This guest post had kindly been submitted by another friend of mine. I didn't know them at the time of these incidents, but met them shortly after. I can honestly say, that knowing what a friendly, and nice person they are, what happened to them when they were on pills has totally shocked me. I never could have guessed that something as horrible as that could happen to such a good person.
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Pills and Fights
Part 1 - Weed
I did the usual, you know, getting pissed with mates. At that age, a pretty young age, that seemed the right thing to do, all rebellious and shit! I had one mate, who at the time was living in a caravan outside his parents. It was the most idyllic location to be living, although it was less than 20 feet away from their house! This is where it all started.
I was only about 14/15 years of age when I first got exposed to drugs, maybe a little older but hey ho outcome was nevertheless the same. Someone had gotten hold of some weed. I thought “Wow isn’t he cool”, not.... There were only one or two people that were properly smoking it. This was when my mate with the caravan started inviting other people round, and of course it carried on like Chinese whispers, tonnes of people were there! Well, slight exaggeration but I’m writing this so na!
As naturally as weed comes, it gets passed around. I had one toke from it and felt like shit, I couldn’t be arsed to do anything, even though it was only a small amount I had smoked. But what with me having “virgin” lungs it hit me pretty hard.
That was the first time I had one puff, then it happened again, but this time I had been heavily drinking. Roughly same age as before, and I decided to smoke a little more than I did originally. It was hilarious, not only was I paralysed, I was pissing myself with laughter as my head was literally plonked against the wall of the caravan. All the others were pissing themselves too, quite an amusing night.
After a while it was just the same old people bringing weed, and the “original gang” were fading away because of it getting out of control, caravan was getting wrecked etc. So shortly I stopped going round there, just to get away from the nutters, and the drugs. Weed stinks, it’s a vile smell, I did mention that didn’t I?
Part 2 - Pills
Bollocks to this, I’ll cut straight to the chase; my best mate invited me and a few of his mates to go for a cruise in his car. In total there were about 4 or 5 of us, cramped into his clapped out Rover 216. One of them decided to ask my mate to make a detour to someone’s house, it turned out that someone was a dealer, and he got himself a bag of pills. He started knocking them back like smarties, I shit you not, wishful thinking that he’d knock himself out, he turned out to be a bloody nutjob.
My best mate was driving and he was sober throughout the night, I had a few bottles of beer, and then the moment came, “d’ya want a pill or two mate?” Inevitably I said yes, why the hell not? I felt like nothing was going right in my life anyway so I wanted to blow it away, did I blow it away...? Did I ever.
The others were doing the pills too, so I took one, waited for a while and Christ did it take a while, I believe I took another one not long after the first.
We were on the move again to someone else’s house, god knows where we were going, but when we got there, there were more people. They were all sober. I think I snorted some pills as well when we were inside the house, but still wasn’t coming up yet. Then the bloke who’d got the pills asked me, “are ya coming up yet” and I replied, “yes,” as I had just started to get this intense warm feeling throughout my body, to put it comparatively, it was like an orgasm but much more pronounced (and better!)
Well, did some more pills, and we were on the move again, to another blokes house who wasn’t with us previously.
This is where it gets sketchy, the bloke who was with us asked us for a score to get some more pills, me being a mug I said yeah, don’t even think I got a share from this batch, nor did I get my twenty quid back, which he said I would. My best mate had left at this point so I was stranded in the middle of some strange place. Another bloke turned up on a scooter, he did some pills too, and was driving. Mad hatter I tell ya. Shortly afterwards, at this other bloke’s house, I think it was the lad on the ‘ped that started getting mouthy to everyone. There was a lot of commotion. Someone said “get out my fucking house or I’m gonna knock you out”, and boy was he serious, I can’t remember whether a punch was landed by either of them. Ped boy soon scarpered.
I was pissed, starting to come down, and I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Not a chance. I couldn’t sleep for shit. I was laid on this strangers bed, with the others sat on the edge of it. The bloke whose house it was, from what I can remember, he said something about he doesn’t want my greasy hair all over his pillow. Err excuse me, but it’s not greasy.
Next day, I was out of it. Everything was surreal, and I didn’t know my arse from my elbow!! This is the part that gets pretty bad. When me, and another two of the guys originally from my mates car were leaving, apparently I was mouthing off to this bloke whose house it was. I was like, well what the hell have I done… don’t know what his problem was. Next minute I was walking ahead of them, and all I heard was this barrage of stomping as the lad who had the “problem” cracked me round the back of the head. Then he tripped me, or pushed me, either way I was on the ground. He kicked me in the face once or twice while I laid there.
I thought I had blood coming out of my nose, but turns out it was where he kicked me and my nose was just running, mmmm nice(!)
Then he disappeared and I called my mate to come pick me up right this bloody minute. I met him at a roundabout about 10, or so, minutes later. Had a right pop at him for leaving me with people I didn’t know. He apologised for it though, I think.
The damage done to me was next to nothing, a small cut above my eyebrow was all he had managed. Must not have been a “hard” lad!
Coming off the pills I didn’t speak, or if I did it wasn’t much at all. I hardly said a word to my parents that day, that was very strange. My pupils were “pulsating” when I looked in the mirror. Just had to hope they wouldn’t notice, they didn’t thank goodness.
Coming off the pills must have lasted a few days, if not more, as I had small hallucinations. A few days later, I was in a pub with a mate. I said to him something white had fallen out of his head. Lo and behold we pissed ourselves. I was still feeling the effects!
Part 3 - Cocaine
I’ve never really had any experience with cocaine, apart from someone using it in their flat, which was brief. I had a dream a fair few years ago about doing cocaine, and surprise, surprise I was carted off to hospital where I died. Not a pleasant dream, but one that has really put me off cocaine. I could have got hold of some whenever I wanted to, but because of that dream, I never dared to touch it, no matter how small the line.
Part 4 - Buying my Own
After gaining my driving licence I restricted what I drank, and didn’t plan to ever touch drugs. But after meeting this woman, it sort of changed. A few of us went back to her house, and next minute she pulls out a box from under the sofa and rolls a massive joint. She smoked it quite happily, after all, it was her house she was doing it in, and it didn’t bother me at all. A few more visits cropped up, and she rolled another one, this time I said I fancied a bit. Omg! Dunno what it was but it knocked me for six! I was lying next to her on my tummy and my whole body felt like it was sinking, a weird but nice warm fuzzy feeling.
About 10 minutes or so later, I was sat on her garden doorstep with my head spinning. I didn’t puke, I’m far too hard for that! Eventually though, the effects wore off and I went to sleep.
I started buying my own off her. I was so paranoid having this bag of weed in the glove box, but I got it home safe and sound. I smoked some at home, then worst of all, I smoked some at work. Me panicking, I dropped some on the floor at work when I was rolling one. It was a fuzzy type of carpet and a pain to clear up!
Then to be honest it ended as quickly as it started and vowed to myself to never touch it again, and to this day I haven’t.
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Some bullet points to cap things off:
• Weed? It stinks.
• I can't understand why anyone would want a drug to make you feel like crap and be lazy...?
• Drugs are so readily available nowadays, anyone can get some.
• I enjoyed the first time on pills, just not the repercussions
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Before writing this, I would have contemplated doing pills again, even knowing what I do. But after writing, and really thinking about it, they would probably screw me up again and put my mind back to where it was before, bringing back that impression that nothing in my life is going right. I know I’d just want that first feeling again, just once more, and I'd chase it. But it doesn’t work like that; the second time’s never the same as the first.
Saturday 9 July 2011
My Life Now - Pills again
Last night I had some friends over. One of them brought "a friend" whom I'd never met.
This girl was just coming up 22, and I was afterwards told she'd recently lost a close family member, and had to organise, and speak at, the funeral herself. So not an easy time of life recently then!
She told me she was going to her first Rave that night, and was intending to take her first pill.
Apparently it was a legal rave. Now, personally, I've never actually been to one of those. Well, not unless you count the under-18s club night I went to with Lucy once. But I'm not sure if that counts. (I'll blog about that one soon.)
Apparently they're not all that different. I strongly suspect the dealers won't be lined up at the entrance like they were at the Raves I used to go to, but I don't doubt they'll be there somewhere.
I didn't say anything. God only knows why!! I bloody should have.
I just bit my tongue and kept quiet.
It’s so hard, I don’t want to preach to people like a holier-than-thou ex-smoker. I know holier-than-thou ex-smokers. And as a very happy smoker, I can tell you now that the words “well I managed to give up” are the six most irritating words you can say to a smoker!
But on the other hand, that person could be about to seriously damage their mind. I just wish I could take my memories, and take my flashbacks and put them on a plate and show them to people. I wish I could give them to people. I wish I could convey the feeling, words don’t cut it. I just wish people who are thinking about drugs could have my memories, just for a second, just so they know what can happen. But memories aren’t chips. You can’t put them on a plate. And you can’t really preach about them either without being a holier-than-thou ex-drug addict.
Y’know what? I might just make business cards for this blog and start handing the buggers out instead!!
This girl was just coming up 22, and I was afterwards told she'd recently lost a close family member, and had to organise, and speak at, the funeral herself. So not an easy time of life recently then!
She told me she was going to her first Rave that night, and was intending to take her first pill.
Apparently it was a legal rave. Now, personally, I've never actually been to one of those. Well, not unless you count the under-18s club night I went to with Lucy once. But I'm not sure if that counts. (I'll blog about that one soon.)
Apparently they're not all that different. I strongly suspect the dealers won't be lined up at the entrance like they were at the Raves I used to go to, but I don't doubt they'll be there somewhere.
I didn't say anything. God only knows why!! I bloody should have.
I just bit my tongue and kept quiet.
It’s so hard, I don’t want to preach to people like a holier-than-thou ex-smoker. I know holier-than-thou ex-smokers. And as a very happy smoker, I can tell you now that the words “well I managed to give up” are the six most irritating words you can say to a smoker!
But on the other hand, that person could be about to seriously damage their mind. I just wish I could take my memories, and take my flashbacks and put them on a plate and show them to people. I wish I could give them to people. I wish I could convey the feeling, words don’t cut it. I just wish people who are thinking about drugs could have my memories, just for a second, just so they know what can happen. But memories aren’t chips. You can’t put them on a plate. And you can’t really preach about them either without being a holier-than-thou ex-drug addict.
Y’know what? I might just make business cards for this blog and start handing the buggers out instead!!
Thursday 9 June 2011
Links to "My Memories"
Handy link to all the posts in the "Memories" category is now up.
Click here for the new post on Memory, and the links:
My Memories
Click here for the new post on Memory, and the links:
My Memories
Thursday 2 June 2011
Memories - A Shooting
When I look back on this now, I think to myself, "did that shit really happen??"
And yes, it did.
It seems so strange now. I was in real danger a lot of the time, but it just didn't feel like it at all. It all felt so safe. Sometimes I really wonder how I could have done it all, if it could have been me. Maybe I have someone else's memories. But I know I don't. And I know it did happen. I also know it wasn't safe. And I really don't know how I came out of it all alive. I really don't.
I want to write about one particular night which was pretty eventful. A lot of things happened for just one short night.
It was a saturday. I remember meeting up at a friends house to go raving. He rang the party line, which was a recorded message telling us where the party would be that night. I don't remember where the party was. Actually, I never knew where the parties were. "London", I would say, if asked. There was a group of us, three girls and about five guys. We walked to the train station near my friends house. The first fight of the night happened outside that train station. I don't know what it was all about to be honest. I wasn't paying too much attention, I was chatting to the girls and rolling a joint. My friend came up to me and asked me to hold his chips. Then he kicked another guys head in. Literally. He put him in some sort of headlock and started kneeing him in the face. Blood everywhere. And then it was over. Just Like That. They made up instantly, and my friend finished his chips, before they were even cold.
It was the strangest thing. When the train came, we all got on it together to go into London. Except one of us now had a bloody nose.
I don't remember the journey into London, which probably has something to do with the Weed. I was probably smoking it on the train, I usually did. Never been quite sure how we got away with that one.
I don't remember much else, up until one little scene which sticks in my mind. I remember my friend and his girlfriend having a fight over something. He stormed off. Unfortunately, he was the one with the map, so we were stranded. Three guys and two girls plus me.
I remember two of the guys going into a phone box and smoking something. I thought they were just hotboxing it with weed. I remember they didn't care where we were, they were having the time of their lives. Pissed up and stoned and miles from home. The other two girls were arguing about something, and then crying about something. I remember one of the guys came up to me at one point and said "hey, that girl just hit that other girl!" and then just laughed. He was joking. She hadn't. Not much of a funny bloody joke, it would have been fight number three for the vastly disintegrating night.
Apparently, that's what Crack Cocaine does to you. It makes you find things funny which really just aren't.
And it turns out, Crack Cocaine was what they'd been smoking in that phone box.
I couldn't believe it. Friends of mine? On Crack? One step down from Smack. The two drugs I'd always avoided. I didn't know what to do. Well, there wasn't really anything I could do.
The wide eyed looks on their faces were so strange, the way they acted was so strange. I knew these people, but I didn't know the people who were talking to me now. It was horrible. They thought everything was funny, they were running around like children, shouting and laughing. Writing on walls, throwing things, hitting each other, smoking more.
I was stuck in the east end of bloody london somewhere, with no clue where I was or how to get home, with three crackheads, one pissed girl sobbing over her boyfriend and another girl too stoned to do anything about anything.
I don't remember what happened next.
I do remember that we made it to another party somehow. But I don't remember the party.
