill if i turn up with all this hair, make-up and clothes crap". Silly? Yes and no. You would be suprised how much my appearance at times has let me down... just recently I told my doctor how bad my drinking was and she replied with a "Well, at least you can get up and take pride in your appearance. Most people can't even do that, they lost the ability a long time ago," HELLO! Its because I am self-concious I wear make-up, I feel so hideous I have to plaster myself with it just to go out the house or even open the door to a postman. Vain? No. Just self-loathing.

I don't really know how the whole thing works, yet. I know I can't take my phone as it has a camera on. I was going to take in my digital camera and take pictures, a photo diary (not containing others, of course) but then I realised how silly that was. The sudden panic it might cause with other residents etc. I am going to take in my laptop (hope its allowed) and try and write. You are not allowed out for first 5 days, and the only visitors you have after that are non-alcoholics and junkies. So that really narrows my list down of potential guests. You have to take in all your money, smokes... there is a tesco next door to this hospital (my Dad was in and out of this same place all my life and I remember he would abscond, go to the Tesco for vodka, drink it in the lush hospital grounds then go back into the ward for a nice dinner and to sleep it off) but considering I will have no other of lifes pleasures (booze and smack) I bet I will smoke like a trooper! So I will need to bring in a shit load of those. I am getting those this morning. My mate is taking me. You are allowed a drink to get you there and I need one bad but the thing is, you can't blow over 100 when they breathalise you, and 80 is the drink drive limit. You have to be there for 10am so if you blow over that, you are fucked and lose your bed. I am thinking one can of weak beer, and now so I don't chance anything.

I am frightened. Trying not to think about it. I haven't been sober for years. KELLY I have taken in some small sewing things (didn't want to lug in my sewing machine as that would mean my most expensive possessions are all in one place for easy pickings!) to do. Hoping to reignite my passion for it. Sure I will. And I have a lot of pictures on craftster.org of things I have made, if I have time this morning I will go and look through my past projects and send you the links. That is a brilliant site for sharing ideas and tutorials. Anyway I must go! Get ready. "See" you all in 2 weeks. Thanks for all your kind comments and support.

From Last Night.......
Reading Gledwoods latest post reminded me of just how dire the Eurovision Song Contest really is. I missed the whole hype that was "Your Country Needs You" (? it was that right, where they looked x-factor style for a England rep to sing a song written by Andrew Lloyd Webber) but I decided to flick back and forwards between BBC1 and whatever else I was watching so I could hear our entry. Man, the constant repeating of "its my time, its my time" just made me want to instantly become deaf. Andrew what were you thinking? I hadn't watched it since LOVE CITY GROOVE were on, and lost. I know we won it one year with that bird from Katrina and the Waves but I remember one particularly fantastic song that I can't believe did not win. Do you remember it, also? Its beautiful. Who can forget her in her union jack pants. That women was my idol for oh, I don't know, a good few weeks till I moved onto someone else. I remember getting constantly teased for having curly hair and suddenly girls were curling theres, but unfortunately, as she faded into the distance so did that fashion and it was back to jibes of GINGER!!!! FRIZZBALL!

rehab! rehab! rehab!

I will post photographs from the Girls Aloud concert at the 02 arena. I was physically sick at that show for two reasons; one, the arena was so steep it wasn't just I who had a panic attack, grown men afraid of heights could not go into the stadium due to the way the place was built... the people infront of you had their heads aligned with your foot (thats how steep it was I swear!). It looked as if you were about to topple out your seat, bouncing over the people infront of you until you hit the main arena floor in a bloody mess. Secondly, I couldn't drink any alcohol as it was just my sister and I with the twins so obviously, their first trip in London and on the underground tube filled me with anxiety... I knew I needed my witts about me and to hold onto them at all times. I was frightened they would fall on the tracks/get stollen/etc. etc. Ok, ok, they are seven. Anyway, I couldn't drink so I was plagued by headaches, violent puking and shaking that looked like I had parkinsons at best. Sad, but true. My twins referred to me having a "bad head day" god they are more switched on than i give them credit for. However, Turns out they were amazingly good. We stayed in a hotel by the 02 arena in north Greenwich and they were brilliant. They didnt cry once, misbehave, moan when the queue for food reached over an hour and a half, paddy, fight.... they just were so chilled. When I was taken to London at 7 I was scared to death; I needed to be carried down the esculators on the underground as they freaked me out so much, I was paranoid the whole time I was going to get stolen and sold to some fagen-esque gang.... I was so proud of the girls. They loved it and they loved the Florence Nightingale Museum they insisted on going to and of course... HAMLEYS TOY SHOP! they both had money allocated to them and they spent it wisely on presents for themselves.

