My First Blog
Most of you would have no idea that I used to be a heroin addict... I mean, how would you know? (apart from the fact that most people reading this have never ACTUALLY met me!) The scars on my arms from injecting have long since healed and disappeared, so you would, I hope, never know just by looking at me, what I have been up to through my life!!
It isn't something I've ever hidden... okay, except in job interviews, but that’s a whole other story! And I have been clean for over 10 years and I have never even considered doing it again, I never would!
There are so many things that I could go on about, so many events, so many feelings and so many incidents, that I thought why not do it this way, I can do it one story at a time, step by step and then hopefully if its not worth reading people will be honest enough to tell me to shut up and sit down!
So, for my first installment I shall tell you how I started injecting heroin....seems a logical place to start!
I was 18, I moved into a shared house in Canterbury which was very overcrowded and had a strange mixture of characters, there was a couple that lived downstairs... the girl used to hit her boyfriend on a regular basis, which I found very disturbing, I couldn't work out why he stayed there, she was a scary girl mind you! There was some other odd balls, and then there was a man, we shall call him, Byron... mainly because that was his name!
His history basically was that he used to work in a hospital and had a breakdown with the stress of it and ended up injecting himself at work to somehow make it through the days, eventually having to leave the job and losing everything he had, ending up in the same shared house as I!
He introduced me to amphetamines first and then heroin and taught me how to inject myself. Not the most responsible person ever! He was 40 and thought passing his knowledge of drugs and needles to an 18 year old was perfectly normal.
Don't get me wrong, I don't blame him, I knew what I was doing and I was never forced to do anything against my will.
I found there were many different reasons that people start taking drugs, but there are too many people that blame others, I believe we are very much responsible for our own actions.
Losing Grip
When I first moved into the house in Canterbury, I was doing a college course day release from a hairdressing shop. I was getting paid £45 a week for full time work, with one day a week at college.
I was enjoying the course, but when I started taking the speed (amphetamines), I was taking it orally and I was spending days on end awake and getting obsessive about cleaning (to be honest, I think my boss thought I was amazing, the salon was spotless!), but after being awake for long periods of time, sometimes up to five days, and needing more and more speed to keep going, it made me feel like I could handle anything, when in reality looking back I could handle less and less. Obviously my brain wasn’t functioning as it should have been and my thoughts became jumbled.
One of my main jobs was just to wash hair, I couldn’t remember if I had shampooed once or twice, and I remember once, I looked down and saw the customers hair was wet and couldn’t remember if I’d washed it or just wet it, I felt a rush of fear, as I realised, that what I thought was giving me control of my life, was totally in control of me.
Soon, the high from eating the speed wasn’t the same and I decided I wanted to inject it. I still remember the first time I tried it very clearly, Byron did it for me, I watched as he prepared it and felt excited and scared, I wondered how much it would hurt, but not once did I consider not doing it. I was compelled to watch the needle go in to my arm, then saw the blood rush back into the needle as my first ‘hit’ was injected into my arm, the rush was very intense compared to the slow starting buzz of eating it. It made me feel sick, my stomach churned, and a feeling of excitement washed over me, I was on a huge high, colours seemed brighter, noises louder and everything was different from that day on.
The first time I injected myself I remember feeling nervous, my hand was shaking just trying to hold the needle, then drawing it back to check it was in the vein, all with one hand, was not easy, I was terrified that I might get it wrong. I had heard stories about ‘bad’ hits, but adrenaline added to the buzz, it was very different to someone else doing it for me and I thought it gave me back some control.
Once I had injected it, I felt tingles down my back as I took in what I had just done, I was now in control of my drug taking, instead of having to get other people to do it for me. The actual injecting soon became very much a part of the addiction.
Timescales from that period of my life are (understandably) not easy to work out. I don’t know how long I was taking speed for before I starting taking heroin, it seemed to be a natural progression, I was taking speed to stay awake and heroin makes you sleep.
So one day, after having been awake for a few days, I was feeling twitchy and physically exhausted, and knew that I would need something to help me sleep, as my system was full of speed and I felt like my insides were almost vibrating. So I convinced someone to get me some heroin. I poured a little of the brown powder into a spoon, I was fortunate enough to know how little I needed, even though I had never had it before. Then I started the process of getting it ready to inject, the smell of it filled my nostrils, a distinctive but not unpleasant smell, (I had watched other people do it many times, so I knew what to do), I then drew the small amount I had prepared into the needle and I remember sitting and looking at it in the needle; the warm, clear, brown liquid looked so harmless, although I knew it wasn’t. I was scared, I knew that too much could have killed me, I didn’t actually know what to expect, everyone I knew that took it were long-term users, so it would be very different for a first time user, so I had been told.