The next thing I remember is the following morning. The guy who had stormed off earlier in the night showed back up. We were at a train station somewhere closer to home. He took me aside and said to me, "please, don't tell my girlfriend, but there was a shooting at the party I was at." He'd got out just before the police arrived. Quite a few people had been shot. He was lucky. I don't know what he'd been taking that night, but whatever it was, it must have been strong. He wasn't himself at all. He'd been angry with her, so he took way more than usual.
I don't really know what happened next, one minute my friend and his girlfriend were arguing about something, then he turned on one of the other guys and the next thing I knew, the old bill were there.
There's only one more thing I remember. I remember my friend holding someone in some sort of headlock, just like he'd done at the start of the night. I remember him kneeing that someone in the face, just like he'd done at the start of the night. I remember there was blood everywhere, again.
I also remember my friend getting arrested. That someone he was hitting was a copper.
It wasn't a good night.
It was a pretty shit night to be honest. My friend nearly got shot. Then he got arrested. And two people I used to know became Crack Addicts.
No. Not a good night at all.
And yes, it did.
It seems so strange now. I was in real danger a lot of the time, but it just didn't feel like it at all. It all felt so safe. Sometimes I really wonder how I could have done it all, if it could have been me. Maybe I have someone else's memories. But I know I don't. And I know it did happen. I also know it wasn't safe. And I really don't know how I came out of it all alive. I really don't.
I want to write about one particular night which was pretty eventful. A lot of things happened for just one short night.
It was a saturday. I remember meeting up at a friends house to go raving. He rang the party line, which was a recorded message telling us where the party would be that night. I don't remember where the party was. Actually, I never knew where the parties were. "London", I would say, if asked. There was a group of us, three girls and about five guys. We walked to the train station near my friends house. The first fight of the night happened outside that train station. I don't know what it was all about to be honest. I wasn't paying too much attention, I was chatting to the girls and rolling a joint. My friend came up to me and asked me to hold his chips. Then he kicked another guys head in. Literally. He put him in some sort of headlock and started kneeing him in the face. Blood everywhere. And then it was over. Just Like That. They made up instantly, and my friend finished his chips, before they were even cold.
It was the strangest thing. When the train came, we all got on it together to go into London. Except one of us now had a bloody nose.
I don't remember the journey into London, which probably has something to do with the Weed. I was probably smoking it on the train, I usually did. Never been quite sure how we got away with that one.
I don't remember much else, up until one little scene which sticks in my mind. I remember my friend and his girlfriend having a fight over something. He stormed off. Unfortunately, he was the one with the map, so we were stranded. Three guys and two girls plus me.
I remember two of the guys going into a phone box and smoking something. I thought they were just hotboxing it with weed. I remember they didn't care where we were, they were having the time of their lives. Pissed up and stoned and miles from home. The other two girls were arguing about something, and then crying about something. I remember one of the guys came up to me at one point and said "hey, that girl just hit that other girl!" and then just laughed. He was joking. She hadn't. Not much of a funny bloody joke, it would have been fight number three for the vastly disintegrating night.
Apparently, that's what Crack Cocaine does to you. It makes you find things funny which really just aren't.
And it turns out, Crack Cocaine was what they'd been smoking in that phone box.
I couldn't believe it. Friends of mine? On Crack? One step down from Smack. The two drugs I'd always avoided. I didn't know what to do. Well, there wasn't really anything I could do.
The wide eyed looks on their faces were so strange, the way they acted was so strange. I knew these people, but I didn't know the people who were talking to me now. It was horrible. They thought everything was funny, they were running around like children, shouting and laughing. Writing on walls, throwing things, hitting each other, smoking more.
I was stuck in the east end of bloody london somewhere, with no clue where I was or how to get home, with three crackheads, one pissed girl sobbing over her boyfriend and another girl too stoned to do anything about anything.
I don't remember what happened next.
I do remember that we made it to another party somehow. But I don't remember the party.
The next thing I remember is the following morning. The guy who had stormed off earlier in the night showed back up. We were at a train station somewhere closer to home. He took me aside and said to me, "please, don't tell my girlfriend, but there was a shooting at the party I was at." He'd got out just before the police arrived. Quite a few people had been shot. He was lucky. I don't know what he'd been taking that night, but whatever it was, it must have been strong. He wasn't himself at all. He'd been angry with her, so he took way more than usual.
I don't really know what happened next, one minute my friend and his girlfriend were arguing about something, then he turned on one of the other guys and the next thing I knew, the old bill were there.
There's only one more thing I remember. I remember my friend holding someone in some sort of headlock, just like he'd done at the start of the night. I remember him kneeing that someone in the face, just like he'd done at the start of the night. I remember there was blood everywhere, again.
I also remember my friend getting arrested. That someone he was hitting was a copper.
It wasn't a good night.
It was a pretty shit night to be honest. My friend nearly got shot. Then he got arrested. And two people I used to know became Crack Addicts.
No. Not a good night at all.
Guest Post - Weed, Alcohol and Rape
This is a guest post which has kindly been submitted by a friend of mine detailing some of her experiences with weed and alcohol, and sadly alcohol-related Rape. I'd just like to take a moment to say that this is the first time I have heard the full story of what happened to her that night, and I am very proud of her for surviving such a horrendous incident, as well as having the courage to share it so others do not have to go through what she went through.
Please be warned, some of what is written in this guest post deals with the serious crime of Rape, and is both very explicit and shocking.
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Weed, Alcohol and Rape
I’ve been friends with Christie since we were kids. I was about 12, she was 14. We met at a local youth club. Her friends all said I should find some friends my own age, instead of tagging around with them all the time, but Christie didn’t care about that, she liked me. I guess the fact that she and I are still friends, and neither of us can remember most of their names is testament to the fact that we were both right about each other. We spent many evenings keeping each other company in front of the telly there - she still recovering from the night before, me avoiding the youth workers because I hadn't brought them the projects I'd promised to show them.... Somehow, we managed to form a strong friendship, and I can honestly say that Christie is one of my closest friends.
I remember following Christie to one of the more remote corners of the club’s garden, so that she and her friends could have a sneaky fag. I kept telling her that smoking was bad for her - I was a very self-righteous child... Little did I know that four or five years later, I would be a smoker too.
Weed
I don’t want to give the wrong impression, it wasn’t Christie that got me smoking, it was a boyfriend of mine, eight years older than me, I at sweet sixteen, he at the ripe old age of 23. He smoked. He also smoked weed. He wanted to introduce me to the ‘finer’ things in life - I suspect, as much as anything, because he and his friends found it funny to see me coughing and spluttering after my first toke on a rolly. I started occasionally smoking weed with him, never a whole joint, just a few tokes here and there. I doubt it was even enough to get me truly stoned on most occasions. He had something called a chillum - a tapered stone tube and a little stone, with lines scored down the sides, that fitted in the top where the bud to be smoked is put. To take a draw, the smoker had to toke on the bottom end of the chillum, while lighting the bud at the top. ‘Blow backs’ were his speciality. He would light the bud at the top, then blow the smoke through from the top of the chillum, into my face. Supposedly this is a less harsh way of getting stoned if you’re not used to it. It’s also a good way to hot box a flat.
We were watching films - I can remember how funny everything was. ‘babe,’ he said, as we were watching Ice Age 3, ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?!’ Neither of us could tell whether the multi coloured sloths were real or imagined...
I didn’t smoke weed very often, as I usually only saw him on weekends. He ended up being a contemptible person - the final straw was when he locked me out of his flat one night. I was 80 miles from home, and the last train had already left. To this day, I am still thankful that I was friends with the girl who lived a few doors up, and that she and her partner let me sleep on their sofa for the night. I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for them.
The only thing that he left me with was an expensive smoking habit, which I only recently managed to kick, 5 years on.
I have gone out with several unsavoury characters in my time. One particularly Sleazy individual, 33 when I was 17, even tried to get me onto coke. Luckily I was sensible enough (just) not to even entertain the thought. Although the Sleaze did (without any consent from me) put some of the coke on my clit one night - he said it was supposed to make the sex feel great. I resent him for even that, I didn’t want anything to do with coke. I think I was still a good girl at heart. He also left a rucksack with several wraps of coke in it, at my parent’s house one night - he thought it was hilariously funny that my parents, both very religious people, had been storing drugs in their house without knowing it. The straw that finally broke the camel’s back was when I found out that, even though for the past 9 months the Sleaze had been driving me around in his car, he had lost his licence a year earlier to drink driving, and he’d never even applied for a licence for the motorcycle that he’d been riding me around on all that time. No licence means no insurance. No insurance means that, should he have had an accident (something I still cannot understand how he managed to avoid, he drove and rode like a maniac), and should I have been paralysed or otherwise maimed in that accident, I would have had no way to seek compensation. He cared that little about me, that he was willing to risk not only his own life, but mine, to ride a bloody machine. He tried for ages to get me back in his clasps. I said no. I hope I never lay eyes on him again.
Rape
The worst experience I have ever had involving any sort of narcotics was when the Sleaze left London to go to college miles away I was upset, and went to my friend’s house; a bottle of rosé in one hand, and one of sherry in the other. We got drunk. Very drunk. The last thing I remember, before everything goes blank, is rolling around on the grass in absolute hysterics. My friend is chucking cold water all over me, trying to sober me up.
The next thing I remember after that is waking up naked on the sofa, with a naked man fucking me. I know the man, he’s a friend of both my friend, my ex-boyfriend, and the Sleaze. I don’t like him, he drinks and drives. He’s holding my head up so he can shove his dick in my mouth. His Prince Albert piercing taps against my teeth. I cannot move. I am in that temporary state of paralysis that sometimes occurs when you wake up from a deep slumber. I cannot move to stop him. He takes his dick out of my mouth and shoves it back inside me. I am terrified. I don’t like what is happening to me, but I can’t stop it. He looks like he is enjoying himself. I lie there, motionless, legs akimbo, unable to stop him. My arms start behaving; I push him away. I start crying. He looks confused and slightly disgruntled. He tries to put an arm around me, but I push him away again. All I can say, over and over, between sobs, is ‘oh my god’. I look around for my clothes. I cannot find them. I hurry to the bathroom, hoping that no one will see my nakedness. I feel so utterly ashamed. I desperately want to be sick. Anything to get the taste of him out of my mouth. I pee, sitting on the toilet, sobbing my heart out, wringing my hands. I try to keep quiet, I don’t want to wake my friend or her husband. I wash my hands, and contemplate trying to wash my mouth out too - I think even soap will taste better than this taste in my mouth. I want to have a shower, but I don’t know where the towels are. I come to the conclusion that there is nothing left that I can do, except to look for my clothes. That means going back into the living room. Where he is. I go back and sit down on the floor, sobbing. I notice that there is a duvet on the sofa, and I wrap one corner of it around me to cover my nakedness. He is settling down to sleep. Apparently unaware that he has done anything wrong, he puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. The Cunt. I look up and notice, to my dismay, that my friend’s little sister - ten years old, a year younger than my little sister - has just woken up on the other sofa. I forgot that she was even staying that night. She looks at me, curled up in a bit of duvet on the end of the sofa, and asks if I’m ok. I can’t remember if I speak or not. She goes back to sleep. I don’t remember the Cunt being there earlier, he left as I arrived that afternoon. I don’t remember him coming back. I feel trapped. I don’t know where my clothes are. I can’t go home, I’m naked. And cold. My friend’s little sister is asleep on the other sofa. I have nowhere to go. The Cunt tells me to get back on the sofa to sleep. I feel like I have no other choice. It is about 3 in the morning. I don’t sleep.
As it gets light, I notice a t-shirt and my knickers, folded neatly on the floor by the sofa. In the corner by the hall door, in a crumpled pile, as if disposed of in a hurry, are the Cunt’s clothes. I put the t-shirt and knickers back on, and go back to the bathroom. I still cannot get that taste out of my mouth. When my friend wakes up, she lends me some clothes. Mine, she says, are in the washing machine. They got muddy when she threw the water at me, so she lent me her husband’s t-shirt to sleep in. She is as surprised as I am that the Cunt is there. Apparently he turned up after we had both passed out. The husband and the Cunt had a few beers together, then drew on us both with her best lippy. She is not impressed when she sees the broken stub on the kitchen counter. There are photographs of us both looking like clowns. I notice that my friend still has the tell-tale red marks on her cheeks and forehead. When I look again in the bathroom mirror, I have none. The Cunt gives me a peck on the cheek as he goes to leave. When he is gone, I break down on my friend’s shoulder. I try to explain what happened, but she doesn’t understand. She thinks it was a drunken mistake, not rape. I tell her I have a boyfriend. She laughs and then sighs. She still thinks I consented. I didn’t.
I call the Sleaze. I need to speak to him, hear his voice. I need comfort. He shouts at me, tells me it’s my fault, that I wanted it, how could I try to say I didn’t mean to? It must have been my fault. I break down again. I can barely stand I am crying so violently. I collect my things and walk home. It is the longest walk of my life. I call my eldest sister, a friendly voice at last. She comforts me and offers to tell mum for me. I consent. I go home and shower until the water runs cold. I scrub myself until my skin is red and raw. It doesn’t matter how hard I scrub, how often I clean my teeth, I can still smell him, still taste him in my mouth. I cry until I run out of tears, then keep on crying some more.
I have spent the last four and a half years blaming myself for this series of events. How can I know for sure that I didn’t consent to sleep with the Cunt, if I cannot remember it? But then, why were my clothes folded neatly, and his in a crumpled pile in the corner? Did he stand back to observe his handiwork? This thought makes me shudder. Why were there no traces of lipstick left on me, but there were on my friend? Did he decide that he couldn’t fuck someone that looked like a clown? Or did I rub it off, and not remember? And the bit that has haunted me the most: my friend’s sister, innocently asleep on the other sofa. How much had she seen or heard? Why did the Cunt think that it was acceptable to fuck someone in front of a child?? I would never sleep with someone when there was anyone - never mind a child - asleep in the same room. But did I consent to let that happen? Or did the Cunt just take advantage of me, when there happened to be a child in the room. The thought of someone - me - being raped in front of a child is even worse than any other alternative.
