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?

crafting on a sunday

Sunday. love sundays. they consist of going round to my nannas house for a sunday lunch. her cooking is lovely, but unfortunately, when i go round (at about 1.30pm) i have just had an injection of heroin and crack cocaine and my appetite is somewhat ruined. therefor, i have a mouthful of peas and a yorkshire pudding and in todays case, pile the rest of the dinner (lamb, potatoes, roasts, veg) onto Carls already piled high plate. i don't pass up the sherry or beer though. anyway, now i am going back home to go through my clothes and put them on ebay. i have a lot of beautiful gothic, punk and vintage wear. corsets too. i don't wear any of it anymore so its pointless keeping it. and now i am sharing my wardrobes and drawers with another person (who had more clothes than me, i might add) i need all the space i can get. craftster.org rocks, by the way, check out the forums and delicious tutorials. mmmmmmm. im going to get the sewing machine out when im home. good times, good times.

chocolate & beige

Originally, I wanted to decorate my flat in either a 1960s psychadelic theme or go all out and paint it florescant pink and yellow with black and white ska chequers. However, I thought back to previous similar ventures and had to accept that these sort of outrageous themes never go to plan and I end up with them half-finished (either through lack of money, inspiration or both) and not enough resources to scrap the whole ill-fated scheme and start again. So, I accepted I am 22, getting old, and thought about going with a nice beige and chocolate theme. Yes, beige and chocolate. That doesn't have to be boring, I thought, not with a few signature pieces of lovely antique furniture and some retro items from the local collectibles store. So, there we have it. On Thursday I am going to check out some furniture for the bedroom and I am hoping it is going to be all right. I don't want to get to somebodies house and feign satisfaction when I think the items for sale are fucking hideous, I am the sort of person that is so polite I'd grin and bare it and even purchase the damn things. Luckily, I am taking my boyfriend along to help me out. He is much more able to speak his own mind, and mine for me when I can't seem to. Oh yes, the boy. Here he is, or we are, in the White Swan in January.

Oh yes, my curtains. Chocolate and Teal for the front room and chocolate brown for the bedroom. My Momma comes round to my Nannas to drop them off to me. Earlier on she had a massive go at me on the phone for still being a heroin addict. The proof was in the pudding when she came round to my new flat to see it and spied a syringe or two in a plastic bag. She is a nurse, but que all hysteria about somebody putting their hands in there and pricking themselves (as if my only visitor, my Mother, would come to my house and start snooping round in things that weren't hers... seriously... she would never go through my stuff, ever). I didn't bother arguing. I am doing really well. Barely using and spending 90% of my income on food, utility bills, toiletries & clothes and going out. The other 10% yes I do occasionally score. But it is barely an issue. I sound like a typical denying addict, don't I? But it is the truth, heroin is boring for me now. The only time I do take it is if I have missed my methadone script.

Anyway, as she is giving me the bollocking off a lifetime I doze off and start thinking... how come my Mums collegues and her friends children, well, most of them have criminal records. Most of them find a good night is a pint and a fight. Most of them are rude, horrible louts. I keep myself to myself, I don't have a criminal record, never been arrested, am polite, a good citizen... and yet I am the scum of the earth. Jesus, what would she view me as if I actually did have a criminal record and spent my days fighting and causing trouble? The lady wouldn't know what had hit her. Anyway, must fly, got to get back to my house with my boyfriend. My Grandad is coming to put up my curtain poles tomorrow and I need to tidy. xxx

dare i say bliss?

I probably should. I finally got out of the shithole I had to call my home. I lived in this vile block of flats, albeit on the first floor, that stood opposite an almost symmetrical building- the only difference being that one was slightly taller with a few more floors to house more down and outs that couldn't be dumped elsewhere in Cambridge. It was the most horrible, depressing place. The sun never seemed to shine there, even in summer at midday. It was dark, dull and dingy. It was full of junkies, alkies, modern day fagins and people that loved nothing more than to pass the day getting tanked up and picking fights with people that obviously couldn't fight back. I felt so suicidal there, it has taken me years to get moved. And I was given a beautiful place, only about 10minutes away by car but less than 3 minutes from my sister, nieces, grandparents and my Mum in a lovely area of Cambridge, next to my old school, where I was, in hindsight though it didn't seem it at the time, most happy. Almost as soon as I vacated that old hellhole, my mood changed as if I had flicked a switch. I no longer stayed in bed all day, I wanted to get up early, I didn't want to spend all my money on drugs and alcohol, I started looking for a job, for college. I started cleaning the home and respecting it, whereas the other one took all my energy just to wash up a plate after eating. There was no incentive there, it was horrible and filthy, dark, disturbing. There was nothing you could do to improve your situation, so you done nothing at all but try to escape it.
255 people bid on the flat I got. 255. And I got it. I feel so lucky, its the beginning of a new era and I know that sounds corny but I am quite confident that is the case. Its been a couple of weeks at my new property and the enthusiasm is not yet wearing off. I will start posting in my blog again regularly. I want to show everyone whats been happening.... its been crazy since I came out of hospital with my now fiance, who was just my boyfriend in the last posts.

Speak soon.

a quick fleeting visit

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

Summer sun, something's begun

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

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

sorry about the gap

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

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

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