sorry, i have totally neglected this thing. haven’t had much access to the internet. “why?” do i hear you say? well, just been too lazy. i wanted to write earlier, when i got back from Devon last Monday. but, that was day one of my cluck, my cold turkey, my impending doom. i decided to stop the methadone, the heroin… just like that. i’m still hanging in there. so it has been a while, certainly for me anyway. i have never in the past 7 years gone longer than a few days, at the most. i’m just numbing myself with paracetomol, weed & alcohol. actually, strike that out, the first one; paracetomol. those are just for placebo effect. i think the only reason i am being successful is because when i tried before, i wasn’t ready to give it up. i was still enjoying it too much. now, now i’m sick to the fucking back teeth of it.
i’ll write again soon. and thanks shelly, its nice to hear from you. thought of you the other day.
george, drop me a mail.
Showing posts with label other drugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label other drugs. Show all posts
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Tuesday, 2 January 2007
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
New Years Eve was as predictable as it always is. It started out in The White Swan, with my sister, Momma, her partner and her mate Jackie. I couldn’t actually bear how boring it was, so at about 10pm I split for a little walk down Mill Road. I went to the store to get some cigarettes and who should pass me but Kearen & one of his mates, spending New Years Eve like any other self-respecting junkie, wandering the streets with a can of Tenants Larger in their hand. I stopped and had a bit of a chat with them. His mate was from Preston, where they both grew up on the same estate and began taking heroin when they were 12. Get to know them, and you will realise they never had a chance. Kearen bless him took my number as he insisted he wanted to take me out. “Umm…. would you like to go to the pictures with me sometime. And for something to eat afterwards?” so I simply replied “are you asking me out on a date?” in quite a sarcastic voice, as I found it quite amusing. I gave him the number, as I know he probably would never ring anyway. No offense, but why would I want to team up with somebody else who has problems just as big as my own? Before I departed, his mate cadjed a £5 off me which I didn’t mind as I had £100 in my pocket anyway.I went back to the pub, realising I had been gone for over an hour, and started sinking Tequila shots. I was having quite a laugh after a while, most at the expense of my sister who was so trollied she began speaking or should I say singing every sentence Soul-Like in a and I quote “in a tribute to James Brown”. Odd. Not odd, must of been all the booze, ya think? Anyway, we went over the road to another Pub, this one that plays Jamaican music. I hate this place. I won’t explain now but we have to go to Court in March because of an ‘incident’ that happened at the White Swan in the summer. Basically, I’m a witness to a good kicking as are my Mum and sister. The people that done it are nasty bits of work, completely vile and unethical. They go to this pub a lot and so do their friends. I KNEW THERE WOULD BE TROUBLE so I told my family not to go. Lo and behold, there was trouble. Actually, we managed to keep the situation quite down. But as the count downs went 5,4,3,2,1 no hugs, joyous shouting… just MY FAMILY fighting. Yes at midnight we had the biggest fight. After a while, I suggested we leave because it was just getting silly. We weren’t having a good time because it had been spoiled by these completely disgusting people.
So next stop, The Standard, which is the boozer I drink in everyday. By this point, it was nearly 1am and I wasn’t that drunk. But, about another 8 tequilas and 3 Sambucas on top of my normal drinks, I was very merry. I started chatting to a few people, but the night was already officially crap and spoilt. There was no salvaging it. And when I looked in my pocket, after buying yet another round I had NO money left. Fuck, £100 gone on booze alone! So, luckily I had my cash card and had to delve into my rent money. Which isn’t so lucky. I got chatting to this one geezer and we were getting on all right I suppose. My mum announced we were going, except, I wanted a kebab which involved me walking in the opposite direction for 20 mins. So I invited this guy back to mine to booze (I didn’t want to drink alone) but first, I made him come with me to get my chicken kebab. Bless him, he had a TWISTED KNEE and was on crutches! Ha! I don’t even want to think how I looked eating my kebab, while staggering down the road. Anyway, we went back to his which was right next to the pub we were just in and it was right at the top of this student building. He looked exactly like that geezer from Teachers, ya know, the lead one, Simon. And he was called Simon. But no, I did NOT sleep with him. No way. Instead, I embarrased myself by getting out of my beautifully sexy red corset that hid every lump and bump and my tight jeans and into a t-shirt and boxer shorts curtosy of him as ya know, one thing I hated about being homeless was sleeping in my clothes. Not comfy, only PJs will do, or softer clothes. So yeah, I just had more and more booze at his. And we didn’t get to sleep because he had cocaine and I kept on insisting for more lines until it all run out. I said I would give him the money, but he refused. One of the more embarrasing things was well a) i didn’t have my make-up so I looked dog-rough and b) when i went into the bathroom i saw some weights on the floor so I thought it would be ‘funny’ to pick them up and burst into his room ‘weight-lifting’ and singing ‘macho man’ by the village people. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I CAN’T COPE! Embarrasing or what?