I am taking them to the park tomorrow afterschool to ride their bycicles as my sister is in hospital and she gets out that afternoon. They live opposite the park, about 5 seconds from it but my sister will be too ill to take them so I am going to. I want to spend some time with them. I spent a few hours with them yesterday and loved it, can't believe how much they change when I don't even see them for a few days!!! I want to spend as much time with them as possible because
DRUM ROLL PLEASE............

I AM GOING INTO A 2 WEEK REHAB!!!!!!!!!
YES!
I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED.
i would never have the money to do this in my life!
its been allocated to me because well, ive become such a danger to myself i will be dead in a few years if i dont, probably!! i am so happy to be given this chance. i was supposed to go in on the 12th but my drugs worker rang up and said I DIDN'T NEED TO GO IN, that my drinking wasn't THAT BAD! so they cancelled it. but my psychiatrist got in touch and convinced them that it was a life-or-death situation and they managed to find me a bed for the 19th of MAY!

i nearly cried when i heard. i very nearly did but as you will know by reading this blog, i don't cry EVER, not even by myself.


my psychiatrist said it would be good respite for me to not drink for two weeks. I explained i wanted to quit drink FOR GOOD but he thinks my liver just needs a 2 week break. i would like to think I could show him otherwise but like he says, my liver needs this break or ill be dead before I know it! my mum said to me "so you are never going to drink again?" as if she didn't believe me. i don't know if i believe myself but its my intention. however, its just getting away from that crutch of drinking all day to deal with my problems. getting away from the fact a summers day isn't complete without an ice cold beer because hello- IT IS! thats what im trying to drum into my skull.

april 21st

Something finally seems to be getting done in the way of treatment for me. At the moment I am with Complex Cases which is an outpatient programme 5 days a week. I went this morning from 11.30-1pm, skipping the last hour or so because when the group meeting had finished, the dinner had been cooked. Bacon filled the room and the psychiatrist began making them into gourmet sandwiches but since I can't eat in front of people (I've got a complex) I left. I hadn't eaten all day and didn't until 6pm so I felt ill and was dying to eat but I just couldn't bring myself to. Anyway, tomorrow after my appointment at the doctors to get my methadone prescription renewed I am going to be assessed by the HOME TREATMENT team. It was quite urgent so they offered to see me today but I didn't have the time. One condition is they can only see you if you haven't consumed any drugs or alcohol. Hello, I am a physically dependant alcoholic. So, I see them at 4pm so I don't know how I'm going to go all day without a drink. If they want a seizure on their hands, they can go ahead. This Home Treatment is an intensive programme and it provides a carer to be with you day in and day out which I do need really badly. Hopefully, I'll get it.

I am watching PAID IN FULL on BBC1, Its about the crack explosion in Harlem in the 80s. Today, even though I needed to save my money for the london trip this weekend, I got 3 bags of drugs- one crack cocaine, two heroin. I went with someone else to score and even though I could of scored myself, he took the money and wouldn't give me my crack until I gave him half for nothing. I wouldn't mind but he got a £20 bag plus while we were waiting this girl walks up to him and gives him a £20 bag to test. He grafts all day everyday and I can't so these drugs have to last me. Thanks a bunch you git. I don't mind sharing but he had loads more money on him. He wouldn't do that to a bloke. Anyway, things are getting pretty bad. My body is in a right state. Where I wrap the torniquet around my arm, i have such a bad rash and bruising all the way around. I bruise at the slightest touch and my needle holes are just not scabbing over, just swelling and becoming full of pus. When you knock my arm near to them, the pus will burst out. URGH.