So I then put the needle in my arm and into my vein, and hesitated slightly, thinking not of the consequences of what I was doing, but strangely, of someone I knew, and cared about, who, on seeing the world I was getting involved in, had made me promise not to do it. I felt guilt for breaking my promise but not enough to stop me, so soon I was pushing the brown liquid into my bloodstream, and immediately I felt a rush of warmth come over me …. and then promptly threw up! (It turns out that taking heroin without feeling ill takes practice! Who’d of thought it!?) It was instant and violent, I have never been sick so suddenly and violently before or since, but strangely it felt good, a relief, and once I had been sick I walked back to my room, feeling wobbly, like my legs were already asleep, I walked holding myself up on the walls, I then remember feeling warm and sleepy as I lay down on my bed, I felt like I had been wrapped in cotton wool, safe, warm and relaxed for the first time in months. There is no way round it, it was an amazing feeling, if it wasn’t, then nobody would do it more than once would they? So that was it, from that moment on, heroin began to play a bigger and bigger role in my everyday life.
Soon I started losing weight, very, very quickly, I didn’t think what was happening to me was obvious but my boss at that time began to notice something was wrong, and at the college I remember my tutor tried to talk to me about it, that was terrifying. Talking about it to somebody outside the drug scene actually meat admitting the reality of what I was doing. I thought about it as she stood in front of me, and I started to cry, the enormity of it suddenly hit me like a punch in the stomach, what was I doing? I was so scared. I was not really ready for that at all, so I ran away from the situation instead of facing it; the train journey home felt so long, my head was spinning, I needed to get home and forget what had happened, the only way I knew how.
I never went back to college and after that, the lady that ran the salon had a chat with me and said it was time for me to go.
So now I was completely into the drug scene, and the only small part of my life that was ‘normal’ was gone.....
A Whole New World
I remember waking up one day sweating so much my bed clothes were damp, I felt like I had a cold, my nose was running like a dripping tap, it was constant. My legs were also twitching and aching deep into the bones, I had stomach cramps so bad they made me feel sick; I knew what this was, I had seen it in all the people around me, they call it ‘clucking’.
I went and sat on the side of the bath and looked down at my arms, with my legs shaking, I suddenly felt panic, as I looked at the sore red lines down my arms from the countless needles full of drugs that I had injected…. And with a feeling of horror and fear, I realized - I was an addict. My body was craving heroin and the symptoms I was feeling were only going to get more intense, until I could get more heroin.
So… I was now an addict. Needing more than just the little bits I had afforded on dole money. When I hadn’t had a hit for about 6 hours, I started to feel the same symptoms, the time before getting ill between ’hits’ gets less and less. So obviously I needed to fund my habit, I turned to fellow addicts to see how they funded their habits, and surprisingly, there were a few that held down jobs… not many I admit, one was a driver of prison vans; I always wondered who would drive him to prison! There were shop lifters, there were beggars and there were con artists. These were the only categories in the circle of people I knew… so check my options, I have to break the law to maintain my habit… so I had to choose which sort of criminal I wanted to be…
I grew up in Canterbury, I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the streets, I knew too many people, so I decided to go to the supermarket and steal alcohol, which I knew the local pubs bought from addicts.
The first time I went in, I must have looked as scared as I felt, and believe me I was scared. Driven by feeling so ill and wanting to get a ‘hit’ to feel better, nothing could have stopped me trying though, but the security guard spotted me and followed me round the shop. I left with nothing… feeling worse than ever, my legs hurting and feeling like lead, I just wanted to feel well, and I knew what I had to do. So I dragged my aching, worn out body to another supermarket, this time more determined, I walked in, straight to the alcohol aisle, I got hold of a large bottle of good quality vodka, put it in my bag and walked out of the shop… and just kept walking, praying I would not get caught…
Once I got away from the shop, I felt excited…I couldn’t believe how easy it had been, and felt immense relief that soon I would feel well again. I took my bottle to the pub, who bought it very happily, and now I had enough money to buy my heroin, usually sold in 10 bags, i.e. £10 worth in a wrap.