So I got noooooooooo sleep because of the cocaine and I drunk more booze which made me even worse. The walk home from his is about 5 minutes, but it took me about half an hour. I was so damn ill I couldn’t walk. People were laughing at me because I looked like the typical “WALK OF SHAME” Ya know, somebody who has been a dirty stop-out and has to walk home the next morning in yesterdays clothes, yesterdays make-up and their hair all over the place. And when I went in the store for 4 Special Brew and Ciggies I felt awful as I was 1p short and had loads of people behind me in the queue. They let me off, however. And I should hope so too. My cigarette and booze tab keeps them open, alone I’m sure!
£130 down, a few years knocked off my life (or so it felt) and I was back home. I ended up after the cocaine wore off, sleeping until 11.30pm then getting up and staying awake until 5am… then sleeping again… really messing up my body clock. I was so ill I just hadn’t recovered even by the Tuesday. Didn’t stop me from going out and drinking anyway.
All in all, it was a SHIT start into the New Year. I bet that is setting the tone for how the rest of it is going to be though!
So next stop, The Standard, which is the boozer I drink in everyday. By this point, it was nearly 1am and I wasn’t that drunk. But, about another 8 tequilas and 3 Sambucas on top of my normal drinks, I was very merry. I started chatting to a few people, but the night was already officially crap and spoilt. There was no salvaging it. And when I looked in my pocket, after buying yet another round I had NO money left. Fuck, £100 gone on booze alone! So, luckily I had my cash card and had to delve into my rent money. Which isn’t so lucky. I got chatting to this one geezer and we were getting on all right I suppose. My mum announced we were going, except, I wanted a kebab which involved me walking in the opposite direction for 20 mins. So I invited this guy back to mine to booze (I didn’t want to drink alone) but first, I made him come with me to get my chicken kebab. Bless him, he had a TWISTED KNEE and was on crutches! Ha! I don’t even want to think how I looked eating my kebab, while staggering down the road. Anyway, we went back to his which was right next to the pub we were just in and it was right at the top of this student building. He looked exactly like that geezer from Teachers, ya know, the lead one, Simon. And he was called Simon. But no, I did NOT sleep with him. No way. Instead, I embarrased myself by getting out of my beautifully sexy red corset that hid every lump and bump and my tight jeans and into a t-shirt and boxer shorts curtosy of him as ya know, one thing I hated about being homeless was sleeping in my clothes. Not comfy, only PJs will do, or softer clothes. So yeah, I just had more and more booze at his. And we didn’t get to sleep because he had cocaine and I kept on insisting for more lines until it all run out. I said I would give him the money, but he refused. One of the more embarrasing things was well a) i didn’t have my make-up so I looked dog-rough and b) when i went into the bathroom i saw some weights on the floor so I thought it would be ‘funny’ to pick them up and burst into his room ‘weight-lifting’ and singing ‘macho man’ by the village people. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I CAN’T COPE! Embarrasing or what?
So I got noooooooooo sleep because of the cocaine and I drunk more booze which made me even worse. The walk home from his is about 5 minutes, but it took me about half an hour. I was so damn ill I couldn’t walk. People were laughing at me because I looked like the typical “WALK OF SHAME” Ya know, somebody who has been a dirty stop-out and has to walk home the next morning in yesterdays clothes, yesterdays make-up and their hair all over the place. And when I went in the store for 4 Special Brew and Ciggies I felt awful as I was 1p short and had loads of people behind me in the queue. They let me off, however. And I should hope so too. My cigarette and booze tab keeps them open, alone I’m sure!
£130 down, a few years knocked off my life (or so it felt) and I was back home. I ended up after the cocaine wore off, sleeping until 11.30pm then getting up and staying awake until 5am… then sleeping again… really messing up my body clock. I was so ill I just hadn’t recovered even by the Tuesday. Didn’t stop me from going out and drinking anyway.