The 21st was the closing day for all supporting letters on my housing move. Tomorrow they will discuss whether to move me out of my hellhole of a flat I don't live in because its surrounded by other junkies who constantly bully me. Fingers crossed.

my neck, my back...

Kills. Absolutely kills I tell ya. Sunday was spent at my twin nieces house as it was there 7th birthday. Among their "main presents" alongside the Girls Aloud Concert Tickets (26th Sun) and hotel stay in London they got this absolutely wicked Trampoline. Their house is only about 60 seconds from mine so when I got round there the first thing I did was sling down their gifts, take off my shoes and join the 6 children that were bouncing on it already. I was afraid I was going to fall on one of their tiny little bodies but a quick suggestion that they go and get some ice-cream and they all vacated it pronto. Very cunning, Naomi, I thought. I preceeded to have a blissful 10 minutes jumping and attempting to perform flips and various tricks, which I could barely do, all I managed was to prove to myself how unhealthy and unflexible I am. When the kids got back on, I got off and was overcome by the sudden urge to vomit everywhere. The blazing sun (it was beautiful weather by the way, managed to hold up all day) combined with the exercise totally knocked me for 6 and everybody knew I didn't feel well as I rejected offers of wine, budweiser, cider even vodka... in favour of water and then cherry aid. Copious amounts of water, the first time I had drunk water in months. The day was lovely. We had Sarah and her boyf Ashley and their 2 children, my mother and her partner, my sister and her partner Andy (obviously as it was their house), my Nan & Grandad, Andys little girl and the twins little friends. Usually 7 year old party stuff; BBQ, overeating, loud pop music and Kiss Radio playing, booze, a few tears. I spent most of the day on the trampoline, convincing most of the adults to go on it. Sarah is over 25stone and I made her get on it. She was bouncing and she suddenly fell, and I wish the camera would of been on because when she did, I shot up in the air and came crashing down on her. It was comical beyond belief and had everyone laughing. Managed to get my Mum on there too, as well as my sister. When I woke up yesterday my back was stiff as it could get. In the afternoon I went to my sisters to paint with the twins and they got me back on the trampoline but god, it was so painful but they wouldn't let me off. If I don't lose weight going on it everyday then pffft, I give up!


My Mum is getting ready now as her and Dean are going to London 02 arena for the wrestling. Last time I checked she hates wrestling but I believe she got him the tickets for christmas. It finished about 11pm so she will get the train back tonight. On Sunday, we didn't really want to chance rushing to Kings X with the kids, who will be bloody tired so the plan is to set off, check into the hotel around 3, dump our stuff, try and get the kids to nap (like that will happen, so at least rest) eat and go to the concert. Next day we will go around London. They want to go to the Florence Nightingale Museum but I think the National History would be better. Oh well, we will see.
Yesterday was an adventure of sorts. I was really ill, my methadone wasn't holding me. I get into town and bump into Amy. Somebody owed her money so her and her friend couldn't score some brown. I know where you can get 2 £20 bags for £35 so I went off to get £20 so her £15 could get her and her mate a bag. He got really arsey and tried to take off with the bag himself. I didn't mind sorting her out but why when she has paid half should she get nothing, and why when I have paid £5 more for a bag have to split it in half. Last night, she was starting work as an escort. I arranged to call her at 7pm and she was to pick it up if anything was wrong. I rang at 7.10pm as the phone was already in use at mine. I guess she was ok as she didn't answer. I will ring her soon but I feel odd about it- I was a bit dubious about her doing it, worried, concerned, it didn't seem right to me... not right at all. This afternoon I am going to go to my COMPLEXCASES outpatient thing as I haven't been for ages. We are going to go out walking in the exercise group. Fun, eh! I better as I will be kicked out for lack of participation. I missed my hits yesterday and as a result, have a really bad swollen arm. I hope this doesn't mean another abcess as it was a bloody hit of white and brown. Oooops. No dope left and I can't spend my money on it tomorrow as I need to pay for London this weekend. Bummer.