I have spent the last four and a half years wracked with guilt for what happened. What if I hadn’t been drunk? It probably wouldn’t have happened. I would have been aware enough of what was going on around me, not to let it happen. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would have been able to stop the Cunt from even getting as far as drawing on me. IF (and it is a very big IF) I did consent to have sex with the Cunt, it was only because I was drunk. I feel guilty that I might be a cheat. I would never cheat on someone. Would I?? Even if not being drunk didn’t make a difference, at least I would have known what happened. The scars from what happened to me run deep. I will probably have to live with it for the rest of my life. And I will have to live with the fact that, even if it wasn’t my fault, I could have prevented it so easily. By not being blind drunk.
Please be warned, some of what is written in this guest post deals with the serious crime of Rape, and is both very explicit and shocking.
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Weed, Alcohol and Rape
I’ve been friends with Christie since we were kids. I was about 12, she was 14. We met at a local youth club. Her friends all said I should find some friends my own age, instead of tagging around with them all the time, but Christie didn’t care about that, she liked me. I guess the fact that she and I are still friends, and neither of us can remember most of their names is testament to the fact that we were both right about each other. We spent many evenings keeping each other company in front of the telly there - she still recovering from the night before, me avoiding the youth workers because I hadn't brought them the projects I'd promised to show them.... Somehow, we managed to form a strong friendship, and I can honestly say that Christie is one of my closest friends.
I remember following Christie to one of the more remote corners of the club’s garden, so that she and her friends could have a sneaky fag. I kept telling her that smoking was bad for her - I was a very self-righteous child... Little did I know that four or five years later, I would be a smoker too.
Weed
I don’t want to give the wrong impression, it wasn’t Christie that got me smoking, it was a boyfriend of mine, eight years older than me, I at sweet sixteen, he at the ripe old age of 23. He smoked. He also smoked weed. He wanted to introduce me to the ‘finer’ things in life - I suspect, as much as anything, because he and his friends found it funny to see me coughing and spluttering after my first toke on a rolly. I started occasionally smoking weed with him, never a whole joint, just a few tokes here and there. I doubt it was even enough to get me truly stoned on most occasions. He had something called a chillum - a tapered stone tube and a little stone, with lines scored down the sides, that fitted in the top where the bud to be smoked is put. To take a draw, the smoker had to toke on the bottom end of the chillum, while lighting the bud at the top. ‘Blow backs’ were his speciality. He would light the bud at the top, then blow the smoke through from the top of the chillum, into my face. Supposedly this is a less harsh way of getting stoned if you’re not used to it. It’s also a good way to hot box a flat.
We were watching films - I can remember how funny everything was. ‘babe,’ he said, as we were watching Ice Age 3, ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?!’ Neither of us could tell whether the multi coloured sloths were real or imagined...
I didn’t smoke weed very often, as I usually only saw him on weekends. He ended up being a contemptible person - the final straw was when he locked me out of his flat one night. I was 80 miles from home, and the last train had already left. To this day, I am still thankful that I was friends with the girl who lived a few doors up, and that she and her partner let me sleep on their sofa for the night. I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for them.
The only thing that he left me with was an expensive smoking habit, which I only recently managed to kick, 5 years on.
I have gone out with several unsavoury characters in my time. One particularly Sleazy individual, 33 when I was 17, even tried to get me onto coke. Luckily I was sensible enough (just) not to even entertain the thought. Although the Sleaze did (without any consent from me) put some of the coke on my clit one night - he said it was supposed to make the sex feel great. I resent him for even that, I didn’t want anything to do with coke. I think I was still a good girl at heart. He also left a rucksack with several wraps of coke in it, at my parent’s house one night - he thought it was hilariously funny that my parents, both very religious people, had been storing drugs in their house without knowing it. The straw that finally broke the camel’s back was when I found out that, even though for the past 9 months the Sleaze had been driving me around in his car, he had lost his licence a year earlier to drink driving, and he’d never even applied for a licence for the motorcycle that he’d been riding me around on all that time. No licence means no insurance. No insurance means that, should he have had an accident (something I still cannot understand how he managed to avoid, he drove and rode like a maniac), and should I have been paralysed or otherwise maimed in that accident, I would have had no way to seek compensation. He cared that little about me, that he was willing to risk not only his own life, but mine, to ride a bloody machine. He tried for ages to get me back in his clasps. I said no. I hope I never lay eyes on him again.
Rape
The worst experience I have ever had involving any sort of narcotics was when the Sleaze left London to go to college miles away I was upset, and went to my friend’s house; a bottle of rosé in one hand, and one of sherry in the other. We got drunk. Very drunk. The last thing I remember, before everything goes blank, is rolling around on the grass in absolute hysterics. My friend is chucking cold water all over me, trying to sober me up.
The next thing I remember after that is waking up naked on the sofa, with a naked man fucking me. I know the man, he’s a friend of both my friend, my ex-boyfriend, and the Sleaze. I don’t like him, he drinks and drives. He’s holding my head up so he can shove his dick in my mouth. His Prince Albert piercing taps against my teeth. I cannot move. I am in that temporary state of paralysis that sometimes occurs when you wake up from a deep slumber. I cannot move to stop him. He takes his dick out of my mouth and shoves it back inside me. I am terrified. I don’t like what is happening to me, but I can’t stop it. He looks like he is enjoying himself. I lie there, motionless, legs akimbo, unable to stop him. My arms start behaving; I push him away. I start crying. He looks confused and slightly disgruntled. He tries to put an arm around me, but I push him away again. All I can say, over and over, between sobs, is ‘oh my god’. I look around for my clothes. I cannot find them. I hurry to the bathroom, hoping that no one will see my nakedness. I feel so utterly ashamed. I desperately want to be sick. Anything to get the taste of him out of my mouth. I pee, sitting on the toilet, sobbing my heart out, wringing my hands. I try to keep quiet, I don’t want to wake my friend or her husband. I wash my hands, and contemplate trying to wash my mouth out too - I think even soap will taste better than this taste in my mouth. I want to have a shower, but I don’t know where the towels are. I come to the conclusion that there is nothing left that I can do, except to look for my clothes. That means going back into the living room. Where he is. I go back and sit down on the floor, sobbing. I notice that there is a duvet on the sofa, and I wrap one corner of it around me to cover my nakedness. He is settling down to sleep. Apparently unaware that he has done anything wrong, he puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. The Cunt. I look up and notice, to my dismay, that my friend’s little sister - ten years old, a year younger than my little sister - has just woken up on the other sofa. I forgot that she was even staying that night. She looks at me, curled up in a bit of duvet on the end of the sofa, and asks if I’m ok. I can’t remember if I speak or not. She goes back to sleep. I don’t remember the Cunt being there earlier, he left as I arrived that afternoon. I don’t remember him coming back. I feel trapped. I don’t know where my clothes are. I can’t go home, I’m naked. And cold. My friend’s little sister is asleep on the other sofa. I have nowhere to go. The Cunt tells me to get back on the sofa to sleep. I feel like I have no other choice. It is about 3 in the morning. I don’t sleep.
As it gets light, I notice a t-shirt and my knickers, folded neatly on the floor by the sofa. In the corner by the hall door, in a crumpled pile, as if disposed of in a hurry, are the Cunt’s clothes. I put the t-shirt and knickers back on, and go back to the bathroom. I still cannot get that taste out of my mouth. When my friend wakes up, she lends me some clothes. Mine, she says, are in the washing machine. They got muddy when she threw the water at me, so she lent me her husband’s t-shirt to sleep in. She is as surprised as I am that the Cunt is there. Apparently he turned up after we had both passed out. The husband and the Cunt had a few beers together, then drew on us both with her best lippy. She is not impressed when she sees the broken stub on the kitchen counter. There are photographs of us both looking like clowns. I notice that my friend still has the tell-tale red marks on her cheeks and forehead. When I look again in the bathroom mirror, I have none. The Cunt gives me a peck on the cheek as he goes to leave. When he is gone, I break down on my friend’s shoulder. I try to explain what happened, but she doesn’t understand. She thinks it was a drunken mistake, not rape. I tell her I have a boyfriend. She laughs and then sighs. She still thinks I consented. I didn’t.
I call the Sleaze. I need to speak to him, hear his voice. I need comfort. He shouts at me, tells me it’s my fault, that I wanted it, how could I try to say I didn’t mean to? It must have been my fault. I break down again. I can barely stand I am crying so violently. I collect my things and walk home. It is the longest walk of my life. I call my eldest sister, a friendly voice at last. She comforts me and offers to tell mum for me. I consent. I go home and shower until the water runs cold. I scrub myself until my skin is red and raw. It doesn’t matter how hard I scrub, how often I clean my teeth, I can still smell him, still taste him in my mouth. I cry until I run out of tears, then keep on crying some more.
I have spent the last four and a half years blaming myself for this series of events. How can I know for sure that I didn’t consent to sleep with the Cunt, if I cannot remember it? But then, why were my clothes folded neatly, and his in a crumpled pile in the corner? Did he stand back to observe his handiwork? This thought makes me shudder. Why were there no traces of lipstick left on me, but there were on my friend? Did he decide that he couldn’t fuck someone that looked like a clown? Or did I rub it off, and not remember? And the bit that has haunted me the most: my friend’s sister, innocently asleep on the other sofa. How much had she seen or heard? Why did the Cunt think that it was acceptable to fuck someone in front of a child?? I would never sleep with someone when there was anyone - never mind a child - asleep in the same room. But did I consent to let that happen? Or did the Cunt just take advantage of me, when there happened to be a child in the room. The thought of someone - me - being raped in front of a child is even worse than any other alternative.
I have spent the last four and a half years wracked with guilt for what happened. What if I hadn’t been drunk? It probably wouldn’t have happened. I would have been aware enough of what was going on around me, not to let it happen. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would have been able to stop the Cunt from even getting as far as drawing on me. IF (and it is a very big IF) I did consent to have sex with the Cunt, it was only because I was drunk. I feel guilty that I might be a cheat. I would never cheat on someone. Would I?? Even if not being drunk didn’t make a difference, at least I would have known what happened. The scars from what happened to me run deep. I will probably have to live with it for the rest of my life. And I will have to live with the fact that, even if it wasn’t my fault, I could have prevented it so easily. By not being blind drunk.
Different Drugs - Heroin
Heroin (diacetylmorphine (INN)), also known as diamorphine (BAN, or, especially in older literature, as morphine diacetate), is a semi-synthetic opioid drug synthesized from morphine, a derivative of the opium poppy. It is the 3,6-diacetyl ester of morphine (di-acetyl-morphine) and a morphine prodrug.[3] The white crystalline form is commonly the hydrochloride salt diacetylmorphine hydrochloride, though, when supplied illegally, it is often adulterated, thus dulling the sheen and consistency from that to a matte white powder, which diacetylmorphine freebase typically is.[4] 90% of illicit diamorphine (heroin) is thought to be produced in Afghanistan.[5]*
So what is it?
Browny looking powder which you mix up and either smoke, or inject. Ever heard the song Golden Brown? They’re talking about Smack.
My Experience
I’ve never done Heroin. Which is a very good thing in my opinion. I do remember once asking a guy I knew who had done it what it was like. He told me it was a warm fuzzy feeling, a lot like being on pills, but better. And that it didn’t last long enough at all. I thought to myself that if that is all it does, I'd rather just take pills.
What I’ve seen
A friend of mine had a little place down by the river. It was a pretty small place, quite nice actually. I remember going there one afternoon to meet a friend who was staying there. It was a sunny afternoon. I remember sitting on the front porch with someone, having a fag and just chatting away quite happily. After a while, I stuck my head round the door to say hello to the others that were inside and to look for the friend I’d come to meet. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces. There were three guys inside, one just looked at me and smiled. It was a totally gormless look, he didn’t know who I was, I don’t think he knew anything. He was sitting on the sofa with his legs drawn up, hugging them. Just looking straight ahead and smiling. Knowing what I know now, I wonder if he even knew I was there. The friend I’d come to meet was one of the others. He rushed at me and told me to get out, I shouldn’t see this. He was too late.
I saw the third person sitting on the floor in front of the other sofa. He had his left hand on his knee, and his sleeves rolled up. I remember seeing him push the needle into a vein on the back of his left hand. I’d walked in at exactly the wrong moment, I’d walked in at the moment he was shooting up. That image is as clear in my head now as the day I saw it. I remember the glint of the metal from the needle. I remember seeing the point on his hand at which it entered his vein.
I felt sick.
It took me a moment to realise what I was seeing. I remember the smoke in the room, I remember working out what it was. The first person, the gormless looking one, was smoking Smack. I remember the smell only vaguely, it was a rich smell, it made me think of Cinnamon.
The next thing I remember, someone was shouting. It was the friend I’d come to meet. I don’t know what he was saying, something about me needing to get out of there. I remember just running out of the room. I threw up around the corner.
It put me off Smack for life. Seeing that guy injecting his own hand, knowing what he was injecting it with and seeing the guilty, shocked look on his face when I caught him doing it was just revolting. I was 14 at the time.
I saw some of those people around again. The next time I saw the owner of that little house, he was on the floor at a rave in London. He’d taken too much of something, passed out, and been robbed. I don’t know what happened to him.
The guy who I’d seen injecting it tried to sell me a stolen DVD player the next time I saw him. 20 quid he wanted. 20 quid. That’s how much one wrap of that stuff would have cost him back then.