I arranged to meet my dealer and got my drugs, I felt calmed just having it in my hand. I rushed back to the house and ‘cooked’ the heroin. It was the first time I had a hit that didn’t make me just ’sleep’ it made me feel well. So I went and bathed and cleaned up, feeling pleased with myself, and then a horrible feeling of dread came over me…. I had to get out and get more money before the sickness started to return.
It is incredibly hard to describe how heroin makes you feel because at full effect… it allows you to feel nothing, like a dreamless sleep, total relaxation, no emotion, no worries, no cares… which to most that take it, is its appeal. But once addicted, more and more is needed to achieve that non feeling, life becomes a never ending circle of ’hits’ and money making, it becomes a race against time to get enough money for the next hit before the sickness starts to get you.
Soon, I could not shoplift enough in a day to fund my growing habit and late one night, scared and cold with the cramps and sickness starting to creep in, I took a jumper and went and sat in one of the begging spots in town. As I sat down, I felt embarrassed, and just sat there for a while, shivering partly with cold, partly from ‘clucking … Then, someone stopped and gave me a pound coin, okay, so this wasn’t going to be so hard, was it? I just had to keep my head down and say thank you every now and again…? It wasn’t that easy, I saw people I knew occasionally, it made me feel embarrassed and I would hide my face, hoping no-one would recognise me. Although I was probably beyond being recognisable by now anyway, with sunken eyes, lined with huge bags, dirty, greasy hair, painfully thin and in filthy clothes.
People can be amazingly generous and some people genuinely want to help. Sadly, when sat there trying to get money for drugs, the last thing you want is for people to offer help with housing and a job, focus is on one thing and one thing only, but an addict will say pretty much anything if its going to lead to getting money. I remember once, a lady gave me her coat, a really lovely gesture… it was rabbit fur… incredibly warm, and as she stood there, I wrapped it round me, but my thoughts? No one will buy this, its real fur! There were times when peoples kindness was outstanding, but at the time, I could not appreciate just how much complete strangers care sometimes.
Around that time, I also tried selling the big issue… which at the time, you had to go to London to buy in bulk, for 30p each and sell for 90p, you had to go to where they are printed, but with the money you could make on them, it was worth the journey, if you could ‘jump’ the trains… that is, not pay! Then bring them back to sell, plus it was much easier to buy drugs in London… the dealers virtually have market stalls in some places! It was a very different scene to the (relatively) small drug scene in Canterbury. And after doing this journey a few times, it dawned on me that to stay in London could be so much easier….
And so began my time on the streets of London….
The Big Smoke
I had been to London many times to buy copies of the big issue to sell in Canterbury, but when I arrived there with the intention of sleeping on the streets, it suddenly looked bigger and more daunting than it had before.
As I wandered down the streets with my sleeping bag over my arm, I looked around, I saw others on the street, begging… they looked somehow worn, in a way that people in Canterbury don’t. I think because most of the time people in Canterbury have somewhere to go at night, even if its just the homeless shelter, whereas in London… the majority sleep rough.
As it started to get dark, I found a place to sit and sat in my sleeping bag to keep warm, I felt so small and cold and alone… I had taken some brown (heroin) with me, so I knew I would be okay until morning, so I set about begging and to my relief money came in easier than in the small town, so I continued until I had enough to ‘score’ in the morning. Then I went off to the train station to use the toilets to have my ‘hit’, before finding somewhere to sleep for the night; it was a scary night…
There were lots of drunk people, who were quite horrid to beggars, one even kicked me, which made me feel sad, embarrassed and ashamed. It was one of the worst nights of my life, I remember feeling so low and trying to work out how it had come to this. The thing about heroin is that it blocks emotions, so put into a situation like this, the only answer becomes more drugs to block out the reality of what is happening around you. When I think back to what could have happened, its terrifying, but it never crossed my mind when I headed to London, that just being there could cause such strong reactions in people just walking past. People have been beaten and even killed for less!
As I awoke, feeling cold and scared and starting to feel ill, I packed up my sleeping bag and walked down the street. I spoke to a few of the street people, who were really nice. One guy had been so low, he had thrown himself in front of a tube train, and he joked, that he couldn’t even get that right; he had one arm that was badly damaged, with no muscle left, which he used to sit with it out for sympathy… he also had a three legged dog!