This is the test

Whoops. I was thinking about my twin nieces birthday, which is technically now since it is 00:14. They are seven. I was thinking about the GIRLS ALOUD concert i am taking them to next sunday and the hotel we are staying in that night and the museums and places of historical interest the next day I & my sister, their mum, are taking them to. I was reading Shelleys blog, THOSE WHO DANCE... (its in the links) and thought, hell, she is coming off the liquid handcuffs. I came off the liquid handcuffs last year and as a result, I died (see last post) I can't believe what I just done. I just went outside into the garden while smoking my cigarette and squirted my last hit into the grass; £10 heroin and £5 crack. Just squirted it away. No chance of getting it back. Its in the grass. I think I realised there Is no JUST ONE LAST HIT. its bullshit. there is no ONE LAST HIT. you have to stop it. my doctor wants to put me back on subutex so come monday morning, that is what i am going to do. i wouldnt of done if i hadnt of squirted my snowball away but NOW I WILL. i go to my kids party tomorrow and i love them, i dont want them to see what i saw. i dont want me to do to them what my dad did to me.

a year ago today

Time goes so quickly it very ceases to scare the hell out of me. Exactly a whole year ago today I was, around this time give an hour or take an hour, being rushed to hospital after having respiratory & heart failure, where I was kept overnight before duly coming round and leaving that next day in the early afternoon. What scares me is the state I was in last year. Yes, I had detoxed off methadone (being clean and drunk and doing that fateful shot of cocaine & heroin which lets face it, was only about 1/15th of my normal dosage but hey, thats what kills, sober people underestimating their tolerance) but my head was not in a good place. I was boozing all the time with my 'mate' and I just never stopped. I couldn't sleep due to my lack of opiates so instead of drinking normal hours, I was drinking all hours. My body was in such a mess. Last year, I didn't even remember that, before I took that shot which I knew was playing russian roulette with my life, it was my twin nieces 6th birthday in 2 days. It didn't register. I don't even remember their birthday last year. I was there, but I don't remember. I cannot believe that. Makes me feel very ashamed. Anyway, today I went out and met my keyworker to help me fill in my DLA (Disability Living Allowance) forms and deal with housing. and got the twins their birthday presents. I was ducking and diving through town, avoiding everyone I could. I purchased 2x £20 heroin and 1x £20 crack cocaine on Wednesday. I have loads of crack left and just under a bag of gear. Can't believe I made it last so long. It is no coincidence that my drinking has gone down loads. When I don't have gear, I booze to excess. I feel so much healthier on heroin than I do alcohol. Oh, the sheer irony! It isn't the actual heroin that makes it the devils drug, its the implications due to it being illegal. When I went to the chemist today I saw this women who must be about 40 who was a junkie but looks absolutely smoking, fucking beautiful mumma she is. She doesn't drink a drop but was banging up like it was going out of fashion most of her life. Can you tell? Nope.

I presume everybody has heard about the G20 Summit Protests in London. Now, the officer who shoved Ian Tomlinson to the ground has been arrested for Manslaughter. It has been interesting sitting in the pub over the last few days, listening to some very very educated peoples wide ranging opinions on the matter. I had seen in the newspaper, stills of the women and a policeman with his truncheon raised. It wasn't until today I saw it on the widescreen TV of the pub in motion. I listened to her words and I listened to one say to us "completely brutal... thank god we have brave people like her standing up for what they believe in". Completely brutal... ummm, perhaps a bit heavy handed. Brave? BRAVE? WHAT A FUCKING JOKE! Brave is what the women in Kabul were on Wednesday when they marched peacefully through the streets against what effectively are pro-rape laws. Along the way they were spat at and people threw stones at them. This women in the YouTube film is winding up this copper, going back and back to him. You can hear something along the lines of "i'm a woman" as if this means her behaviour can be excused, they will whack you women or man. If you are told to back off you don't keep on going back and back to a copper do you? All it seems is the mob mentality whipped her up into a bit of a frenzy and they were just having a go at the nearest authority figure (in this case, the long lines of cops). Don't get me wrong, I'm not sticking up for the cops but don't these people realise they can't exactly have a lengthy debate about climate change with the riot police while on duty.

