safe routes around town

pinkpressthreat; geographically, there are certain routes i would always take to ensure maximum visability to other users while on the way to 'the scene' where they would all gather. it was important to bump into others to get the low-down on gear, what was happening, who was looking for you (in a good/bad way depending on what you had done) etc. etc. there are certain areas i now avoid like the plague, but unfortunately it cannot always be done and if i have to pass through, i have to pass through, but i never even linger long enough to tie my shoelaces for fear of bumping into somebody. places where 'we' (that seems to imply unity, a group of friends, a collective... but we weren't, or if we were, it was simply drink & drugs that had brought us together and as little as not paying back somebody £1 for a can of beer was enough to tear you apart) would go included some of the busiest green spaces in Cambridge. These were, and still are, popular with students, 20, 30, 40, 50-somethings eating al-fresco on their lunchbreaks or having picnics at the weekends with their friends- basically, it's for everyone and used by everyone. my friends from college go here, my other friends from outside the heroin scene go here, but i can't bring myself to with them, for fear of bumping into old faces. I cannot be bothered, and one person has a real big problem with me, although she is in her late 40s, a mother and I have never ever done a thing to her. its really odd. people have suggested jealousy before and i wonder if it is. its not unusual for certain people in the same situation as you drug addiction wise to envy you for every little thing you seem to have more than them. judging by the way she used to slate my drug-free, professional mum i think she was just very jealous of the family i had. she had never met my family, yet seemed to revel in telling me how awful she thought they were. and you know how it is; you can slate your family, but when it comes to somebody else doing it- its a no-no!

i go through the town centre quite a lot, taking my twin nieces + nephew out, if i need to go shopping or meet a pal and i pass regularly the old faces. in our town centre, which has two shopping malls seperated by a green space, there is one hostel right on its doorstep. another major one housing many, many people is but 15 minutes outside of the town centre, and its residents tend to congregate in the main part of town, begging, boozing with mates, shoplifting to earn money... that kind of thing. i say hello to the people i knew "well" which is actually, not that much. i never developed a deep friendship with anybody, i was just taken advantage of all the time and i was so naive, believing i would definately get back that bag as it was my last one and they wouldn't leave me in the lurch like that, would they? if im in a rush, i just rush past, but if i clock eyes with anyone i know, i never ignore; i smile or say hi. however, just recently, i have been getting a lot of comments as i have passed "stuck up bitch", "she thinks she is too good for us does she" and my personal favourite "once a junkie whore, always a junkie whore". i love the way once you are a girl, slag, whore & slut immediately are paired with another insult to produce a really, extra-hurtful one. i am not stuck up, or too good for anyone. i just cannot cope with being around heroin and crack as its still really raw to me. people don't seem to get this. i got smacked in the face last year for being "stuck up" when i never even saw the person, just whacked for no reason. some of these people are really angry, and bitter and when they get drunk they start on anyone, including their closest "friends". its really out of order, so i just want to stay out of the way as much as possible. why would i want to get into a fight when i am trying to get a job in probation or with young offenders? any conviction for violence etc. and my career prospects would be in tatters. all i know is, whenever i saw anybody get clean, i wasn't jealous to the point i resented them doing the best thing they could possibly do. i was actually glad for them. oh well, hopefully the longer i go, the more people will forget me.

also, pinkpressthreat, i have the BEST knowledge of toilet facilities in Cambridge. people are usually astounded when i give them the rundown of the most local bathrooms in catagories from miles away, cleanliness to peacefullness and whether there is always loo-roll & soap or basins in the cubicles.

Response to Gledwood

I will look further into Psychodynamic counselling. Hopefully, they will have it on offer here. I was in full-time outpatient care from 13-17 but at 17 Cambridgeshire Primary Care Trust made major cuts to mental health funding and closed down its Young Peoples Psychiatric Service among other things. It was devestating. Any correlation between me suddenly going from having support to zero and plunging into a world so dark and murky and unsafe that I am surpised I lived to tell the tale. I nearly didn't, at both my hands and somebody who now has the perk of an indefinate jail term.
MEN... I was a late starter and only had a boyfriend once, nothing even serious. I called him that, but he wasn't. Not really. Some would disagree but I believe you cannot seriously romantically love and have a relationship with somebody else while on heroin and entrenched in the lifestyle. Or at least I'm speaking for people my age. It's impossible. Impossible. I never, ever could beg. I just couldn't. I'd lived in this town all my life, was too well-known, but most of all, I didn't have the guts to do it- and some say the looks. I didn't look "down and out" enough, apparently. Don't get me wrong, I did at times, but then I would hide indoors or in the shadows.