I got one of them to get me some drugs and put me in contact with a dealer, so I was set-up for getting what I needed, I just had to make money, and begging is good money in London. So after a while, I knew all the guys on the street in my area, they are like a little family, all looking out for each other, which also makes you feel a bit safer. And I had found a door way which was a closed down shop, and set up home in it… I started drawing cartoon characters in chalk on the pavements, which earned me more money than just begging. Some people were amazing. There was an Irish couple who, once a week, they would come out onto the streets to bring us hot chocolate and sandwiches. They were very special people that went out of their way every week, to make our lives that little bit easier, amazing! Every Wednesday morning I would wake up with a £20 note under my pillow… the person that used to do it never made themselves known to me.
There were times in London when I felt happy, and almost settled, we used to use local public toilets to wash and clean up occasionally, and as I’ve said, the guys on the streets all looked out for each other and they became good friends. And then there were times when I hit all time lows and I just wanted to die…
One day I had my hit ready and waiting in the needle, I was already feeling very ill, and I couldn’t get a vein; my arms were in tatters, sore and in places swollen from missed hits where drugs missed my veins. I knew of people injecting else where, but I never had. I saw one person have his friend inject him in his neck once.. Not pretty, and VERY dangerous! Lots of people inject into the groin, but I had never used anywhere but my arms and hands, but my arms were ruined, so in desperation of needing the hit, I took my sock off and injected into the big vein running up my foot, it was uncomfortable and sore, but it had worked.
While I was in London, I phoned my mum, I can't remember what prompted this, I think it may have been at the point I stayed in a hostel a few nights (which I didn’t stay in again, as it was scarier than the streets) which just made me think about home life. It was the only time I ever thought of anyone but myself while I was doing heroin. I’m pretty sure it did more harm than good… my mum then knew I was in London and I have no idea what I put her through, all I know is that if my daughter was out there, it would tear me apart.
I never really spoke to my mum about what was happening, she knew what I was doing, but we didn’t talk about it, I didn’t want to… partly because of a fear of someone trying to stop me doing what I was doing, I was so addicted I could never imagine not needing heroin. I don’t think talking to my mum did me any good either. I know that after that, my drug taking got worse, I needed more and more just to keep me going and eventually the man I bought my drugs off suggested I start selling to fund my habit.
So I got enough money together to buy a larger amount and travelled back to Canterbury with enough heroin to sell …
The Last Straw
I arrived back in Canterbury, and felt somewhat relieved to be back where I knew so well, only to find that one of the boys who had previously got clean and tried to help me, had died…. What had happened?
He came to see the old crowd and see how they were doing, but they convinced him to have a hit, and because he had got clean, his tolerance had got very low. He took a hit and immediately went blue, this happens quite a lot in the heroin world, but most times people either regain breathing on their own or with a little help, occasionally we had to call an ambulance. So my friend had gone blue, an ambulance had called, but nothing could be done, it was too late. It made me so angry that these people couldn’t bear to see anyone clean, and they let him do it again: he left behind a three year old daughter, and to this day I think about what it must have done to her. But as an addict myself, the easiest way to forget, was to take more drugs and blot it out.
I remember once we called an ambulance, by the time they got there, the guy was just about conscious again, he got off the ambulance to come back into the flat to ask us to save him some, as it was such good stuff!!
The time I was selling heroin, is hard to remember, I was taking far too much because it was easily available to me, but there are a few events that have stuck in my mind for one reason or another.
There are some horrible people in the drug world and its true some people would do anything for a fix, I once saw a man go blue after a hit and the person with him, emptied his pockets of drugs and money before he called an ambulance for him…that time could have cost him his life, fortunately that time it didn’t.
I once got in a car, I think, to go to London to pick up… I woke up at Stonehenge…. I don’t know why and I don’t remember coming back!
Void of any emotions due to huge amounts of heroin in my system, when I didn’t have heroin often enough, the illness was much, much worse due to the amount I was now taking. My arms, hands and feet were in tatters from needles, many veins collapsed and unusable.
Journeys to London on trains and coaches, and fear of being caught by the police carrying large amounts of heroin, when coming back to Kent were very scary, I knew that the amounts I was carrying would land me in jail if I got caught. I was dealing with someone else, so we took it in turns to do the journey, and sometimes went together, but the fear was as bad if the other person went, because if they got caught, there was no heroin for any of us.