Also, I couldn't help but cringe a little as the 40 and 50-somethings around the bar were laughing out loud at "my generation" as they held banners at the protest while carrying cans of Scrumpy Jack, smoking fags and wearing shoes that probably cost god knows how much financially and envionmentally to ship from China. Eh. I know its not plausible to be 100% green overnight and its not going to happen but ooooh, I felt a little embarrased for them. They just looked like apathetic youths wanting to have a go about anything, passionate enough to get up and protest for the cause but not passionate enough to not swig their way through cans of booze throughout it. Here I am talking about giving things a bad name but they sat and took the royale piss out of them and it touched a nerve with me as I am their age. And why? Because I think terrorism is terrible, the sex trade is terrible, violence is terrible... but I contribute to it all by buying illegal drugs. I felt like the burning hypocrite in the room, I really did.

suicide sundays

"Suicide Sunday" is the term everybody uses to describe the day that for most people symbolises rest, no rushing about, lounging in ones home, perhaps doing a spot of DIY... of course, if you are a heroin addict then you do not get the luxury of a day off and Sundays are always that much harder to hustle and obtain your gear. Not many people in shops (hard to shoplift as you are more visable), not many people in the streets (hard to make your money if you beg)... the thought of a Sunday is enough to make one shudder with fear, but even more so is a Bank Holiday Monday. I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with Monday that symbolised just how at-the-end-of-your-tether one gets on this day. If I did, I would of coined it and introduced it into our (our being, the community of addicts here in Cambridge) dialect. There is nothing more horrid than a Bank Holiday Monday as it means 2 days of hard struggling if you haven't already got your dope in.

Walking to the Grafton Centre with my Momma, Sister & Twin Nieces to do some shopping I managed to pass all and sundry- mostly all looking rather stressed and upset. On Mill Road, I needed to get a Special Brew as I was beginning to shake and sweat from the lack of booze but when I went in the shop, my Momma was looking in and watching- not intentionally to catch me out, just there was nowhere else to look. I cut my losses and walked out the shop but I bumped into Beckie, the twin who had come out for some Special Brew. I stopped to talk to her and made her go in the shop to get me one and as we walked away I had her sneakily drop it in my handbag right under my Mothers nose. Obviously, I couldn't drink it infront of her or especially my twin nieces so I had to endure another hour without booze. I went and got my methadone, which was a pretty bad idea as I was prone to being sick and if I had of sicked up my meth, well... I would have been screwed. After that, we went up to Burger King where we all had something to eat. I got a horrible double bacon cheeseburger meal and I don't know why I ate it. It was sick. Afterwards, I felt so so bad. Awful. The twins were telling me how gross it looked as they tucked into their apple sticks and chicken nuggets. It did look pretty bad I admit. What a waste of £5- I could of used that to go halfs on a bag with someone. I had no appetite and every bite just messed with my gag reflex. I couldn't even finish it all and after taking the twins to the toilets, told my Mum I was having a panic attack and needed to get some air. I went round the back of the shopping mall and found a little corner where I cracked open my beer and downed it. I was listening to my ipod and was actually smiling, this huge great grin as I could feel the relief spread over my body. I suddenly didn't feel shakey anymore, I stopped sweating, I felt calm. Then I caught a guy in a car with his young son giving me a very pitiful look. I felt bad and retreated further around the corner out of view.