Peoples jaws drop when I say I am a heroin addict. It is beyond most people to come face to face with a junkie or a smack head, a skag head & a crack head and find that they haven't been able to detect it already. It is not how I look, or dress, it is my manners, my intelligence, my kindness, morals & scruples... most cannot seem to comprehend somebody like "that" could possess such things. That and when they think of junkies, immediately the stereotypical physical characteristics spring to mind- if you don't match them, they seem to think you didn't have "that much of a problem" and "it couldn't have been THAT bad" still, interestingly, they begin to more tightly hold their purses against their sides and check their phones are still about their person etc. etc. It is done "discreetly" but because I am so used to it, I see it, no matter how small their movements are. What makes it all the MORE ironic is, I have NEVER EVER EVER mugged anybody, stole from my family friends or stranger, or dealt in stolen goods. I know my family members pin numbers for their debit & credit cards, know where they keep their cash... but no, I just couldn't do it to them. Still people think the potential is there. The potential was there for me to get money at my expense, not my family & friends.
My so-called mates who are users have stolen my laptop, my sewing machine, my digital camera, money, mobile phone and sold me fake heroin or cut the bag and given me a .1 for a £20 (over 8 years, not recently!!) I could never do that to them, I learnt quick this game wasn't me, but I kept on thinking if I afforded people the trust and kindness I never was they would change. NEVER DID HAPPEN THOUGH.

Yes, heroin WAS CHEAPER. I used to when I first started take 3 x £20 a day which were a .6 at the very least. People would drive down from London, sell 2 for £35 or 3 for £50. It was usually excellent quality in those days, consistently good from the london lads. Recently, its all over the place, in the past year that is. You could never count on good stuff, but you could so-so to practically crap stuff. Its changed now. Has it got back to normal British people? I wouldn't actually know, haven't spoke to my old heroin pals about exactly what made us pals in the first place (and only thing really). Once it does come back, we are so starved it will be sky high and we will pay for it.

Finally, its happened.

I have been far too elusive, I know. Sorry for that. I have been clean now since late October. I would have posted, but to be honest, I didn't because I didn't know WHAT to write. I did not know why I was able to stay clean this time, and I wondered how I might respond if somebody asked me the magic question, "What's your secret?" Before when I have tried... its been an absolute failure, but perhaps that is because I had no real intention of doing it, and certainly did not have a plan, or the tools to do so. But having said that, it doesn't seem as if I have specifically gone out of my way to abstain from brown & white. When I get my money, before, I wouldn't have been able to resist going out and scoring. Then a little bit more, then just a little bit more... until my money had gone the day I recieved it. I had all the best intentions, and would genuinely believe I would start saving next week for whatever I had thought of next; my clean, sober life perhaps. But it never happened. Obviously, I was an addict for a lot longer than I knew the Ex, but he had also been an addict a lot longer than me, and he was financially supported by high amounts of benefits and significantly high amounts of money from his parents... so we differed a lot. He would spend his/our money in a day, no thought of budgeting, and once it was gone I would have nothing, but he could go and disappear and grab £100 a day off his parents until the next time I got paid and he would let his Mum or Dad off for 24 hours. Not putting any blame on him, but his drug of choice was different, and so I was in a dire situation (cocaine or crack cocaine) as that was so pricey, and I couldn't take his tantrums for money and I'd give it to him. Again, not blaming him, but its no suprise as soon as he went, I suddenly gave up drugs and can save my money. I believe what happened was as soon as he got his money, he spent it on himself, and when I got mine he would nag and nag at me for mine, and it would slowly drain away... and I resented this. He would blow his, and he expected to live off me, and when he scored and got high, it made me angry, so I would want to use aswell, albeit different ones. I wanted some of my money too, so would try to match him in what money he would use up. Terribly destructive. It is quite amazing how when you are with somebody, you firmly believe you love them, and you argue and split for a day and you can't imagine living without them, worry yourself sick how they might be without your care.... but as soon as I got rid of him, it took me about 4 days to realise how good it was. When I went to see some old keyworkers regarding my University funding, I came out to see my old friend Twin Beckie. She told me how happy she was I got rid of him, and she looked me up and down and said "just look at you.... just look at how much better you are," Simple things I didn't realise; him telling me I didn't need make-up, didn't need to wear 'those' clothes, didnt need to go out or do my hair, and god forbid I want to go out without him.... easy at the time to mistake it for love & caring, when really it is control and domination. I can honestly say I don't miss getting my books burnt, being held under a bathtub full of water, pushed, hit etc. etc. I never thought I'd be a "victim" of domestic violence and I hate to mention it, as when its been brought up people roll their eyes as if to say "oh how typical, what a cliche!" I have never felt so small or little in my life, but that is the point isn't it, thats why so many women don't leave or feel they can't.