Then one day, at about 4 in the morning, the door of the house we stayed in, came crashing down, followed by what seemed like hundreds of police, in reality it was probably about 15. My stomach turned, as I panicked to remember how much heroin was in the house and where it was, I felt sick and panic and fear washed over me, everyone in the house was handcuffed as the police turned the house upside-down. The person I was in “business” with, told me they would say it was theirs, and to me, that sounded like a pretty good deal, the police found what they were looking for, and we were all taken to the police station for questioning.
I have no idea how long the questions went on, but eventually I was let out, and not feeling well by this time, all I wanted was a ‘hit’ as I walked through Canterbury. I was thinking about everything that had been happening to me, about being so far into the drug scene, how nothing else mattered and feelings and emotions didn’t exist anymore. Now, as I was walking and alone, I felt very scared, I knew I had had a close call, and I realized that there were people that must be worried about me, one person especially…. My Nan. She was always there for me, no matter what I did, no matter how low I got, she was there with a hug and a cup of tea, yes, she was a great believer in “tea cures all”. I wanted to see her, but I felt guilty for everything I had been doing, she should be ashamed of me, I should have gone to my Nans, but I didn’t, I went to the nearest drug house.
More and more over the next few weeks I thought about my life and all the friends that had died and all the people I had hurt, there was a particularly emotional funeral, the boy was 21, he didn’t die of an overdose, but a horrible accident caused by being on drugs. One of the street guys played guitar and sang a song at his funeral, it was Christy Moore’s ‘Ride On’ - seeing the state of the friends and family of this young boy really tore me up, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt my stomach churning with the sense that something was very wrong.
I went to the homeless shelter in Canterbury one day and spoke to an amazing man who worked there and told him how I felt… he was amazing and very supportive, and said he would help in any way he could…
Back To Reality
I remember my last hit… it wasn’t particularly planned to be my last hit, it just happened. It was only a weak one, and as I walked through Canterbury I felt a huge sense of relief, as I decided enough was enough and as I looked at the boys begging on the streets I knew I wanted to leave this world behind me. I couldn’t see where I wanted to be, I just knew it wasn’t where I was. I didn’t want to be the dirty, smelly girl on the street any more. I felt a slight twinge of excitement and then realised the enormity of what I was going to have to do.
I had to stop injecting heroin, which was a scary thought when you have done it for so long, as it becomes your whole life. So the idea of giving it up would leave a HUGE whole in my life, but I had made up my mind. But how to go about it? I had seen so many people use methadone, although most people seemed to just use it as a top up to heroin or to get them through the gaps between hits, and as far as I could see, it wasn’t really getting clean; so that was it, I decided to go cold turkey… no drugs, no help…
I went to see John at the homeless shelter, he agreed to help all he could. That night I stayed in the shelter, so afraid, I knew partly what was coming, but I had no idea how bad it was going to get. I had always got a ‘hit’ to stop the ‘clucking’ before it got too painful, so I didn’t sleep much that night, mainly through being scared, and partly because the sickness was starting to catch up. As I lay there, light started to creep in through the windows, everyone else was asleep, and part of me desperately wanted to get up and go and get a hit. But I thought about my Nan and about the friends I had lost and I got up and walked around the room, my legs were twitchy and cramping, and John made me eat, as he knew I wouldn’t be able to quite soon.
I was sweating and my nose was running, just like having flu, so I washed and laid down on one of the beds, but after breakfast the shelter closes for a few hours till lunch time, so everyone that stayed there had to leave, and they would not make an exception for me. Most of the people that stayed in the shelter were drinkers rather than drug users, so they took me with them down to the park, I could hardly walk, but they helped me and let me have a little drink.
I took a sleeping bag with me which I laid in, sweating so badly I was soaked, I felt so bad, and then a new wave started. I began being sick and had diarrhoea, hardly out of the public toilets, I was in a real mess, I couldn’t sleep, but I was exhausted. These symptoms all came on very quickly and I was glad of the little bit of alcohol the drinkers were giving me, keeping it down long enough to have any lasting effect was a challenge though.
As I lay in the park, I was in and out of the sleeping bag, fluctuating between hot and cold, it felt like forever. When it got to lunch time, I could not move, and a few of the others stayed with me, they continued drinking, and just having some people there with me made me feel a little safer. I felt horrific, there were many moments that I nearly gave in, knowing that all I had to do was inject and I would feel better, but I knew that I would have to go through all this again.