I kept seeing everyone I knew but since they saw me with kids they didn't really talk much or rather, not about gear. I just wanted to get out of the town and back to Mill Road but my sister was clothes shopping so another 2 hours were spent waiting and waiting. On the way back I had Mimi and I took her in the store with me and had to divert her attention while I purchased a 4 pack of Special Brew and hide it quickly in my bag. Finally got to drink it after I went to my sisters, put the kids in the bath and then to bed, then left to go back to mine. Just doing it now.
Financially, things stink. I was so worried today about £££ as I knew I needed my drink and I didn't have any. Just by Gods good grace I managed to scrape together the £10 needed for my drink and food. I notice the grave silence that occurs everytime my Mum or sister bring up something I purchased for myself in the past, or for them. In BOOTS we were looking at make-up and my mum goes "You always used to buy that Dior make-up" which was insanely expensive for me. Then she just stops, doesn't sigh externally but know she is inside, and realises that I would never spent £40 on a compact, ever again. I would spend it on drugs. I don't even have that to my name. Shameful, Sad.

What a fall from grace.

Hep C, Ulcers, Jaundice etc.

I am on such a low dose of methadone it is rediculous; 40ml. My doctor announced that I was going to go back on subutex, I didn't have a say in the matter. I did stay clean for a few months on subutex but when I decided to use one weekend, I couldn't cope with going into withdrawals before going back on them (which you have to do) so as a result, I just went back to heroin, where I have been ever since. I haven't had a hit since Friday morning, and that was barely anything. Since it is easter Sunday, I didn't have to go to the chemist to get my methadone which I have to do 7 days a week. Good job I am not lazy or I would hate the 4 mile walk everyday. Actually, I have been sitting in all day and since I drink all my holiday booze (1.5 litre bottle of vodka, 5 special brews) yesterday that I only bought that morning to see me through until Monday, I have been going out of my mind. Bored, frightened. I don't know what of. I have been sitting in this house all day and have been going through the dredges of booze; the last of the peach vodka, 1 Tenants super, sherry, red wine.

As it is Easter Sunday my Nanna and Grandad went to church. They left around 9am and I had woken at 7am. Thank god their hearing isn't as great as it was because I spent from 7.15-8am hanging over the toilet bowl. She heard me being sick and ran to the toilet, I let her in and told her I was hungover. Then I turned on the TV, turned it up and left it loud while I proceeded to sit in my room with a bucket retching and heaving. I cannot explain the panic when this happens most mornings. I sweat, get faint as the pressure builds up in my head and begin to stress when it gets to the stage where there is nothing to sick up anymore- that means I just retch and bring up the bile and blood. This morning, I knew I had been sick for 3 days in a row already so I kept an ice-cream tub to collect the blood (if there was anymore- which there was) so I could show my Mum who is a nurse, or my own doctor. Since I hadn't eaten yesterday, I had nothing to sick up but a little fluid and the blood came up, as predicted. About 2 or 3 egg cups full. I didn't want to put it on my Mum again (last time, she cried, got hysterical, made plans to stop me drinking) so I laid down on the floor begging God not to let me die. I always want to die, until I actually think I am going to. Just like last April when I woke up after having died after I had a heroin overdose. Hooked up to loads of machines in the hospital with my Mum and sister at my bedside. When the doctor told me I had cardiac arrest I went into an acute panic thinking "shit, that was my life, over. gone." But as soon as they disconnected my oxygen and machines I left that hospital and yep, you guessed it, scored. And injected the drug that had just days earlier killed me, literally. TO THINK- THATS NEARLY A YEAR AGO! Anyway, I had to go into hospital to have my stomach looked at as the doctor pretty much diagnosed an ulcer, just, now I must have the camera down the old throat (again) to confirm it. While I am there, they are going to try getting blood again. The doctors in a&e couldnt do it but my psychiatrist insisted there are people there that can as I need confirmation that I do or don't have Hepatitis C as these bouts of jaundice I get (where I am as yellow as the sun, I swear) are going to be extra dangerous if its HEP C thats causing it apparently. Why? Because of my drinking, that mixed with Hep C and I apparently don't have a chance in hell.

I'm 21. Jeez. I cannot believe I have never had a boyfriend, or anything like that. It is pretty easy to understand why though. When I got on heroin, I was just a kid, and I have been on it ever since. As a result, I have never emotionally grown-up. Those years were just spent chasing a drug, nothing else. I never socially learnt to deal with people, have relationships etc. etc. I wouldn't have a clue how to behave with the opposite sex. It makes me laugh that I haven't had sex in over a year. I am so shy I can't look at a man. I giggle at the thought of somebody saying they love me or like me or asking me out. Will I ever get back these vital years in which one needs to mature? I don't know but I don't think it matters that much because judging by the bruises I have on my ribcage and my legs (i haven't hit myself, or fallen, they just happen) I won't be around much longer.