So many improvements.... my flat is lovely. Got new bookcases to house my hundreds upon hundreds of books, done the whole place out, got my new sewing machine and have been working away. My stomach is still pretty bad, vomitting 5 days out of the week. I went to the pub yesterday and literally stuck to Appletize. That is the first time in about 8 years I have been to the pub and JUST drank a soft drink, its not me at all, so you know I have to be sick to do that! My drinking is slightly better, a bit up and down. I would never dream of walking down the street drinking a can of special brew now, but one thing I can't shake off is that evening drink! I live by myself (which I love!) and I just like to have that "wind-down" drink. It is so hard to stamp it out. Though I want to as I have put on so much weight, well, got a little chubby as I am just boozing and eating whereas on snowballs, I never had an appetite. However, I am telling myself "its ok for the moment, you have been an addict for years upon years, you are catching up on your eating. just join the gym and you'll be ok!" Gym is also good for the mind, all those endorphins it releases. Can you please motivate me to go? I don't seen to be getting myself there. I thought I might buy myself a fitness DVD but I have read reviews and its awkard to find a decent one. Though I know its best to go the gym. Its half term this week so maybe I should just do 10mile walks daily around Cambridge. It takes me 7.3miles back and forth to college alone! But as its been so cold and bad weather, I hitch a ride with my mum to her nurses job.

I have a UNIVERSITY PLACE! Studying Social Policy. I am just investigating the claiming benefits part etc. I want to work but it worries me as I used to work in Evans in the Grafton but my panic attacks & anxiety mean I can't even walk about the street by myself, so what hope do I have dealing with the public in an assertive manner? Exactly, I don't. Still, I'm just focusing on the happy news. When I joined college I was having to score drugs thus missing class, drink to get up, at lunch, at breaks and I had panic attacks if I had to speak infront of the class, literally, so bad even though I was on beta blockers (prescribed for high blood pressure). To think I went from that to this in such a short while.... I have been trying for years to turn it around. I prayed for it, begged for it... then all of a sudden, I just managed it. Not solely, but I do attribute some of my success to a) not having to go to the methadone clinic with all the other (mostly) significantly older clients b) not hanging about with ANY other users c) not going to places where I might see said users d) not talking to said users over the phone. I just got a new phone, so didn't save dealers or other users numbers but I had them right up until last week. I could have rung them ANYTIME but didn't.

On Monday I went for an assessment with addaction that deal with me for the methadone prescription, but as this was for alcohol, it was a different half of the staff. It was just going through the said form which staff roll their eyes at and seem to hate it more than the client, but as they say, it HAS to be done. It may seem a little impersonal to some but I understand why they have to do it. When it got to asking whether I had a criminal record and I replied "no, not at all" she gave me a whooping congratulations! and wow! thats so rare! brilliant! She told me she would present my case to the rest of the staff and they would decide what to do with me- i.e whether I am in need of treatment and if so, what kind, and who with. I hope I get something.

My doctors and case worker are very happy with me but I have been kind of pissed off with them, when I was off the rails they said there was no point in giving me any type of counselling, therapy etc. as I was intoxicated, well now I'm off it, they still won't give me a god damn thing. I think it is dangerously niave to assume I have cracked it all of a sudden, surely, they should be giving me therapy to try and develope the skills to cope me with the issues that cause me to use drugs and alcohol. I sometimes think alcohol is more dangerous, as when drunk, I lose my inhibitions and decide to go score, like I did when I was a few months clean from methadone, done a big snowball and ended up on life support. Still, nothing. I'm not acting as if I'm special, like I should jump to the top of the list but I have been promised help for so long, and it angers me my family have been dumped with caring for me. Yes, thats what family are for but there is a difference when they work full-time and have to dedicate every spare minute to you. Its so stressful for them, and I hate to do it to them.

Anyway..... as I always promise, I won't leave it so long next time.
Seriously, I will try not to. If i do, drop me a message on twitter or fb or something :)
I have noticed some of my old blogs I followed have become obsolete, if you have one, let me know.

Love Naomi xxx

boi's. violent boys.