That evening, with a lot of help, I managed to get back to the shelter and there they ran a bath and literally put me in it. I was still being sick, but trying to drink so there was something in me so I didn’t get too dehydrated. My legs felt like the muscles were full of creepy crawlies, fidgety, itchy and cramping, I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t walk, I was stuck in a limbo of feeling so tired and ill and not being able to sleep through it.
That night went on for what seemed like forever, people sleeping and snoring around me, I managed to get up and walk half way through the night and walking on cold floors with no shoes seemed to help my legs feel a bit better. So I walked around on the lino floor, for hours and hours, round and round, thinking about everything I had done, seen and been through. I felt sick enough as it was, but remembering some of the things I’d seen and done, made me feel saddened and ashamed, I tried to focus on the positive, and that I must be on the up, as I was now up and walking.
As morning broke again, I felt so exhausted, I laid on the chairs as they served breakfast, I could not eat, I tried to drink water, but I was still being very sick.
Drug users came in for breakfast, one offered me a needle full of heroin… I looked at it, I could end this now… I could feel better, just by taking that small amount in the needle, and then I remembered how Russell had died because these people hated to see other people do what they cannot: I told that drug user where he could stick his drugs, and it wasn’t in my arm! I felt stronger having said no to drugs face to face for the first time and also for the first time I truly believed I could kick it.
Again I went to the park when the shelter closed and drank cider with the drinkers, they were kind and looked out for me. I mainly just walked around, I was more and more exhausted, mentally and physically, I needed to sleep, but my body would not let me, I was also just about keeping down liquid, so not too dehydrated. I walked round and round, trying to calm my legs, I still had a running nose, and where I had wiped it so much over the last two days it was so sore, and I was still sweating badly and must have smelt horrific!
For the third night in a row I went into the shelter and John had called a in nurse, so she checked me over and offered me some sleeping tablets, but I didn’t want them, as I was afraid of taking a step back, so I just went to bed. As I lay there, unable to sleep for another night, I began to see things moving that weren’t! I was having hallucinations, I then wondered if I should have taken the tablets! It was just walls wobbling and tables melting, nothing scary, and I knew they weren’t really moving so I relaxed and watched the tricks my brain played, it was actually a welcome distraction from being so focused on being ill.
As morning came round, I realized I was feeling better than I had for days, I felt excited. Had I really made it through the worst? …..
Back For Good
Coming back to reality was a nasty shock, it was like my brain was coming back to life and everything I had done since starting to use drugs was coming back to me in snap shots and small outtakes.
Vivid memories of what I’d seen and done… things that made my stomach churn and my head spin,
A girl I knew that took heroin used to bring her two young children with her to score… at the time, it was just part of what happened, but looking back now…. It makes me cringe and feel ashamed that I was a part of it.
Strange that all these situations and incidents just brushed over me when I was on heroin and now I had to face them all, and try to cope with all the emotions that they stirred. I had not felt much for years, so having to deal with so many all together was overwhelming and I started to drink every day.
I ended up in Folkestone drinking down at the harbour with a group of people that drank all day, I was drinking to numb my feeling of shame and sadness.
After a few weeks, I felt an irresistible urge to get back to Canterbury and see my Nan, I had thought about her and what she had done for me, and everything I had put her and the rest of my family through, I wanted to say sorry.
I got a friend to drive me back to Canterbury, I remember feeling excited to be going back clean, but also a dread of having to face her clean and say sorry for all that I had done.
As the car pulled up I had butterflies in my stomach. I said goodbye to my friend and got out of the car, and walked up the path to her flat, I rang the door bell and as she opened the door and looked at me, she smiled… I must have looked better, she could obviously see I was not on heroin, and put her arms around me. I hugged her and cried, saying I was sorry, and my Nan, being my Nan, went and put the kettle on and lit a cigarette!
All I had was the clothes I stood in, so she washed them and I sat on the sofa in her dressing gown, we didn’t really talk about anything, we watched telly and drank tea.
My Nan didn’t drink but had a cupboard full of whisky for some reason, so I started to work my way through it. I drank a lot but it didn’t take me long to realise it wasn’t what I wanted to do, and it wasn’t helping!