MY TWIN NIECES TURN 7 THIS MONTH! AT THE END OF IT WE TAKE THEM TO LONDON TO SEE GIRLS ALOUD !

same ol' same ol'

Monday, I got taken out to the pub by a beautiful, hot guy who seems to really like me. Problem? Well, no problem unless you consider a problem to be that he happens to be a heroin addict who is also sleeping with men to fund his habit despite being "straight". I have been avoiding him like the plague since we departed from our date. Why? I don't know why, it has nothing to do with what he does because I love him, but I am so fucked up, I am honestly asking myself how could I ever engage in a relationship when I am like this.

Tuesday: I went and actually got some money, £50. I rang up Amy, a girl who is 20, my age (nearly) and asked if she wanted some drugs. DINGDINGDING dumb question. She has no money, and no drugs so she wasn't exactly going to decline, was she? I got two £20 bags of heroin and one £20 of crack cocaine. I gave her one of the heroin, and gave her most of the crack since I don't really like it. I made it last from Tuesday till Thursday since I know I had my methadone to take, too. That and, I can't be falling asleep around my twin nieces and my family, otherwise they will know I am right back where I started.

Today, I had saved my money and not purchased drugs. I wanted to be STRONG. I had one pint of beer/cider (a snakebite & black; 1/2 cider, 1/2 beer & a dash of blackcurrant) and went to the doctors to get my methadone script A.K.A Liquid Handcuffs then proceeded to go back to my sisters and treat the kids to lollies and easter eggs. then i just went in, and drunk. and sat and thought about what i am to do.

trying not to fall asleep at the computer...

woke up this morning around 10am which is late for me. i thought 'urgh, another day' but that was soon replaced by 'hell yeah, you have a snowball ready made up and more gear' so I hopped out of bed, said good morning, picked up some water pretending i was actually going to drink it, took a pepsi from the fridge and returned back to my room to do my dig. very nice. was my second snowball in god knows how long. took my breath a-w-a-y. not this monday, but monday the 16th i went to the doctors and showed her my arm and she instantly told me to go to hospital. I insisted I would go, but my friend was waiting for me outside (was true) but even though he would of taken me right away, I decided with my £10 I wanted to get a hit before I went. After all, what pain relief would I get in hospital, being a junkie and all? So, by now, my arm was bigger than the day before and I was delirious and giddy and off my head. I bumped into somebody I didn't really know and had to take my chances he wouldn't rip me off (he didn't) and we took a stroll down town to score and nearly two hours later I was in a much worser shape. I fainted on the way back into the centre. Hospital was at the opposite end of town but I knew I couldn't get there on foot. I was going to go back to the doctors and take the offer of a lift in a ambulance car. After I fainted, I was sweating and began to be sick. It wasn't a dirty hit but could of well been. My legs could barely carry me and I was shaking violently. I was pale as pale could be. Then something odd happens as I am panicing thinking I am going to die. I see Laila, the girl who gave me gear for the first time. She began talking to me as she got off her bike and crossed the road over towards me, about Narcotics Anonymous and staying clean. She had been to Detox5 years before and had an implant, but replapsed and I think it was the recent police intervention (she got caught Nov/Dec dealing to an undercover copper) that managed to finally put her off heroin & crack. I couldn't concentrate standing there talking to her so I said I must go, and she tells me I look ill and asks me whats wrong. She assumes I am clucking until I pull up my sleeve. I tell her I need to call my Mum and she urges me to get to hospital. 'I am trying' I tell her. I see, well she did, a big blue taxi outside the Boathouse pub. I recognise the driver as the father of a boy who was in my class at secondary school. She tells me to get in the taxi, to which I reply 'I have no money'. She tells me she does and I tell her I can't accept it. While I go into a phonebox and ring my Mum, acting all fine and explaining I need to go to hospital to have it checked out (it being an infected cut, I didn't tell her it was an abcess), she talks to the taxi driver. As I put down the reciever she walks up to me and tells me she has paid the driver and I am to get in "Why are you doing this for me?" I ask her, "Because Naomi, I care about you. You are my friend," Nobody has ever done something like that for me before. Ever. I was touched. I took her number, thanked her, and got in the cab. I was so frightened I was going to be sick that I shut my eyes (the light hurt it anyway, and it was VERY sunny) and covered them, putting my head down. I was sweating so much that when I got out the cab, the seat was soaking wet where my back was. The journey seemed to take forever and ever so often I would peek out from behind my hands to see where I was, but every time I was much further away than I could of ever imagined. I didn't want to pay £50 for a clean-up fee if I were to be sick. We eventually got there, though. I felt much better in the a&E.