20 bloody quid. That’s all it costs to ruin your life.
They say that it only takes one hit of heroin to get hooked. I reckon that’s true.
That film, Trainspotting, has a lot to answer for. I remember a girl I knew telling me she’d love to try Smack after seeing it. I thought she was mad. She got her wish though. The guy I’d seen injecting it gave her her first hit. Surprise, surprise, she got addicted. Instantly.
I don’t know what happened to her, either.
What do I think about Heroin?
I don't just think it is as lethal as everyone says it is, I know it is as lethal as everyone says it is. There is no reason to get into it. The effects are rubbish compared to the side effects, so I cannot understand why anyone would want to do it. The side effects are lethal. The risk of overdose and death is so very real, addiction is a forgone conclusion. Maybe it’s that “it’ll never happen to me” attitude. I can only guess that people think they’ll be fine, and they won’t end up hooked. But I can’t understand how people could think that. They will get hooked, it does hook you on your first go. It happened to people I know. I can’t even begin to think how hard it would be to get off Smack. I don’t know of anyone who succeeded. I know of someone who tried, but ended up just selling their prescription methadone to pay for more Smack. What I have seen is just how easy it is to get into it. 20 quid. That’s how easy. 20 quid and you’re hooked for life.
For more in depth information on Heroin and it’s effects, see what Frank say, here.
*quotes from Wikipedia
Thursday 19 May 2011
Memories - Almost Rape
This is very hard to write about, but I think it's very important, so I'm going to try. I've put the title as Almost Rape, because that's what it was as far as I know, Almost.
This still affects me now, in a very big way. I know nothing about real rape, or what it does to a person, I can't comment on that. But I can tell you about the harrowing experience I had.
It was all down to bloody drugs. And I am so angry about that. If I had been sober, it never would have happened.
Now, I know a lot of this will be very vague, but I have enormous blanks. It's almost as if my mind knows something momentous occurred, so it tries to hold on to that part because it seems important, but can't because it's just not a memory I want. The whole thing is foggy anyway because of the drugs. At the time I tried to forget the whole lot, at the time I just couldn't think of it. I still can't think of it fully, but at least now I can try. I'm sober now.
To tell you the truth, a lot of what happened has only come back to me recently, and it happened about 5 years ago. The effects have always been with me, but I never could understand what caused them. Now I do. I'm truly not sure what's worse.
I'll try to reconstruct the evening for you.
I was out at a house party with a couple of friends I knew, otherwise I knew no one else. There were a lot of people there, all around the same sort of age, Teenagers. I don't remember arriving. I remember pictures, just scenes. Not much conversation. I remember the image of a hallway in a normal semi-detached house. The carpet was cream. The wallpaper had red wine spilt on it. A girl was sitting on a chair, head back, mouth open, a guy pouring whiskey down her throat. Laughing, they were all laughing.
I remember rolling up in the kitchen, next to a wasted girl trying to make rice pudding from rice and water. I vaguely remember smoking weed in the garden. I remember that I did it, I don't remember what I saw, whether it was a big or a small garden for example.
I remember a bottle of Congnac. Clearly. I remember the shape of the bottle, and the feel of it. It felt old. I remember liking the taste. I drank it from the bottle. I have not drunk Cognac since. I remember very little else.
The mixture of alcohol and weed knocked me out. At the time, I suspected being spiked. But alcohol and weed had the same effect on me on other occasions afterwards, occasions when I clearly wasn't spiked. I know now that the combination can prove to be pretty strong when you smoke and drink enough together. I've gotta be honest, I really don't recommend it. If nothing else, it usually makes you sick!
I remember the party starting to wind down. We couldn't get home, we were miles away. I really don't know where. I remember deciding to share a double bed with my friends. We were wasted, we passed out. Three drunk and stoned mates, happily snoring away together.
I don't remember him coming into the room, I do remember he was not very old, not much older than me. I don't remember him being at the party earlier in the night. I don't know what he looked like other than he was shorter and bigger than my friend, who was fast asleep.
I remember his hands. I remember pushing him off me and telling him I was sleeping, go away. My friends were out for the count, happily snoring away, like I said.
I remember he ignored me. And I remember his hands. I remember I could not stay awake, no matter how hard I tried, I was more than tired. I remember his hands. I passed out and could do nothing. My friends couldn't help me, they didn't know anything was happening.
I cannot remember anything else. I do not know what happened. In the morning he was gone.
5 years later, I still do not know what happened to me. And I Never Will.
And that is very scary. It's not just the part which I do know happened, it's the possibility of what else happened. It's the knowledge that I was wasted and completely powerless to do anything about him, I couldn't stop him. Not only could I not stop him, I couldn't even know what he really did to me. And I still can't. No one knew who he was.
What I do know, is that for years I have been very nervous of anyone being near me when I'm sleeping. If someone touches me in my sleep, I am terrified. Even if it's just a mate trying to wake me up. I could never understand why. Now I know.
The feeling is horrible. Think about eating maggots, imagine how crunchy they are, imagine a few are a bit mouldy. Imagine some of the live ones are super fast, and have jumped out of the bowl and are crawling all over your arms, wriggling and writhing. That feeling you've got now? That's how I feel every time I think about it.
And people say Cannabis is harmless because it's herbal. Bullshit. You don't live with my memories guys.
Cannabis can be just as dangerous as the harder drugs if you're not in a safe environment. Add to that the fact that when you're stoned, you find it very hard to judge what is a safe environment and what's not. Add a bit of booze into the mix and the results can be devastating.
This still affects me now, in a very big way. I know nothing about real rape, or what it does to a person, I can't comment on that. But I can tell you about the harrowing experience I had.
It was all down to bloody drugs. And I am so angry about that. If I had been sober, it never would have happened.
Now, I know a lot of this will be very vague, but I have enormous blanks. It's almost as if my mind knows something momentous occurred, so it tries to hold on to that part because it seems important, but can't because it's just not a memory I want. The whole thing is foggy anyway because of the drugs. At the time I tried to forget the whole lot, at the time I just couldn't think of it. I still can't think of it fully, but at least now I can try. I'm sober now.
To tell you the truth, a lot of what happened has only come back to me recently, and it happened about 5 years ago. The effects have always been with me, but I never could understand what caused them. Now I do. I'm truly not sure what's worse.
I'll try to reconstruct the evening for you.
I was out at a house party with a couple of friends I knew, otherwise I knew no one else. There were a lot of people there, all around the same sort of age, Teenagers. I don't remember arriving. I remember pictures, just scenes. Not much conversation. I remember the image of a hallway in a normal semi-detached house. The carpet was cream. The wallpaper had red wine spilt on it. A girl was sitting on a chair, head back, mouth open, a guy pouring whiskey down her throat. Laughing, they were all laughing.
I remember rolling up in the kitchen, next to a wasted girl trying to make rice pudding from rice and water. I vaguely remember smoking weed in the garden. I remember that I did it, I don't remember what I saw, whether it was a big or a small garden for example.
I remember a bottle of Congnac. Clearly. I remember the shape of the bottle, and the feel of it. It felt old. I remember liking the taste. I drank it from the bottle. I have not drunk Cognac since. I remember very little else.
The mixture of alcohol and weed knocked me out. At the time, I suspected being spiked. But alcohol and weed had the same effect on me on other occasions afterwards, occasions when I clearly wasn't spiked. I know now that the combination can prove to be pretty strong when you smoke and drink enough together. I've gotta be honest, I really don't recommend it. If nothing else, it usually makes you sick!
I remember the party starting to wind down. We couldn't get home, we were miles away. I really don't know where. I remember deciding to share a double bed with my friends. We were wasted, we passed out. Three drunk and stoned mates, happily snoring away together.
I don't remember him coming into the room, I do remember he was not very old, not much older than me. I don't remember him being at the party earlier in the night. I don't know what he looked like other than he was shorter and bigger than my friend, who was fast asleep.
I remember his hands. I remember pushing him off me and telling him I was sleeping, go away. My friends were out for the count, happily snoring away, like I said.
I remember he ignored me. And I remember his hands. I remember I could not stay awake, no matter how hard I tried, I was more than tired. I remember his hands. I passed out and could do nothing. My friends couldn't help me, they didn't know anything was happening.
I cannot remember anything else. I do not know what happened. In the morning he was gone.
5 years later, I still do not know what happened to me. And I Never Will.
And that is very scary. It's not just the part which I do know happened, it's the possibility of what else happened. It's the knowledge that I was wasted and completely powerless to do anything about him, I couldn't stop him. Not only could I not stop him, I couldn't even know what he really did to me. And I still can't. No one knew who he was.
What I do know, is that for years I have been very nervous of anyone being near me when I'm sleeping. If someone touches me in my sleep, I am terrified. Even if it's just a mate trying to wake me up. I could never understand why. Now I know.
The feeling is horrible. Think about eating maggots, imagine how crunchy they are, imagine a few are a bit mouldy. Imagine some of the live ones are super fast, and have jumped out of the bowl and are crawling all over your arms, wriggling and writhing. That feeling you've got now? That's how I feel every time I think about it.
And people say Cannabis is harmless because it's herbal. Bullshit. You don't live with my memories guys.
Cannabis can be just as dangerous as the harder drugs if you're not in a safe environment. Add to that the fact that when you're stoned, you find it very hard to judge what is a safe environment and what's not. Add a bit of booze into the mix and the results can be devastating.
Wednesday 18 May 2011
Different Drugs - Alcohol
"An alcoholic beverage is a drink containing ethanol, commonly known as alcohol. Alcoholic beverages are divided into three general classes: beers, wines, and spirits. They are legally consumed in most countries, and over 100 countries have laws regulating their production, sale, and consumption.[1] In particular, such laws specify the minimum age at which a person may legally buy or drink them. This minimum age varies between 16 and 25 years, depending upon the country and the type of drink. Most nations set it at 18 years of age.[1]"*
Well, there is a ton of info already out there on drinking, so I won't bore you with the basics. I just wanted to share a little story;
"Robert Shit"
It was a weekend. I had gone to a house party with a ton of people I knew. The party started in the early afternoon. A friend of mine had come along, and he had brought his friend Robert with him. There was only one person at the party who was over 18. Rob asked this person if he would buy him a bottle of Vodka, a big one.
What none of us knew, including the lad who had invited him, was that Rob had never drunk before. He was 16.
The party went really well, I remember being totally hammered. I was drinking Vodka myself, I'd polished off one of those little Smirnoff bottles. I was 15. Rob had been drinking Alcopops, but he then started drinking his Vodka with coke. When the mixers ran out, he started necking it straight from the bottle. The party moved away from the venue, and into a local park. It was a warm summers evening.
I remember the point when we knew something was wrong.
I remember we didn't know what to do about it.
Rob started complaining he felt sick. No surprise really, he'd just drunk almost half a large bottle of Vodka. Straight up.
Rob was sitting on the floor, looking really pale. He started groaning, and then he started screaming. He was in agony. We kept trying to give him water, and get him to shut up. We told him he'd get the Old Bill called on us. (Sympathetic, huh?) We didn't know what else to do. Well he did get the old bill called. A female officer turned up first, she went over to Rob, who was now rolling around on the floor yelling "shiiiit". She asked him his name, he just said shit again. She kept asking him, and eventually he said "Robert". "Robert what?" she asked. "Shiiiiiit..."
"Robert Shit. Well that's going to sound great in a church when you get married isn't it?"
The officer called an ambulance for Rob. And the 18 year old got a caution for buying him the booze.
Rob had to be strapped into a chair in the back of the ambulance. He couldn't stand up, and had become paralytic, he couldn't walk or say anything other than "shit". I was later told that the doctors said he had severe Alcohol Poisoning, and had to have his stomach pumped. He was lucky he didn't end up with Liver Damage.
I never saw Rob again.
* quote from Wikipedia
Well, there is a ton of info already out there on drinking, so I won't bore you with the basics. I just wanted to share a little story;
"Robert Shit"
It was a weekend. I had gone to a house party with a ton of people I knew. The party started in the early afternoon. A friend of mine had come along, and he had brought his friend Robert with him. There was only one person at the party who was over 18. Rob asked this person if he would buy him a bottle of Vodka, a big one.
What none of us knew, including the lad who had invited him, was that Rob had never drunk before. He was 16.
The party went really well, I remember being totally hammered. I was drinking Vodka myself, I'd polished off one of those little Smirnoff bottles. I was 15. Rob had been drinking Alcopops, but he then started drinking his Vodka with coke. When the mixers ran out, he started necking it straight from the bottle. The party moved away from the venue, and into a local park. It was a warm summers evening.
I remember the point when we knew something was wrong.
I remember we didn't know what to do about it.
Rob started complaining he felt sick. No surprise really, he'd just drunk almost half a large bottle of Vodka. Straight up.
Rob was sitting on the floor, looking really pale. He started groaning, and then he started screaming. He was in agony. We kept trying to give him water, and get him to shut up. We told him he'd get the Old Bill called on us. (Sympathetic, huh?) We didn't know what else to do. Well he did get the old bill called. A female officer turned up first, she went over to Rob, who was now rolling around on the floor yelling "shiiiit". She asked him his name, he just said shit again. She kept asking him, and eventually he said "Robert". "Robert what?" she asked. "Shiiiiiit..."
"Robert Shit. Well that's going to sound great in a church when you get married isn't it?"
The officer called an ambulance for Rob. And the 18 year old got a caution for buying him the booze.
Rob had to be strapped into a chair in the back of the ambulance. He couldn't stand up, and had become paralytic, he couldn't walk or say anything other than "shit". I was later told that the doctors said he had severe Alcohol Poisoning, and had to have his stomach pumped. He was lucky he didn't end up with Liver Damage.