A few weeks passed and I had stopped drinking completely. I then went to the day centre to get tested for anything I might have caught from living the lifestyle I did, as careful as I was, there were a few times I shared needles with people I lived with. I was so scared, as it was the first time I had gone near a needle for months, and the nurse had real trouble finding somewhere to get blood, so I had to do it myself, even though they are not really allowed to let you!
So my blood was sent off, and I then discovered that while I had been getting clean I had been due in court, so I was now wanted by the police, not only for my original crime of possession, but now for failing to appear in court too. So I went to the police station and handed myself in and gave them my Nan’s address as my fixed abode and they let me go to await a court date.
Eventually I got my court date, and went to court, I was so scared, as I had many minor charges that, so far, had just been cautions and warnings, that I thought maybe this time I would be getting a more severe punishment. And I was also scared I might be put in jail, I knew it would be a short sentence, but it was possible.
As I stood and the judge spoke to me, me legs felt weak and wobbly, as I confirmed my name. The rest is a blur, but I remember the judge saying that because I had made the effort and got clean, I would be put on probation, and sent to drugs counselling classes.. I was so relieved I cried, as I walked back home thinking how lucky I was.
I went to probation every week, as I was meant to, and talked to my probation officer about what I wanted to do and how to go about it. I also started the counselling classes, though unfortunately, these classes were not good for me, as the other people that were there, were there to avoid prison. Many were drugged up and the ones that didn’t wanted to be! And I wanted to be away from these people, but if I didn’t go to counselling I would be sent back to court and more than likely end up in jail, it was so hard to sit among these people, but I just got on with what I had to do.
I decided I wanted to work… but who would employ an ex-junkie? I went to the local night club, and got an interview, the manager was nice and didn’t question much work history, so I managed to get a job, as I said I had pulled pints before.. I had… two!!
I started work at the nightclub and picked up bar work pretty quick, I was really enjoying it, and loved working and earning money, then one day, I opened the local paper to find a story about the drug bust and how the other person I had been “working” with had been convicted, and my name had been mentioned in the print…. My stomach turned over and I thought about how the life I was trying to build for myself could be shattered before my eyes.
I made up my mind and went to see my boss at the club, and told him everything, it was the first time I had told anyone about my past since being clean, he was amazing, he smiled and said my past was past, and it didn’t matter, I did my job well and that was what mattered! What a star! It was then that I realised that my past wasn’t something I was ever going to pretend didn’t happen, and that actually, it had made me who I was, and I was starting to like who I am.
There was only one more thing to do… I had to get the results of my blood test. There were rumours of all sorts of things going round, and I knew I hadn’t been as careful as I should have been, I had been desperate sometimes and there were no clean needles… Boiling water wasn’t a disinfectant, but it was all I had used to clean out a needle sometimes, so I went to my appointment with the nurse, the walk there seemed so much longer than usual, as I ran through in my head all the different outcomes this meeting could have. I walked in with a deep feeling of dread, this could be a life changing moment, and I’d had enough of those lately…
I sat down and the nurse looked at me, I knew right then that this was not what I wanted to hear, I had imagined her smiling and telling me how lucky I was, but she wasn’t smiling, I felt sick, as she told me I had hepatitis C… I had no real idea about what that meant or even what it was, I only knew it wasn’t good! The nurse explained a few things to me, but my head was spinning, nothing went in, I walked home in a daze. It would have been a miracle to walk away from what I had done with no after effects, it was hard to take it in, but eventually I got information from the internet and found out about the liver disease I have; it is incurable, but fortunately, mine is not bad enough at the moment to need treatment.
After the night club, my life continued to get better, I moved out of my Nan’s into my own place and then to Ramsgate and got a job in a hotel, there I worked hard and made some great friends, and the life of drugs was far behind me. The people I was around did not know the person I was back then and none of them judged me when I told them about it. I have found that very few people do, and I think people that do, are just scared by what they don’t understand, and rather than ask questions, they prefer to put me in a pigeon hole and label me, because its easier.
The story from there is all good, I had my gorgeous daughter, I moved back to Canterbury, and I now love my life, with my daughter. I have a job I enjoy (however boring at times!) some amazing friends and my music that I love.
At this point I would like to say a huge thank you to all that have taken the time to read and follow my blog posts, the comments and feedback you have all given have been amazing, and touching.
As you must realise, four years of heroin addiction in 7 blogs, it has been highly edited, and maybe future blogs will fill in some of the gaps, but for now….
The story continues in every day life….
xx Thank you xx
© Bernadette Brice 2009
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