All in all, it was a SHIT start into the New Year. I bet that is setting the tone for how the rest of it is going to be though!
Monday, 1 January 2007
YESTERDAY I SOLD MY TV FOR A £20bag
Taken from the blog archives. This was from June 2006. Hopefully, this isn’t going to be the norm for 2007.
when i went to robbies house, chris was sitting there. everytime i walk in and he is there i hear this western stand-off music playing in my head. i really cannot stand chris. he is about 30 and has been in prison for most of his adult life. as much as i hate him, his sentance was really unjust. anyway, chris is so so up himself. he isn’t that intelligent at all so he really shouldnt be. he has his own computer company that he claims is turning over hundreds of thousands yet he lives in a grotty council house and rides a 250cc moped thats from the late 80s… he talks down to everybody and thinks he is the bees knees. he used to really fancy me and we went out on a date. i wasn’t interested, i really wasn’t. especially when (he lived about 2 minutes away from me at the time) one lunchtime i popped in to say hello and he took off his shirt and asked me to pick his spot that was really annoying him. “eeeeeeeeew no way!” i squeal and he continues to reach around his back and crane his neck to see if he can pot it “oh please, its really getting to me. ive been trying to pick it for ages” RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT. goodbye. so yeah, basically, he hates my guts because i turned him down. he really does. he tries to belittle me at every opportunity and because i studied computer programming we have COMPUTER WARS where we try to outwit one another on the topic. he hates it because although he gave robs a computer, he always asks me for help even though chris lives seconds away and me half an hours walk. chris talks down to you as if you were thick as shit, quite simply.
Anyway, bex kept on whispering she wanted to score. i said i would do it for her but i would have to do a 2 hour walk, so 4 hours in total, to get it. we all went out with the dogs to the park and i watched chris and rob as they challenged these 3 little 12 year olds to a football match, and lost miserably. we went back to robs where we sat all night. they were just rolling one joint after the other and chris was deliberately missing me out, as he always does. it didn’t bother me too much as i dont really smoke green. he got a big mirror off the wall and started to make 3 lines of cocaine. when i say lines i mean big thick fuckers like you would never believe. i used to do cocaine all the time when i was 14, 15. i first tried it when i was 12, curtosy of my sister. then i started buying it in big fuck off quantities when i hit 14. now, i hate it. i hate uppers. lines were so big nobody could get theres up in one. becky was the last to do hers and she said “chris, can i split mine with naomi?” he scoffed “you do what you want with it. but if you dont want it, ill have it” i didn’t actually want any. i hate it nowadays. she split it in two and it was far too big so i made her cut it again. then i did it, but only to fuck him off. ha. after that round, they did more and more, but i never asked for it again.
uppers sucka. rob is a puff seller and they had just got a nine bar, so were pretty broke. bex really wanted gear but robbie didn’t. well, he has been on it for 25 years. he wanted it, but was staying away from it. they couldnt afford it so they struck a deal with Nick, my ex-mate who lives next to my Mum. he is putting up some drug dealer in exchange for gear. cunt. the bastard owes me a tenner. i have a bunch of his stuff and he aint fucking getting it until i get that tenner. anyway, they gave nick a tenner and an eigth of puff for a twenty bag. we had to go 4 ways on the gear, we saved some for rachael, so it was pointless. i didnt even feel it. i stayed over that night, as did chris. i dont know why… he lives seconds away. but he hates me being there, he really does. he just likes to see me go before he does. we all slept in the same room, me and chris in chairs.