Today I refused to lie to my boyfriends Mum. He got his money from her yesterday, £120. In less than 2 hours it was gone. So today, he asked me to lie to her to get more. He said he would tell her he purchased furniture for our new flat, and all I needed to do was back him up. I said no. I was lying in the bathtub washing my hair and he began telling me how I wasn't loyal, I was such a bitch. Actually, he said all this. I know, because it hurt so much, it burnt inside of my subconscious.
"YOU ARE AN UGLY FUCKING GINGER MUNTER""YOU ARE A FUCKING PIECE OF SCUM. DIRTY DIRTY SCUM""YOU ARE A SPASTIC. A WORTHLESS SPASTIC""YOU ARE WORTHLESS. A THICK AS SHIT WORTHLESS WHORE"
He told me how thick I was, that I spend all my time reading and giving him no attention. I was rinsing my hair in the bath, on my stomach and he launched into the bathroom and held my head under the water. It was so scary, I kicked and splashed out and went ballistic until he let his grasp go. I don't think he let it go, I actually just struggled so hard I got out of his grasp. As I got out of his grasp, my feet (which were kicking out as I was being drowned) pulled the plug from the bath. I jumped out of the bath after I got my breath back. As I sat up spitting the water out of my nose and mouth, he picked up a towel and wiped the hands he had had to put in my bath water to drown me. He then hit me with it in the bath. I was still coughing. He began to tell me how ugly I was so I covered up my naked body with it. It took me a while to get my breath back. Then I hid in the corner. While I did this, he picked up my books. He ripped them up into little bits and as the last of the water drained out, he set fire to the book fragmenst and chucked them in the bath.
He told me how i spent all my time reading. how thick i was. how foul i was. worthless.
hours later, he is at his mums. they are asking me whether i should let him back. i dont want him to. shall i shouldnt i. he threatens to kill me. should i? when i hear him cry it kills me but he frightens the life out of me. he has been violent ever since i met him. really nasty. not often, but often enough. i am worried he will top himself if i make him go for good. what should i do?

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.

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.

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!!!!

day 3

so this is day 3 of my subutex. suprisingly, i dont feel too bad at all. last night was pretty awful though, dizzy spells that led to fainting a couple of times, vomitting. but there is nothing i can do; subutex blocks the effects of heroin, so i might aswell set fire to my money than stick it in my vein. cant do that anyway; my arms and legs are in such a mess…. bruises everywhere, torn veins where i have missed my hits (with crack in them too, which in my experience, always leads to an abcess). my last ever hit i had on wednesday (you have to stop using for 24 hours before you take subutex) and i didn’t even get it… i couldn’t find a vein so blood that seeped in just clogged up my hit. squirted it out, recooked it in the spoon to get rid of the clots, put it back in a syringe, tried again. couldn’t get it. in the end, i just injected in my foot, but missed half of it so now im walking around like a cripple. nobody seems to realise how much damage injecting does, you loose your veins; most old-timers i know (old-timers being in their 20s, 30s) have to go in their necks or like me, their groins. and when they go…. so have one of your legs and you have to go back to smoking it. i don’t miss the hours it took me to find a vein.
i am finding it hard to fathom how for the past years i have nonstop used heroin and crack, injecting it into my body on a daily basis. completely not caring about the consequences. the first thing i did when i exited hospital after my overdoses was, yes you guessed it, go and scored again. i didn’t care. i’m dreading to think what i have done to my body. scary. scary because heroin is the ultimate painkiller, now i dont have that, and my body is starting to ache. big time.
im going to go to the chemist and pick up my two 8mg subbies, highest dose, which you let dissolve under your tongue. i am so glad i didn’t go on methadone but as i said in my last post, i only chose methadone so i could STILL use. like, its my birthday on October 1st and before i got my subbies, sitting in the doctors waiting room i was like “but what if you want to use on special occassions, like your birthday, you can’t. go on methadone, but just use every few months, naomi” then i realised what lies i was telling myself, what i had been telling myself for years. i cannot touch heroin. at all. i can’t control myself when i use it so i am going to have to accept that if i want to have any form of decent life i have to cut it out forever. which i will find hard, as i sit here romanticising the ‘good times’
but then i think, what good times? it was only good for the first couple. everything beyond that was just to stay well and heed off withdrawing. i am wincing at the money i have spent. in excess of £120+ a day at my worse. what i could of done with that. oh well, this must of happened for a reason, right?