I never saw Rob again.
* quote from Wikipedia
Different Drugs - Cannabis
"Cannabis, also known as marijuana[2] (sometimes spelled "marihuana"[3]) among many other names,a[›] refers to any number of preparations of the Cannabis plant intended for use as a psychoactive drug or for medicinal purposes. The word marijuana comes from the Mexican Spanish word, marihuana.[4] According to the United Nations, cannabis "is the most widely used illicit substance in the world."[5]"*
So What is it?
It's green stuff that looks a bit like mixed herbs. Usually, you roll it up in a fag and smoke it. Although I have heard of people making it into tea, and I've tried the cakes.
My Experience
There's a lot I can tell you about this stuff, of all the drugs I did, weed was the one I did the most.
I did just about every kind under the sun;
Hash, (the resin) Skunk, (the bud) Squidgy Black, (some kind of squishy strong hash. Don't, just Don't. It made me very ill) Liquid THC, Hashcakes, Chocolates made with Skunk, and some sort of horrible crumbly stuff Ash brought back from Amsterdam. I was told it was pollen, but whatever it was, it knocked me out.
Weed was just sort of always there, you smoked it alongside any other drug you were doing. I treated it like it was just a fag. I started smoking it at the age of 14. I got addicted pretty fast. Some people say weed isn't addictive, I say Bollocks. Most of my friends readily admitted to being addicted to the stuff. It might not be physically addictive but it's still addictive. Believe me, I know, I've been Addicted. You get this irritating feeling when you've gone a day without it, this feeling of wanting something, but not being sure what. And the feeling usually leads to being bloody grumpy and ratty. Think PMT. It's horrible.
I smoked it every day for about 4 years. Pretty much every single day. If I added up what I spent on drugs over the years I was doing them, I could probably buy about 6 motorcycles. From Brand New.
When you're on weed, the effect is different for a lot of people. Personally, initially it just slowed me down. I remember reading somewhere that addicts have to do their drug just to feel normal. Well that part is very true. After a while, I had to be stoned just to get through the day.
In a way, weed contributed to the flashbacks I live with now. If I hadn't have started on weed, I never would have met the people I met and started taking Pills. I never would have thought taking pills "was okay, because I was breaking the law anyway by smoking weed." When I took the pills that nearly killed me, I was stoned. And I was nervous and paranoid because I was too stoned. So when the pills hit me, I thought I was dead. That happened a few times with other drugs too, although not as strongly as that time on the pills. Each time, the weed meant I wasn't in the right frame of mind to be doing those drugs. But I did them anyway, because I just couldn't believe something as harmless as a bit of weed could really cause any problems.
As a result of thinking that, I now live with pretty nasty permanent mental damage.
What I've seen
Almost all my friends were smoking weed. It was normal. You didn't start by taking Class A, you started by smoking weed. And then you might try a bit of Ecstasy (pills), then maybe a bit of Ketamine, maybe some Coke, and for some of us, you then ended up addicted to Heroin.
I remember my friend Lou smoking weed and drinking Lambrini, she ended up in hospital getting her stomach pumped.
I remember Chris getting mugged because he was too stoned to do anything about it. He lost his phone, his keys, £30 cash, his weed and his fags. He never reported it. You can't report stolen weed.
Ash had a mental condition. To my knowledge, mental illness was in his family. I believe it was Schizophrenia, or another Multiple Personality Disorder of some sort. Ash used to sniff a bit of Coke occasionally. He once ended up in a mental hospital, convinced he was Elvis. I'm glad to say, the doctors have worked hard and his medication now controls the disorder very well. He can live an almost normal life. I remember meeting up with his girlfriend Carly one day, just for a quick drink in the pub. She had a broken nose and a black eye. Ash had been too stoned to remember to take his medication and had turned on Carly, almost hospitalising her. It had been over a CD, which Ash couldn't find. Ash still smokes weed, convinced it will help with the illness. Carly has left him.
Carlos used to smoke a hell of a lot of weed. Actually even more than I did. I remember Carlos telling me how he saw his Dealer one day, just driving down the high street. So he waved, to say hello. The Dealer mounted the kerb and tried to run him over. I will never know why, no one knew why, but I suspect the Dealer did not want to be associated with a junkie like Carlos in public. We never saw that Dealer again after he tried to run Carlos over, word was he had been locked up. I don't know what for. And I don't want to.
What do I think about Cannabis?
In my opinion, there's a lot more to this drug than meets the eye. It's actually a lot more dangerous than some people like to make out. I've seen the horrible fear and paranoia it can cause people, and I've experienced the permanent damage it can do to your mind firsthand. The memory problems are the worst part, and they seem to be getting worse as I get older. I am only in my 20s. Whilst some people smoke it and claim to have no trouble at all, I strongly suspect they'd be surprised how different they could feel if they came off it, even for just a month. When I decided to stop smoking it, it was hard. It was bloody hard. But after about 3 months, the cravings did go away and I was amazed at how much clearer my head felt. Just 3 months. After years of being addicted.
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For more in depth info on Cannabis and its effects, see what Frank say Here
* quote from Wikipedia
Tuesday 17 May 2011
Memories - The end of a Rave
I remember sitting on the floor with my friend. I remember the room was small, and dusty. It was 5am or so, dawn was slowly breaking, but the Rave was just about still going. People were thinning out, a lot of them just sitting around the edge of the room, smoking weed, trying to wind down. A few were drinking. I was tired. I'd just come down off the pills, I was sober, but totally knackered. I was leaning on my friends shoulder, not talking, just sitting, trying to gather the energy to get up and go home. There were people still dancing. The people who'd taken the most drugs. I remember the music, it reached one of those crescendos, a real high and happy note. It was so surreal. A lot of people just raised their arms and stood there, swaying gently. I remember there was a man, probably about twenty-something. He was wearing a red jumper. He took a few steps back as the music peaked, he was right in front of me, I could have reached out and touched his leg. He raised his arms with the others and just stood there, waving them a little. His jumper rode up at the back as he stretched his arms up. I could see his Gun holder, it was brown and looked like leather. Kind of like one I'd had as a kid with a cowboy gun in it that came with caps. His Gun was burnished looking silver, with a black bit on the handle. It looked old and worn. Well used.
Memories - Lucy's Flying
I remember the first time Lucy came raving with us. It was also the first time she ever took pills. She got given pills laced with acid. It nearly ended badly.
Lucy thought our friend Steve had come with us to the party. He hadn't. She spent the first half of the night asking us where he was, she was convinced he was there a moment ago.
I'll never forget the look on her face when the acid kicked in. I was sitting with her at the edge of the main room, the rig was in front of us. Towers of speakers with a DJ in the middle of it all. He looked like a tiny man sitting in the middle of so many giant boxes. I remember the dancers in front of us. About a hundred completely wasted people just wobbling and swaying to the music, a little sea of mismatched colour waving beer bottles and fags. Eyes closed, totally lost. Around the main room was a balcony of sorts. I think the building used to be offices. There was a walkway and a load of doors leading off into little rooms above us.
I remember Lucy pointing at something in the middle of the dancers with a wild look of wonder on her face. I can't forget that look, she was like a child who's been taken to the zoo for the first time and just seen their first tiger. Then she grabbed my arm, she said "Look! The train! Steve's on the train!" I told her there was no train, and Steve was at home. She was adamant that Steve was on the train, in the middle of the room. Finally I managed to convince her not to run out and shove through the dancers trying to get on the train, that would have resulted in a fight. People on pills can switch so easily. One minute they're so happy, but if you push into them trying to get past, they can just turn round and punch you. I told her she'd just missed the train and it had taken Steve home. She wanted to phone him, but I managed to convince her not to. However, she did manage to send him a text message telling him she loved him before I could stop her. I doubt Steve was too impressed. It was 3am.
Lucy was totally out of it that night, she didn't know what she was doing, she was wild and excited and crazy. I remember she dragged me up the spiral staircase to the balcony. I remember her running around the balcony, with me trying to keep hold of her. I remember her leaning over the edge and trying to jump. I had to hold her back. The drop would have killed her. She got angry with me, why was I holding her back? If she jumped off she would just float down to the bottom, didn't I know she could fly?
I remember finally convincing her not to try to fly. I told her flying was illegal at raves and that she would get thrown out if she started flying. I told her there were signs everywhere saying "No Flying", and some of the others joined in too and told her she wasn't allowed to fly. Unbelievably, it worked. But someone had to stay with her all night. I don't want to think about what would have happened if we hadn't done that.
Lucy thought our friend Steve had come with us to the party. He hadn't. She spent the first half of the night asking us where he was, she was convinced he was there a moment ago.
I'll never forget the look on her face when the acid kicked in. I was sitting with her at the edge of the main room, the rig was in front of us. Towers of speakers with a DJ in the middle of it all. He looked like a tiny man sitting in the middle of so many giant boxes. I remember the dancers in front of us. About a hundred completely wasted people just wobbling and swaying to the music, a little sea of mismatched colour waving beer bottles and fags. Eyes closed, totally lost. Around the main room was a balcony of sorts. I think the building used to be offices. There was a walkway and a load of doors leading off into little rooms above us.
I remember Lucy pointing at something in the middle of the dancers with a wild look of wonder on her face. I can't forget that look, she was like a child who's been taken to the zoo for the first time and just seen their first tiger. Then she grabbed my arm, she said "Look! The train! Steve's on the train!" I told her there was no train, and Steve was at home. She was adamant that Steve was on the train, in the middle of the room. Finally I managed to convince her not to run out and shove through the dancers trying to get on the train, that would have resulted in a fight. People on pills can switch so easily. One minute they're so happy, but if you push into them trying to get past, they can just turn round and punch you. I told her she'd just missed the train and it had taken Steve home. She wanted to phone him, but I managed to convince her not to. However, she did manage to send him a text message telling him she loved him before I could stop her. I doubt Steve was too impressed. It was 3am.
Lucy was totally out of it that night, she didn't know what she was doing, she was wild and excited and crazy. I remember she dragged me up the spiral staircase to the balcony. I remember her running around the balcony, with me trying to keep hold of her. I remember her leaning over the edge and trying to jump. I had to hold her back. The drop would have killed her. She got angry with me, why was I holding her back? If she jumped off she would just float down to the bottom, didn't I know she could fly?
I remember finally convincing her not to try to fly. I told her flying was illegal at raves and that she would get thrown out if she started flying. I told her there were signs everywhere saying "No Flying", and some of the others joined in too and told her she wasn't allowed to fly. Unbelievably, it worked. But someone had to stay with her all night. I don't want to think about what would have happened if we hadn't done that.
My History - The Damage
- Permanent Memory Loss. Caused by weed. I regularly cannot remember what I did yesterday. Sometimes, I say things to people and then totally forget, and say them again. Sometimes it causes bigger problems, I forget things at work. I give people change from a twenty, because I can't remember they gave me a ten.
- Memory Loss of when I was younger. I have lost entire sections of my life. I'll never get those memories back. It's things I should be able to remember! I can't remember things from before I took the drugs, and I can't remember a hell of a lot that happened when I was taking them. I can't remember the sound of my Grandmother's voice, but I can vaguely remember a time when I could.
- Bad Balance. Sometimes I can't stand up without holding onto something. Sometimes I fall over anyway just walking. Luckily, it doesn't happen too often, usually I just trip and then catch hold of something. But bad balance is a very real problem if you ride a bike!!
- Disorientation. Regularly I get confused by all sorts of silly things. I just loose my train of thought totally mid conversation, or I can't hear what a person is saying.
- My dodgy nose. I have one nostril bigger than the other, because I used to sniff Ketamine and Speed. It looks a bit odd. And it doesn't help my hay fever!
- Flashbacks. These are the biggest problem. I've already detailed them here. But let me give you a list of things which trigger them, things which I now have to avoid:
- Drum n Bass Music
- Queens of the Stoneage
- Dance music
- The smell of weed
- The smell of certain drinks
- Disco lights
- Roads with street lamps which are too close together - driving past them too quick makes them look like they flash
- Alcohol. Even half a glass of wine can trigger a flashback
- Early morning cigarettes outside. They give me a head rush, and a head rush often triggers a flashback
- A perfume that Lucy wore, I don't know what it is
- Clubs. No chance, everything about them will trigger a flashback
It's not too bad, I can still have a normal life. But it's not always easy. Sometimes it really bothers me, particluarly the memory. It's so frustrating whe a friend mentions something they've already told you, but you can't remember them telling you at all. And then you feel like a pratt for having to ask, and your friend feels like you don't pay attention to anything they say, and that you don't care anyway. That part is horrible.
My History - The ones who made it
Sadly, there are fewer of these. But there are still a few of us who survived, and sobered up.
My friend Lucy had a serious coke problem. One night, when she was wasted, she broke her boyfriends nose. Another time, I remember her drinking a ton of whiskey and sleeping with a guy she'd never met before. Her boyfriend at the time found out, and left her.
Lucy kicked the drugs when she took on care for her little brother. They had an abusive father, and Lucy got custody of her brother, who had nowhere else to go. Lucy is now at university, and also has a part time job working in the field she's studying. She shares a lovely 2 bed flat with her brother. Lucy is going to be okay, I just know she is.
My friend Jack had a serous coke problem too. Then he dabbled with crack. Jack's parents stepped in, and I don't know what happened from there. What I do know is that Jack got a job. It was only a labouring job of some sort, but it was a job. He kicked the harder drugs, although he is still smoking weed and drinking. Jack is studying music at college, and regularly DJs. He makes his own music, and wins competitions with it. I hope he'll be alright, he's well on the road to recovery.