I sat waiting in a room full of people, one man opposite me had a long 3.5" nail right through his knuckle, the central one. It was making these girls next to me squirm and he enjoyed the banter he was engaging in with them. They asked why I was there and I pulled up my sleeve. The girl sitting next to me actually jumped up from her seat and went "Urghhhhhhhh!" before apologising and sitting back down. Eventually, after 2 or 3 hours I went to see the doctor. One wanted to put me to sleep, and have a plastic surgeon carefully cut it to minimise scarring and make sure he got deep enough to get it ALL out. The other South African doctor just decided to get a scalpal and cut it open, which he did. He lay me down and told me to look away. He just freezed it basically but when he sliced it open I could feel the pus and blood running down. I regret not looking, morbid as it sounds. He described it to me throughout "wow... the amount is unbelievable. Wow! There is even more! Where is it coming from? MORE! MORE!" When he got swabs to take samples he told me it would hurt and it did, he dug it right inside the wound and when I turned to look I was stunned by the size of this said wound. IT WAS HUGE! Like when I've self-harmed. Of course, he cut it open, of course its going to be huge but obviously, since it can't be stitched (need to make sure all the craps out) it seems so odd to be open and left. The hole was crazy and he placed a piece of packing in it to hole to make the sides come together and absorb some of the crap. He gave me an appointment for the following Monday and that was it really. I didn't go on the Monday because it seemed to have healed fine. It hasn't; doctor told me its healing over the top but there is still loads of pus in there that needs to come out. So I still have this big hole, too. Need to get it sorted, its weaping pus all the time and I didn't finish my antibiotics at all. Naughty, I know.

I missed my methadone yesterday and its 13:49 so I should get out of my pyjamas and get ready! Ha, I'm so lazy!!!!

my arm, my arm!

On my right arm I have two abcesses; one above the crook of my arm, the other just slightly above my wrist. That one is 10 times the size as the other and is so whoppingly huge and painful I cannot take it. It has made my arm swell from fingertip to shoulder and I cannot move my fingers, or bend my arm. I can only brush my hair with my left hand and apply my make-up with the same and since I am right handed, its making everything take longer by about five fold. This abcess is so huge I cannot explain. My arm is the size of my calf. I am on 3 types of antibiotics 2 4 times a day, 3 4 times a day and another 3 4 times a day. It isn't making a difference but I go to the doctors in the morning to renew my methadone script so I am not worrying too much. I just took 4 codydramol, on my 3rd can of special brew so the pain has subsided SLIGHTLY. also been rubbing germolene into it, which is a local anaesthetic. helps a tad. I woke up this morning vommiting violently; that is what happened the last time I had an abcess. It actually makes me seriously sick. I have a high temperature and my pharmacist noticed today when I went to pick up my methadone I looked deathly pale and was sweating profoundly. Part and parcel of a abcess and of drug abuse. Occupational hazzard I am afraid.

Junkylife has now gone; I have purchased a domain & hosting but I am too dumb to make a layout. I have lost my only outlet (junkylife) and I feel detached and sorrowful; I need to work on it asap as it was the only last bit of purpose I had.