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.
Thursday 19 May 2011
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.
-
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.
-
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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