My friend Sarah had a young daughter. She still smoked a lot of weed. When she had her second child, she was still smoking it. However, she got married shorty before she had her third. She now lives with her husband in a maisonette. As far as I know, she hasn't touched drugs since.
Sadly though, these and my own are the only stories I can tell of people who made it. I wish it was more, but it isn't. All my other friends are still on the drugs, or locked up. But it does go to show, its not impossible. You can get over addictions. Three of us did it. Three out of about twenty. I don't know how the others cope, or what they're living with. I don't like to ask.
Me, I live with horrendous flashbacks, permanent memory loss and bad balance. I also live avoiding a lot of things, because they trigger the flashbacks. Sometimes, when I'm out with my friends I have make my excuses and leave a pub if a particular song comes on. Sometimes I have to lean against things to avoid falling over. But I am still so grateful for everything I've got. I'm still so proud that I got through it and came out the other side. But most of all I am so thankfull that I'm still alive. It could have been so different.
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Next Post:
My History - The Damage
My friend Lucy had a serious coke problem. One night, when she was wasted, she broke her boyfriends nose. Another time, I remember her drinking a ton of whiskey and sleeping with a guy she'd never met before. Her boyfriend at the time found out, and left her.
Lucy kicked the drugs when she took on care for her little brother. They had an abusive father, and Lucy got custody of her brother, who had nowhere else to go. Lucy is now at university, and also has a part time job working in the field she's studying. She shares a lovely 2 bed flat with her brother. Lucy is going to be okay, I just know she is.
My friend Jack had a serous coke problem too. Then he dabbled with crack. Jack's parents stepped in, and I don't know what happened from there. What I do know is that Jack got a job. It was only a labouring job of some sort, but it was a job. He kicked the harder drugs, although he is still smoking weed and drinking. Jack is studying music at college, and regularly DJs. He makes his own music, and wins competitions with it. I hope he'll be alright, he's well on the road to recovery.
My friend Sarah had a young daughter. She still smoked a lot of weed. When she had her second child, she was still smoking it. However, she got married shorty before she had her third. She now lives with her husband in a maisonette. As far as I know, she hasn't touched drugs since.
Sadly though, these and my own are the only stories I can tell of people who made it. I wish it was more, but it isn't. All my other friends are still on the drugs, or locked up. But it does go to show, its not impossible. You can get over addictions. Three of us did it. Three out of about twenty. I don't know how the others cope, or what they're living with. I don't like to ask.
Me, I live with horrendous flashbacks, permanent memory loss and bad balance. I also live avoiding a lot of things, because they trigger the flashbacks. Sometimes, when I'm out with my friends I have make my excuses and leave a pub if a particular song comes on. Sometimes I have to lean against things to avoid falling over. But I am still so grateful for everything I've got. I'm still so proud that I got through it and came out the other side. But most of all I am so thankfull that I'm still alive. It could have been so different.
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Next Post:
My History - The Damage
Monday 16 May 2011
My History - The Disasters
I used to have a group of friends who were doing drugs at the same time as me. Not everyone made it through. Some didn't make it at all, some are still battling with it, and some came out the other side with me. Sadly, a lot fewer came out the other side than didn't. Most of my friends are still battling with drugs, a few of them have already lost and are no longer with us.
I had a really good friend, we'll call him Carl.
Carl was there when I had my first ever bit of weed. He was a really good bloke. A good friend. We chatted about all sorts of things together, he was someone I really could talk to about all those problems you have when you're 15.
I don't see Carl anymore. This is because he is a cocaine addict. He started taking the stuff about 9 months or so before I gave everything up. I never saw him on the coke, I couldn't have stood it. Here was one of my childhood mates ruining his life. I couldn't have coped with that. But I saw him plenty of times when he wasn't on it. He developed those shaky hands which are often the mark of the addicted. I remember being in a pub garden one summer, and he couldn't hold a pint still.
The last time I saw him, he couldn't talk so well either. I mean, he could still talk, but he didn't make a whole lot of sense. And all he could talk about was coke. That was the last time I saw him. I don't know where he is now, or what he's doing. Last I heard, he had a hotel job of some sort and was living in a council place, which kept getting raided by the old bill.
I had another friend, a girl who we'll call Kirsty. She was into her Drum n Bass music in a big way. I remember the first time she came raving with us, she loved it. She'd done a few drugs before, but she took loads of pills that night. I remember she kept saying "I'm off my nut" over and over again and offering a bit of her drink to anyone who she met. Kirsty fell in with the wrong sort of people. She met another lad, who I knew but tended to avoid. He was a smack addict, and had been for a long time. I stopped seeing so much of Kirsty because she was always with him. I would see her every month or so, and then every few months, and eventually I never saw her again. The difference each time was frightening. She started losing weight, then she got a lot paler. I remember seeing her for the last time. I saw her out shopping,I don't know where she was going. Her arms were covered in needle marks, and all over her face she had spots and sores. She looked awful. I know she's still around, I've heard from other people. She's addicted to heroin, and doesn't work. I'm told she lives in a squat, an abandoned house which she and a load of others broke into.
Another one of my friends has just got out of prison. He's been in three times that I know of, and at least once for drug dealing. This last time I believe it was GBH. He got a girl pregnant, there were a lot of arguments and she did a runner with the baby. Both of them were into drugs, him more so than her. I believe she still is. She's trying to raise three children alone. He loves his kids, and is trying really hard to be a Dad for them. But he's still into the drugs. One of the children doesn't talk, she's four. I hope he'll pull through, he is trying. But the drugs always get in the way.
I had a friend, who we'll call Sophie. She came raving all the time, she was the girl who held my hand when I had the really bad trip on pills. I remember one night we went to a rave, somewhere in London near the river. It was the usual thing, you get there at midnight, usually already pissed, then you pay 3 quid to get in. This night, the police had shut down another rave not far away. All the people from that rave were trying to get into the one we were in. The organisers barricaded the door, we wouldn't all have fitted inside. The people outside tried to break down the door, they threw bottles and stones through the windows smashing them. This wasn't unusual at all. I remember thinking it was kind of funny. When I think about it now, I cannot see how I found that funny, if those people had got in, a complete brawl would have started. It had happened before, and people usually ended up getting shot when it did happen.
That night, Sophie was spiked with some pretty strong LSD. People usually share their beers at these things, and we think that was how it happened. She didn't know who I was. She knew who her boyfriend was, but no-one else. I remember her coming up to me, very scared, and telling me she was in Africa, and she didn't know how we got there. That night, I overdosed on Ketamine and passed out. Sophie's boyfriend took care of us both. He was totally out of it on pills, so how he managed that I'll never know. I remember sitting next to her on the train on the way home, I remember the state of the pair of us. We looked, and felt, like total shit.
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Next Post:
My History - The ones who made it
I had a really good friend, we'll call him Carl.
Carl was there when I had my first ever bit of weed. He was a really good bloke. A good friend. We chatted about all sorts of things together, he was someone I really could talk to about all those problems you have when you're 15.
I don't see Carl anymore. This is because he is a cocaine addict. He started taking the stuff about 9 months or so before I gave everything up. I never saw him on the coke, I couldn't have stood it. Here was one of my childhood mates ruining his life. I couldn't have coped with that. But I saw him plenty of times when he wasn't on it. He developed those shaky hands which are often the mark of the addicted. I remember being in a pub garden one summer, and he couldn't hold a pint still.
The last time I saw him, he couldn't talk so well either. I mean, he could still talk, but he didn't make a whole lot of sense. And all he could talk about was coke. That was the last time I saw him. I don't know where he is now, or what he's doing. Last I heard, he had a hotel job of some sort and was living in a council place, which kept getting raided by the old bill.
I had another friend, a girl who we'll call Kirsty. She was into her Drum n Bass music in a big way. I remember the first time she came raving with us, she loved it. She'd done a few drugs before, but she took loads of pills that night. I remember she kept saying "I'm off my nut" over and over again and offering a bit of her drink to anyone who she met. Kirsty fell in with the wrong sort of people. She met another lad, who I knew but tended to avoid. He was a smack addict, and had been for a long time. I stopped seeing so much of Kirsty because she was always with him. I would see her every month or so, and then every few months, and eventually I never saw her again. The difference each time was frightening. She started losing weight, then she got a lot paler. I remember seeing her for the last time. I saw her out shopping,I don't know where she was going. Her arms were covered in needle marks, and all over her face she had spots and sores. She looked awful. I know she's still around, I've heard from other people. She's addicted to heroin, and doesn't work. I'm told she lives in a squat, an abandoned house which she and a load of others broke into.
Another one of my friends has just got out of prison. He's been in three times that I know of, and at least once for drug dealing. This last time I believe it was GBH. He got a girl pregnant, there were a lot of arguments and she did a runner with the baby. Both of them were into drugs, him more so than her. I believe she still is. She's trying to raise three children alone. He loves his kids, and is trying really hard to be a Dad for them. But he's still into the drugs. One of the children doesn't talk, she's four. I hope he'll pull through, he is trying. But the drugs always get in the way.
I had a friend, who we'll call Sophie. She came raving all the time, she was the girl who held my hand when I had the really bad trip on pills. I remember one night we went to a rave, somewhere in London near the river. It was the usual thing, you get there at midnight, usually already pissed, then you pay 3 quid to get in. This night, the police had shut down another rave not far away. All the people from that rave were trying to get into the one we were in. The organisers barricaded the door, we wouldn't all have fitted inside. The people outside tried to break down the door, they threw bottles and stones through the windows smashing them. This wasn't unusual at all. I remember thinking it was kind of funny. When I think about it now, I cannot see how I found that funny, if those people had got in, a complete brawl would have started. It had happened before, and people usually ended up getting shot when it did happen.
That night, Sophie was spiked with some pretty strong LSD. People usually share their beers at these things, and we think that was how it happened. She didn't know who I was. She knew who her boyfriend was, but no-one else. I remember her coming up to me, very scared, and telling me she was in Africa, and she didn't know how we got there. That night, I overdosed on Ketamine and passed out. Sophie's boyfriend took care of us both. He was totally out of it on pills, so how he managed that I'll never know. I remember sitting next to her on the train on the way home, I remember the state of the pair of us. We looked, and felt, like total shit.
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Next Post:
My History - The ones who made it
My History - The Deaths
It's a horrible thing, but Drugs can, and do, cause Death.
I have lost a few friends, I just want to take the time to mention a little something about them and how I remember them. I wish it could have been different. But it wasn't.
I had a female friend, we'll call her Sally.
Sally was into drugs, she liked to go raving and take a few pills. She took other drugs, but I don't know what. She was a lovely girl, she taught me Poi dancing. She was bloody good at it herself.
Sally died around 4 years ago. The word was she went peacefully in her sleep. That really is all I can say, I hate to think of it. When I found out, I was devastated. I will always remember her, she had so much potential, and was such an outgoing person.
I had a male friend, we'll call him Tony.
He was very heavily into drugs, and again into raving. He took all sorts of things, pills, LSD, Mushrooms, Weed, the works. He believed in peace. He was a vegan. He had time for anyone, always. A slightly eccentric, but very friendly person.
Around 3 years ago, he threw himself in front of a train. I will never understand why, nor will anyone who ever knew him. I wish someone could have helped him, but no one ever knew anything was wrong. We all remember him as a happy, if totally stoned, person.
There are others, but I don't know the full details. Maybe that's a good thing, I'm not sure I want to know. Two people I knew have disappeared, I don't know what happened to them. A guy and a girl. I know they were into heroin.
Another two guys were into crack. Two good mates. I haven't heard anything about them for a long time. Last I heard, they were in trouble with the police.
Another guy was into heroin. He has also disappeared. No one knows what happened to him.
These people were my friends. People I knew well. I hate what happened to them, and I miss them. I hope and pray it happens to no one else I know. I wish people would talk, talk and be more careful with the drugs they take. Don't take chances, and admit when there's a problem. Don't leave people like me behind wondering if we could have helped, yet knowing we just couldn't.
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Next Post:
My History - The Disasters
I have lost a few friends, I just want to take the time to mention a little something about them and how I remember them. I wish it could have been different. But it wasn't.
I had a female friend, we'll call her Sally.
Sally was into drugs, she liked to go raving and take a few pills. She took other drugs, but I don't know what. She was a lovely girl, she taught me Poi dancing. She was bloody good at it herself.
Sally died around 4 years ago. The word was she went peacefully in her sleep. That really is all I can say, I hate to think of it. When I found out, I was devastated. I will always remember her, she had so much potential, and was such an outgoing person.
I had a male friend, we'll call him Tony.
He was very heavily into drugs, and again into raving. He took all sorts of things, pills, LSD, Mushrooms, Weed, the works. He believed in peace. He was a vegan. He had time for anyone, always. A slightly eccentric, but very friendly person.
Around 3 years ago, he threw himself in front of a train. I will never understand why, nor will anyone who ever knew him. I wish someone could have helped him, but no one ever knew anything was wrong. We all remember him as a happy, if totally stoned, person.
There are others, but I don't know the full details. Maybe that's a good thing, I'm not sure I want to know. Two people I knew have disappeared, I don't know what happened to them. A guy and a girl. I know they were into heroin.
Another two guys were into crack. Two good mates. I haven't heard anything about them for a long time. Last I heard, they were in trouble with the police.
Another guy was into heroin. He has also disappeared. No one knows what happened to him.
These people were my friends. People I knew well. I hate what happened to them, and I miss them. I hope and pray it happens to no one else I know. I wish people would talk, talk and be more careful with the drugs they take. Don't take chances, and admit when there's a problem. Don't leave people like me behind wondering if we could have helped, yet knowing we just couldn't.