blip...blip...blip

heroin has lost all novelty. of course it would, seven years of it and what it brings; collapsed veins, debt, severe illness, Deep Vein Thrombosis etc. etc….. you’d be stupid not to come to that conclusion. the last couple of days have been shit. i bumped into my ‘junky’ mates who live opposite me. i hung out with them, and let two of them stay at mine for two nights. the second day i saw one had bought a £20 bag, and i asked for some. they said yes. no shit, i had 30ml out of a 160ml and it knocked me on my arse for 13 hours, i couldn’t stay awake. to say i fucked off mike was an understatement. i am at my nans now, i just walked out without saying goodbye. i have been self-harming a lot. i feel better without heroin, but i still want to top myself. more than i have ever done before. i fear, that when he walks out, that will happen. he hurts me, with what he says, but i sit there stoney faced and pretend i don’t. i would go back on the heroin, but i can’t even be arsed to do that anymore.
junkylife is dying. we need to move. anyone know how i can transfer all my garbage a.k.a writing?

life is good?

yes, life is good.
i went through an awful time a few weeks back. i was a witness in court alongside my momma and sis and a few others and it really took it out of me, physically and mentally. it was horrible. i dont know why i bothered. they got off anyway. i say i will never do it again but i couldnt just sit back and let them get away with it, even though they did in the end.
my arm. i have an awful infection from 3 weeks ago. the gear was awfully filthy with terrible black bits in it, and i actually skin popped as opposed to mainline so there was no blood in it. 7 days ago it started to swell, get sore, go boiling hot. my mum being a nurse checked it a few days ago and was so stunned. i went to the doctors and now im on 2 flucloxacillin + 4 penicillin 4 times a day. mum said i hope this teaches you a lesson. does it? yes, for once. i got cut off my methadone ages ago so i have to use, but im down to less than a ten bag a day. i use only when i get ill. for once, i am feeling good. happy even. i desperately want to get onto subutex as methadone still made me feel as if i was on gear… no motivation, lethargic. and i cant go through with cold turkey. i tried last week but lasted 2 days. i just cant do that without detox + rehab, not yet.
good news? I HAVE A FLAT! my own, again. but this time, im not going to fill it with waifs & strays and junkies and drug dealers. ive not told anyone. ive had a couple staying with me for 4 months, who have never paid me a penny in rent… and they are just expecting they are coming with me. are they? NO WAY. i think they know it. but i have done so much for them and i cant do it anymore.
anyway, this place is beautiful. its absolutely massive. huge bedroom, huge living room, huge kitchen, beautiful new bathroom, balcony. ive started to paint the ceilings white. i am having seychelle blue for the front room and lemon fizz for the bedroom. i have no money to get anything else so my worker has helped me apply for a community care grant so i can get a cooker, fridge, bed, sofa, carpets. i feel so positively happy i really do. this is make or break for me. my own little home. and it has the cutest little name too does my street.
im going to start writing again regularly. well, im off to buy more decorating supplies. im doing up most of the interior myself. ill show you pics later.

doctor, doctor

i sat with the doctor and a student nurse, which always embarrasses me. i just must seem like a textbook case of a nutter. i wasnt really using, not like i did when i didnt have a methadone script, and i told him this. he was very pleased and smiled. drinking? he smiled, seemed pleased. obviously, if you read the below post you will realise i lied and wangled my way through it.
i hadnt seen any of the old group so when i came out the first thing i done was go over and speak to them. i had a lot of money on me so i done 3 beer runs, which ended up costing me altogether £36.11. when id run out of money, nobody got me one back! how about that! i should of remembered all i was to these people was a meal ticket. while we were standing chatting under the bus stop (how hip and cool!) this little short black fellar comes over or rather, swaggers over with little bits of paper in his hand. “Here we are everybody, Dean is back in town man. Dean is back in town. Ya’ll take the number, call us and we will hook ya up, aiiiiight?” I had to laugh. It was if somebody came over leafleting for a concert or band. Oh well, they are leafleting for our best interest in life, I suppose. Still… I nearly pissed myself laughing.

Everybody said how well I looked, and I think I did. Owed to the shit load of slap and the tight figure hugging outfit I’m sure. As soon as I was back standing with everybody, the people I had been ignoring for so long, I actually missed them. Or rather the lifestyle. Not of them, the lifestyle that meant I got to hang around with them. The lifestyle that is heroin. I miss not giving a damn. I miss not giving a damn at all. I miss how good it makes me feel.
Well, I don’t have to miss it for that long. And I ain’t, I’m grabbing my coat and I’m going out trudging for some gear. I’ll never stop this, will I?

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!

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.

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.

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 ECG