i had no money so when i woke up the next day, i was clucking. rob n bex were ok as they have their methadone. i was ill as fuck i can tell you. we watched the footie and i was just squirming in my seat. i offered to walk to the supermarket to do their shopping, thats how much i couldnt bare being sat in their house. i couldn’t go back to my flat, as my landlord found pins and wanted to talk and i couldn’t go to my families. so it was rob and bex. at the supermarket, i rang john, this dealer from london who was down for the day. i pleaded with him to tick me a bag of gear. my money run out and he didnt phone back. so back at robs, i rang them and offered to give them my very sexy phone in return for 3 20bags. they said yes. i was so ill by this point i was rejoicing. when i got there, and got picked up by this hunky white driver, turns out they were only giving me 2. deal was i had to pay them back thirty-five quid. no problem, as i was going to work the next day. i got back to robs and of course, i had to split the bag 3 ways. i kept quiet about the second bag but staying again that night, the next day i felt guilty as hell, though i dont know why as they were on 60ml meth each and 4 valium and 3 codeines. we walked into town, and pass my flat so i said i had some gear in there. so i had to split my twenty bag again. i dont even remember having my hit. we had it at 12pm and we woke up at 3pm. crazy! i get pissed off with them because they have tons of money and always take gear off me. that day i had fifty quid and spent it all on gear. i shared it all, minus 3pounds worth of heroin that i needed for the morning to get me through work. that morning, the landlord came round and the two dogs were barking like crazy. i looked like shit and didnt want to answer but he made me open the door and he went nuts because they were there. later on at work i had a go at him because he interferes so much, so much. ill write about him sometime. anyway, that morning, becky tried to get me to give her my gear, even though i had bought them all that the day before. plus they were hungry at 1am so i bought them both a takeaway which cost me twenty-two quid. anyway, i get pissed off because they are on combined five hundred quid a month plus all their drug dealing money,…. and they have never once given me a tiny bit of gear. i bought an eigth of gear once and we had it in a day and a half. they never give me fuck all yet take, take take off me. its annoying.
i had a dirty hit the other day. i was waiting for my dealer to come over and was so desperate i cooked up loads of old hits. you know, ones i had lost. so basically, congealed bloody hits. i do at least ten pound hits at a time as my tolerance is so high, and those hits barely do anything, i need a 20bag hit to get a gouch. anyway, i cooked them up and fuck, i nearly passed out there was so much. but almost instantly, i knew i shouldn’t of done it. a dirty hit was inevitable. it came on about 20mins afterwards and was so fucking awful. the pounding headache, sickness, shakeyness. not nice.
yesterday i was so desperate for gear i rang D and offered to swap my beautiful THREE HUNDRED pound tv with built in dvd and video. he gave me a twenty pound bag for fuck sake. i had to go meet him, he usually comes to the house, and we arranged for him to get the tv later, which he was going to give to his sis. i had to go in the pub where i used to work to do my gear. they had these new motion sensitive lights in the ladies so while i was cooking up, the lights kept going off and i was left in pitch blackness as there are no windows in there. i had to keep going out the cubicle. i was really brazen, going to the sink to get water with my syringe out in full view. i must of been in there for an hour. i did the whole bag in one, and then the wash. there was a massive wash obviously. i then went out and spoke to the landlord about working there part time. he was chatting to me about a huge property he owns. he wants me to take it on, live in it and rent it out to escorts. i used to have my own escort agency with a man who ran a pub. it was great, i manned the phones and looked after the girls. the money man…. it fed my heroin habit nicely, but it fucked me up in the head. i didnt like making money off the girls, so i packed it in. now he is running a brothel above his pub and making a mint. oh well, never mind. i’d rather not be a part of it. i would take that property on but i want to move to bradford asap to get away from it all. i got a call this morning from a bloke wanting to rent his apartment. 250 a month… wicked! im going to do it… i hope. i got a call from my dealer wanting to pick up the tv. he was outside my house so i had to go home asap. it broke my heart watching him put it in a black bag with his mate. they spoke to me and couldnt believe how old i was. his sister is 16, she will of had that tv installed last night and be made up. oh well… i never watched much tv anyway so never mind.
im at my sisters. i did the last of my gear this morning. my track marks are hilarious. they are so friggin obvious. the veins on my hands, you can see them so well because they arent covered in individual punctures…. just long red scar tissue marks. they are like long cut scars. i cant stand cold-turkey. it drives me to the point i nearly kill myself. really, it does.
i love staying with my nieces. they are so beautiful. it breaks me heart to know they are so innocent and oblivious to it all. i just hope they never ever do something like this.
im going to pick up my baby sewing machine from mums so i can get working on clothes. how i think i can work while clucking i dont know! i got told that sammy r is planning to rob me of my laptop, stereo etc. etc. he is such a nasty bastard and i was made aware by a close friend of his that is an absolute fucking nutcase. stood at the old bailey for football hooliganism. i wish i had never met those people. they are the kind of people that upon finding no laptop at my flat, would torture me and make me go pick it up from my mums. i want to leave my flat…. im under a contract so how can i do that? i dont know.
i know im going to go and get more gear, and not just stop now. i actually need to be handcuffed and not allowed to leave. i need something to knock me out…….. completely. oh god its monday. great.
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.
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.
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