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Next Post:
My History - The Disasters
My History - How flashbacks affect others
I have to warn people about my flashbacks. I have to warn them so they know what one looks like, and what to do if it happens.
This is not particularly nice.
And it's not like I can avoid it, they're pretty damn noticeable.
Luckily, a lot of my friends are understanding. Even if it frightens a few of them, which it does. I explain my past, I explain the consequences and they just ask what to do if it happens. The answer is stay with me, and talk to me. Tell me normal everyday things, ask what I had for breakfast and ask how the bike is. Remind me I've got a bike, I probably won't know. When I ask where I am, tell me, and tell me the stuff I clearly can't remember. Like my name.
I live in fear that it will happen at work, when there's no one around who will know what to do. I don't know what I would do, I just have to hope it never happens. There's not a lot else I can do.
It has happened when I'm driving. Luckily, I can now recognise the signs, so I know to pull over immediately and just ride the bloody thing out. It has only happened a few times, and each time I've been able to stop before I was in any danger. Now, it doesn't bother me too much, although it's still pretty worrying. I do know what to do now, and I can get out of the situation safely. I have time before it hits me and I start wondering who I am, just enough time to get off the road.
But the first time it happened, I didn't expect it, I ignored the signs and thought it would go away. It didn't. I was driving down the outside lane of a motorway, at 90mph, with someone on the back of the bike.
I nearly killed us both.
That's a hell of a thing to live with, trust me.
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Next Post:
My History - The Deaths
This is not particularly nice.
And it's not like I can avoid it, they're pretty damn noticeable.
Luckily, a lot of my friends are understanding. Even if it frightens a few of them, which it does. I explain my past, I explain the consequences and they just ask what to do if it happens. The answer is stay with me, and talk to me. Tell me normal everyday things, ask what I had for breakfast and ask how the bike is. Remind me I've got a bike, I probably won't know. When I ask where I am, tell me, and tell me the stuff I clearly can't remember. Like my name.
I live in fear that it will happen at work, when there's no one around who will know what to do. I don't know what I would do, I just have to hope it never happens. There's not a lot else I can do.
It has happened when I'm driving. Luckily, I can now recognise the signs, so I know to pull over immediately and just ride the bloody thing out. It has only happened a few times, and each time I've been able to stop before I was in any danger. Now, it doesn't bother me too much, although it's still pretty worrying. I do know what to do now, and I can get out of the situation safely. I have time before it hits me and I start wondering who I am, just enough time to get off the road.
But the first time it happened, I didn't expect it, I ignored the signs and thought it would go away. It didn't. I was driving down the outside lane of a motorway, at 90mph, with someone on the back of the bike.
I nearly killed us both.
That's a hell of a thing to live with, trust me.
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Next Post:
My History - The Deaths
My History - What I live with now
These are The Consequences.
The real ones I'm living with now, that is. Not the scientific potential ones. The ones I experience. I want to tell you what it's like, but it's quite hard to.
I've been off drugs for a long time now. But I'm still living with the effects of them. And I think I probably always will. I don't mind too much really, after all, it could have been so much worse. I could be Dead. And I'm not. But I didn't get off all too lightly.
I have Flashbacks. These are a waking nightmare, quite literally. I can't pinpoint what causes them, I strongly suspect the Pills, as these are what I did the most of. But the Magic Mushrooms and the LSD probably play a part, although I didn't take them anything like as much as the Pills. The truth is, I'll never really know. And I'll never really know the full extent of what these Flashbacks will do until I experience it.
Probably the most horrific one happened about 2 years ago. I now know what triggered it, which is helpful and means I can go some way to avoiding another one like it. Certain music has triggered them since too, so I have to avoid it. Certain smells and sights can do it too. There are quite a few things I have to avoid, actually. This one was definitely music. I was out in a sort of clubby pub with some friends. Nothing special, just a little one local to me. And not being a drinker, I was there purely to catch up with friends, and have a chat. I was fine. Normal. Sober. I talked to a friend about their new bike, it was a Fireblade. I went to the bar and got another drink. A Coke.
I remember hearing some music I hadn't heard for a long time, music like the kind of music we used to listen to at the raves. I was standing opposite the bar, my crash helmet on the table and the glass of coke in my hand. I remember starting to feel dizzy. Someone was talking to me, at this point I still knew who they were, but I couldn't hear what they were saying to me, I could only hear the music. Soon, I couldn't hear what anyone was saying to me. I remember recognising the funny sort of buzzing feeling in my legs, it felt just like taking a pill. The feeling of something rushing through your body, speeding everything up. I put down my drink, worried I had been spiked. (I hadn't.) Then it hit me. It's a Flashback. Get Out Of Here.
What happened next I've had to reconstruct a lot of, it became a blank. The most frightening part was getting on the Bike. I could clearly feel the effects of the drug, even though there was no way I had any of that drug in my system and hadn't for a number of years. For some reason, this seemed a good time to get on the Bike and go home. Probably the stupidest thing I could have done. I knew I had a Flashback coming and I had to get away from people. I thought if I got on the Bike it would go away. It didn't.
Once I was on the road, my mind cleared for a short while, I remember one part of the journey. Only one little flash of memory, a little scene like a picture. A petrol station on the left and a mini roundabout. I remember nothing else. I don't know what I did. I could have hit someone and to this day, have no idea.
I remember opening the door to my flat and sitting down on the stairs. I remember wishing the room would stop bloody changing shape and colour, it was making me feel sick.
I remember very little else.
I was told that I was sat on the sofa, when my partner at the time came home and asked me what was wrong. Someone had told him I'd rushed off. I told him "flashback" and then asked him who the hell he was. I yelled at him, and tried to hit him. He says I then "disappeared", off into my own head just staring around the room, looking confused. I was constantly asking where I was, and asking for friends who I haven't seen for a long time, friends who would have come raving with me. Some of whom are now dead.
Another friend came into the house, someone who had been at the pub and was worried. I tried to throw things at him and told him to get out, I didn't know him. I flashed in and out of reality, sometimes I knew where I was, and that I was going through a particularly vicious flashback, sometimes I didn't. I thought I should be in an abandoned warehouse in East London somewhere, and couldn't understand how I'd come to be in a little flat somewhere surrounded by people I couldn't recognise, and I was scared. Bloody scared. I didn't know who these people were, or what they wanted with me. I imagined the worst.
It lasted three hours.
When I came round, I understood. I could remember bits of it, I could remember how my mind just couldn't make the connection between what I saw and what I felt. Above all I could remember the fear. Or the Terror. I think Terror might be a better word.
I've crashed bikes, I've closed two lanes of a major motorway crashing a bike. That was pretty scary, sitting in the ambulance was pretty bloody scary. The Flashback was a whole new level of Terror. I cannot put it into words for you, suffice to say I would wish it upon no one. Close your eyes and try to imagine it, try to imagine not knowing who you are, who anyone around you is, or where you are. Try to imagine that the people around you are there to kill you, and it's totally real. It's not abstract in any way. There is a real life gun pointed at your real life head, and you have no idea why. That's sort of what it's like. It's pure Terror.
And I might well be stuck with it forever.
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Next Post:
My History - How Flashbacks affect others
The real ones I'm living with now, that is. Not the scientific potential ones. The ones I experience. I want to tell you what it's like, but it's quite hard to.
I've been off drugs for a long time now. But I'm still living with the effects of them. And I think I probably always will. I don't mind too much really, after all, it could have been so much worse. I could be Dead. And I'm not. But I didn't get off all too lightly.
I have Flashbacks. These are a waking nightmare, quite literally. I can't pinpoint what causes them, I strongly suspect the Pills, as these are what I did the most of. But the Magic Mushrooms and the LSD probably play a part, although I didn't take them anything like as much as the Pills. The truth is, I'll never really know. And I'll never really know the full extent of what these Flashbacks will do until I experience it.
Probably the most horrific one happened about 2 years ago. I now know what triggered it, which is helpful and means I can go some way to avoiding another one like it. Certain music has triggered them since too, so I have to avoid it. Certain smells and sights can do it too. There are quite a few things I have to avoid, actually. This one was definitely music. I was out in a sort of clubby pub with some friends. Nothing special, just a little one local to me. And not being a drinker, I was there purely to catch up with friends, and have a chat. I was fine. Normal. Sober. I talked to a friend about their new bike, it was a Fireblade. I went to the bar and got another drink. A Coke.
I remember hearing some music I hadn't heard for a long time, music like the kind of music we used to listen to at the raves. I was standing opposite the bar, my crash helmet on the table and the glass of coke in my hand. I remember starting to feel dizzy. Someone was talking to me, at this point I still knew who they were, but I couldn't hear what they were saying to me, I could only hear the music. Soon, I couldn't hear what anyone was saying to me. I remember recognising the funny sort of buzzing feeling in my legs, it felt just like taking a pill. The feeling of something rushing through your body, speeding everything up. I put down my drink, worried I had been spiked. (I hadn't.) Then it hit me. It's a Flashback. Get Out Of Here.
What happened next I've had to reconstruct a lot of, it became a blank. The most frightening part was getting on the Bike. I could clearly feel the effects of the drug, even though there was no way I had any of that drug in my system and hadn't for a number of years. For some reason, this seemed a good time to get on the Bike and go home. Probably the stupidest thing I could have done. I knew I had a Flashback coming and I had to get away from people. I thought if I got on the Bike it would go away. It didn't.
Once I was on the road, my mind cleared for a short while, I remember one part of the journey. Only one little flash of memory, a little scene like a picture. A petrol station on the left and a mini roundabout. I remember nothing else. I don't know what I did. I could have hit someone and to this day, have no idea.
I remember opening the door to my flat and sitting down on the stairs. I remember wishing the room would stop bloody changing shape and colour, it was making me feel sick.
I remember very little else.
I was told that I was sat on the sofa, when my partner at the time came home and asked me what was wrong. Someone had told him I'd rushed off. I told him "flashback" and then asked him who the hell he was. I yelled at him, and tried to hit him. He says I then "disappeared", off into my own head just staring around the room, looking confused. I was constantly asking where I was, and asking for friends who I haven't seen for a long time, friends who would have come raving with me. Some of whom are now dead.
Another friend came into the house, someone who had been at the pub and was worried. I tried to throw things at him and told him to get out, I didn't know him. I flashed in and out of reality, sometimes I knew where I was, and that I was going through a particularly vicious flashback, sometimes I didn't. I thought I should be in an abandoned warehouse in East London somewhere, and couldn't understand how I'd come to be in a little flat somewhere surrounded by people I couldn't recognise, and I was scared. Bloody scared. I didn't know who these people were, or what they wanted with me. I imagined the worst.
It lasted three hours.
When I came round, I understood. I could remember bits of it, I could remember how my mind just couldn't make the connection between what I saw and what I felt. Above all I could remember the fear. Or the Terror. I think Terror might be a better word.
I've crashed bikes, I've closed two lanes of a major motorway crashing a bike. That was pretty scary, sitting in the ambulance was pretty bloody scary. The Flashback was a whole new level of Terror. I cannot put it into words for you, suffice to say I would wish it upon no one. Close your eyes and try to imagine it, try to imagine not knowing who you are, who anyone around you is, or where you are. Try to imagine that the people around you are there to kill you, and it's totally real. It's not abstract in any way. There is a real life gun pointed at your real life head, and you have no idea why. That's sort of what it's like. It's pure Terror.
And I might well be stuck with it forever.
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Next Post:
My History - How Flashbacks affect others
Tuesday 10 May 2011
My History - Relapses
I had a few relapses after I got the bike.
I smoked weed a few times, but it just worried me too much. I was worried it wouldn't wear off and that I'd end up having to get on my bike stoned. It was a horrible feeling, and it just took the fun out of it totally. So I did it less and less. As for the drinking, riding with a hangover is a fate worse than death! Sod that, thank you very much.
Every time I was tempted, I thought of riding that bike stoned. It wasn't a conscious effort to think of it, I wasn't using it as a trick to help give up. It just happened. I couldn't not think of it. I thought of how hard it would be to ride stoned, and how easy it would be to lose concentration. And losing concentration, even for a second, on a bike can mean the difference between Life and Death. Riding without being totally awake and sober was just too much of a risk.
I loved my bike. I still do.
And you can't ride a bike if you're a bit busy being Dead.
One relapse really hit home for me though.
I went to visit a friend, and to show her the bike. She smoked a lot of weed, and I didn't mind. After all, I wasn't smoking it. It had never affected me before if I'd been round her house and she'd been smoking. Probably because I would walk home, and it would wear off. Maybe because my system was still so used to the stuff. Maybe a combination of both.
I went to see her as usual and there were no problems. She even sat next to the window to smoke, because I was Riding, which I appreciated. No problemo, at least not until I got on the bike to go home.
Then there was a problem. A big one. I was stoned. Without smoking!
It was a nightmare, I got no further than half a mile up the road before I pulled out in front of a car and nearly killed myself. I couldn't concentrate. The difference was incredible. I wouldn't even have noticed if I had have been walking, I wouldn't have realised I was stoned, I wouldn't have felt it! But on the bike I did. I had to pull over and sit in a car park for half an hour waiting for it to wear off. Which was irritating to say the least! Fortunately I had a book on me which my friend had lent me, but that's by the by.
That one event did it for me. I was stoned enough to make a stupid mistake, but sober enough to realise.
Now I know. I avoid weed totally. I can't risk it. Sometimes I'm a little over-zealous about avoiding it, if I catch a whiff of it outside, I will cross the street. But over-zealous is better than Dead.
I have not been on a bike stoned since. And I'm still alive.
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Next Post:
My History - What I live with now
I smoked weed a few times, but it just worried me too much. I was worried it wouldn't wear off and that I'd end up having to get on my bike stoned. It was a horrible feeling, and it just took the fun out of it totally. So I did it less and less. As for the drinking, riding with a hangover is a fate worse than death! Sod that, thank you very much.
Every time I was tempted, I thought of riding that bike stoned. It wasn't a conscious effort to think of it, I wasn't using it as a trick to help give up. It just happened. I couldn't not think of it. I thought of how hard it would be to ride stoned, and how easy it would be to lose concentration. And losing concentration, even for a second, on a bike can mean the difference between Life and Death. Riding without being totally awake and sober was just too much of a risk.
I loved my bike. I still do.
And you can't ride a bike if you're a bit busy being Dead.
One relapse really hit home for me though.
I went to visit a friend, and to show her the bike. She smoked a lot of weed, and I didn't mind. After all, I wasn't smoking it. It had never affected me before if I'd been round her house and she'd been smoking. Probably because I would walk home, and it would wear off. Maybe because my system was still so used to the stuff. Maybe a combination of both.
I went to see her as usual and there were no problems. She even sat next to the window to smoke, because I was Riding, which I appreciated. No problemo, at least not until I got on the bike to go home.
Then there was a problem. A big one. I was stoned. Without smoking!
It was a nightmare, I got no further than half a mile up the road before I pulled out in front of a car and nearly killed myself. I couldn't concentrate. The difference was incredible. I wouldn't even have noticed if I had have been walking, I wouldn't have realised I was stoned, I wouldn't have felt it! But on the bike I did. I had to pull over and sit in a car park for half an hour waiting for it to wear off. Which was irritating to say the least! Fortunately I had a book on me which my friend had lent me, but that's by the by.
That one event did it for me. I was stoned enough to make a stupid mistake, but sober enough to realise.
Now I know. I avoid weed totally. I can't risk it. Sometimes I'm a little over-zealous about avoiding it, if I catch a whiff of it outside, I will cross the street. But over-zealous is better than Dead.
I have not been on a bike stoned since. And I'm still alive.
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Next Post:
My History - What I live with now
My History - Getting off Drugs
In a way I think I was blessed when it came to getting off drugs. I had motivation, something that didn't mix with drugs.
It was little and black and had a top speed of 60 odd mph. (It's now big and green and has a top speed of 174mph, but that's beside the point!)
I had my bike.
Without it, I don't think I could have done it.
Not that it wasn't a battle, it was. There were relapses. But I quickly learnt that you just can't ride a bike if you're not sober. When you're learning to ride, it's bloody well hard enough not to fall over even if you are sober!
The bike was given to me when I was 17. But it wasn't until I was 18 that I started riding it. In that time, I cleaned up. I needed my money. I'd been working since the age of 15, but I'd been spending all my earnings on drugs. I needed them for insurance! So I cut down the drugs so I could start saving up the £300 I needed to get the bike on the road. I started by going raving less, and putting the weekends money away into a box. I cut out the pills altogether next, they were expensive. Then I cut out the other drugs. I cut out a lot of the weekday partying, sticking to the odd weekday and weekends. By the time I hit 18 I had the money. And I'd managed to cut out everything except weed.
But after that first ride, that first go on a bike, the weed just didn't matter anymore.
I can't begin to explain it. It was better. Better than drugs, better than sex, better than chocolate, better than having wasted sex eating tons of chocolate!! Better than anything. It was freedom and achievement and pure happiness all rolled into one. I didn't care about the drugs. I cared about the bike. And nothing else.
That bike has become a symbol to me. A symbol of what you can achieve if you find something you truly care about. And I believe that is the key. Finding something better than drugs. Once you find that, it's all you need to quit. No addiction is too much, you can do it. And easily. It's just a case of finding it. For me, it was a bike. For a friend of mine, it was university, for another friend, DJing got him off coke. Getting married did the trick for another friend. Stuff you just can't do if you're wasted, and stuff you'd rather do than get wasted. It's out there, it exists. I've seen it happen. It's just a case of finding it.
I surprised myself. I shocked everyone I knew. No one thought I could do it. But after those keys were handed to me, and I took that bike out for the first time, I knew I could. I knew drugs just didn't matter anymore.
The only thing that mattered was sitting in the garage, looking nice and shiny.
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Next Post:
My History - Relapses
It was little and black and had a top speed of 60 odd mph. (It's now big and green and has a top speed of 174mph, but that's beside the point!)
I had my bike.
Without it, I don't think I could have done it.
Not that it wasn't a battle, it was. There were relapses. But I quickly learnt that you just can't ride a bike if you're not sober. When you're learning to ride, it's bloody well hard enough not to fall over even if you are sober!
The bike was given to me when I was 17. But it wasn't until I was 18 that I started riding it. In that time, I cleaned up. I needed my money. I'd been working since the age of 15, but I'd been spending all my earnings on drugs. I needed them for insurance! So I cut down the drugs so I could start saving up the £300 I needed to get the bike on the road. I started by going raving less, and putting the weekends money away into a box. I cut out the pills altogether next, they were expensive. Then I cut out the other drugs. I cut out a lot of the weekday partying, sticking to the odd weekday and weekends. By the time I hit 18 I had the money. And I'd managed to cut out everything except weed.
But after that first ride, that first go on a bike, the weed just didn't matter anymore.
I can't begin to explain it. It was better. Better than drugs, better than sex, better than chocolate, better than having wasted sex eating tons of chocolate!! Better than anything. It was freedom and achievement and pure happiness all rolled into one. I didn't care about the drugs. I cared about the bike. And nothing else.
That bike has become a symbol to me. A symbol of what you can achieve if you find something you truly care about. And I believe that is the key. Finding something better than drugs. Once you find that, it's all you need to quit. No addiction is too much, you can do it. And easily. It's just a case of finding it. For me, it was a bike. For a friend of mine, it was university, for another friend, DJing got him off coke. Getting married did the trick for another friend. Stuff you just can't do if you're wasted, and stuff you'd rather do than get wasted. It's out there, it exists. I've seen it happen. It's just a case of finding it.
I surprised myself. I shocked everyone I knew. No one thought I could do it. But after those keys were handed to me, and I took that bike out for the first time, I knew I could. I knew drugs just didn't matter anymore.
The only thing that mattered was sitting in the garage, looking nice and shiny.
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Next Post:
My History - Relapses
Saturday 7 May 2011
My History - Starting Drugs
In the summer when I had just turned 14 my mate invited me out to the park on a Saturday afternoon. To watch the lads skateboarding and just generally relax in the sun.
My mate had some weed.
He asked if I wanted some. I wanted to know what it was like, so I tried it.
I already drank and smoked, that started a few months earlier.
Now I smoked weed.
It was a bit weird, I remember it made me feel dizzy. I remember sitting on a swing in the park wondering if making you dizzy was all drugs did. I don't remember the rest of the day. At all.
It didn't take long for me to be smoking weed every weekend. And it didn't take long for me to start dealing it to help pay for what I wanted to smoke.
I had just turned 15 when I was arrested for Drug Dealing. I got off with a Reprimand because of my age. I was lucky.
I was smoking weed laced with coke by the next week. It was okay, because it was "still just weed really".
Not long after I was arrested, I tried some other drugs on their own. In all honesty, I can't remember all of them. I do remember taking Vodka to school. Consequently, I don't remember much of school
I remember taking Valium and Temazipam in Camden Market. It was rubbish. Didn't do anything at all. Never bothered with them again.
I remember my first pill. Boy do I remember my first pill. I was 15 and I'd just started going raving. Illegal squat parties. We had a mate who ran them, so it felt "safe". I remember being drunk. I clearly remember how happy the girl who gave me the pill was. I also remember thinking "your first pill either kills you, or gives you a wicked night". If I was sober, I reckon things could well have been different, but I cant possibly guess how different.
I had a wicked night.
I had a shitty next day. I punched one of my friends. I don't even remember doing it.
I started taking pills every weekend. Still smoking weed and drinking as well. I rarely made it to school on a monday, or if I did, I went straight to the medical room to "sleep the weekend off".
Around about the time I hit 16 I started taking Ketamine. Some weekends I was still on the pills, some I was on the Ketamine. Some weekdays I was on the pills too. And some I was on the Ketamine. My current boyfriend recently pointed out to me that I have one nostril bigger than the other. He notices odd things like that. You sniff Ketamine. And I always sniffed it through the same nostril. It's my right one.
Then I discovered Speed. Only did it a few times, it was hard to get hold of. And the buzz didn't last long enough.
I remember one rave where the pills weren't just Ecstasy. There was Acid in them too. I remember my friend walking on the roof of a high rise building, looking over the edge and wondering if she would fly if she jumped.
Yes, that shit really happens.
She didn't jump. She lived. But two of my friends from that night are dead now.
When I was 16, I discovered magic mushrooms.
I remember eating them at Reading Festival, and not a lot happened. I also remember having them one night at a friends party. I remember seeing things which were coming to kill me. I remember seeing the ceiling moving and closing in on me. I remember seeing the walls moving towards me.
Yes. That shit really happens too.
I remember being frightened. I remember nothing else.
I remember the pill that nearly killed me.
It was pure MDMA, and I double dropped. I took two at once. I thought I was dead. I knew I was dead. I tried to lie down and be dead quietly. I had a deja vu. And I had a vision that when you're dead, you live the night of your death over and over, and that is what death is. I was sure the pills had finally killed me. I kept telling people I was dead. I told them I knew I was dead because I'd seen them before.
My friend held my hand. All night. From 12pm until 7am, she would not let me go. And I truly believe that if she hadn't done that, I would not be sitting here writing this blog. I would be lying in a ditch near a warehouse in the east end of London somewhere. Dead.
It didn't stop me. I carried on until I was 18.
When I was 18 I got a motorcycle. And my life changed forever. You can't do drugs and ride a bike. You'll kill yourself. It's not a risk, it's a foregone conclusion. And even a drug addict like me knew it. I knew I had a choice, the drugs or the bike.
I chose the Bike.
So I had to give up the drugs.
-
Next Post:
My History - Getting off Drugs
My mate had some weed.
He asked if I wanted some. I wanted to know what it was like, so I tried it.
I already drank and smoked, that started a few months earlier.
Now I smoked weed.
It was a bit weird, I remember it made me feel dizzy. I remember sitting on a swing in the park wondering if making you dizzy was all drugs did. I don't remember the rest of the day. At all.
It didn't take long for me to be smoking weed every weekend. And it didn't take long for me to start dealing it to help pay for what I wanted to smoke.
I had just turned 15 when I was arrested for Drug Dealing. I got off with a Reprimand because of my age. I was lucky.
I was smoking weed laced with coke by the next week. It was okay, because it was "still just weed really".
Not long after I was arrested, I tried some other drugs on their own. In all honesty, I can't remember all of them. I do remember taking Vodka to school. Consequently, I don't remember much of school
I remember taking Valium and Temazipam in Camden Market. It was rubbish. Didn't do anything at all. Never bothered with them again.
I remember my first pill. Boy do I remember my first pill. I was 15 and I'd just started going raving. Illegal squat parties. We had a mate who ran them, so it felt "safe". I remember being drunk. I clearly remember how happy the girl who gave me the pill was. I also remember thinking "your first pill either kills you, or gives you a wicked night". If I was sober, I reckon things could well have been different, but I cant possibly guess how different.
I had a wicked night.
I had a shitty next day. I punched one of my friends. I don't even remember doing it.
I started taking pills every weekend. Still smoking weed and drinking as well. I rarely made it to school on a monday, or if I did, I went straight to the medical room to "sleep the weekend off".
Around about the time I hit 16 I started taking Ketamine. Some weekends I was still on the pills, some I was on the Ketamine. Some weekdays I was on the pills too. And some I was on the Ketamine. My current boyfriend recently pointed out to me that I have one nostril bigger than the other. He notices odd things like that. You sniff Ketamine. And I always sniffed it through the same nostril. It's my right one.
Then I discovered Speed. Only did it a few times, it was hard to get hold of. And the buzz didn't last long enough.
I remember one rave where the pills weren't just Ecstasy. There was Acid in them too. I remember my friend walking on the roof of a high rise building, looking over the edge and wondering if she would fly if she jumped.
Yes, that shit really happens.
She didn't jump. She lived. But two of my friends from that night are dead now.
When I was 16, I discovered magic mushrooms.
I remember eating them at Reading Festival, and not a lot happened. I also remember having them one night at a friends party. I remember seeing things which were coming to kill me. I remember seeing the ceiling moving and closing in on me. I remember seeing the walls moving towards me.
Yes. That shit really happens too.
I remember being frightened. I remember nothing else.
I remember the pill that nearly killed me.
It was pure MDMA, and I double dropped. I took two at once. I thought I was dead. I knew I was dead. I tried to lie down and be dead quietly. I had a deja vu. And I had a vision that when you're dead, you live the night of your death over and over, and that is what death is. I was sure the pills had finally killed me. I kept telling people I was dead. I told them I knew I was dead because I'd seen them before.
My friend held my hand. All night. From 12pm until 7am, she would not let me go. And I truly believe that if she hadn't done that, I would not be sitting here writing this blog. I would be lying in a ditch near a warehouse in the east end of London somewhere. Dead.
It didn't stop me. I carried on until I was 18.
When I was 18 I got a motorcycle. And my life changed forever. You can't do drugs and ride a bike. You'll kill yourself. It's not a risk, it's a foregone conclusion. And even a drug addict like me knew it. I knew I had a choice, the drugs or the bike.
I chose the Bike.
So I had to give up the drugs.
-
Next Post:
My History - Getting off Drugs
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