what is more unbelievable, i have actually made my 21st birthday or the prospect that i can actually break away from heroin? who knows, i don’t care right now. i am actually pretty happy, which, i haven’t been in years, even on my birthday. probably because heroin waits for nobody, and doesn’t give you a day off on holidays & special occassions… they are like any other day. you still get ill, you still have to get money, to score. i had a wonderful day yesterday with my momma and my sister. we went shopping, got me a nice hotpink ipod nano, a beautiful coat, make-up, mittens etc. it wasn’t what i got materially, it was the time spent with the family, something we haven’t done in a while. it was such a giggle. later today we will pick up the twins from school and take them to my nans where we will have a piss-up. we were going to go out to eat but i didn’t fancy it. id rather stay in, i’m not ready to face the world without being obliterated. and i dont want to be obliterated infront of the kids. i will meet my sis during today, she finishes uni at 12. i had a wicked day before yesterday, spent it with tom llyod. nice he remembered/bothered. had such a giggle but anyway, must go, i need to do my hair and what an ordeal that is.

subutex is working great. works fine, agrees with me, no problems. i actually pretty much forget about drugs when im occupied, until i see my arms or legs that is, but i have been assured they will go in time.

so this is day 3 of my subutex. suprisingly, i dont feel too bad at all. last night was pretty awful though, dizzy spells that led to fainting a couple of times, vomitting. but there is nothing i can do; subutex blocks the effects of heroin, so i might aswell set fire to my money than stick it in my vein. cant do that anyway; my arms and legs are in such a mess…. bruises everywhere, torn veins where i have missed my hits (with crack in them too, which in my experience, always leads to an abcess). my last ever hit i had on wednesday (you have to stop using for 24 hours before you take subutex) and i didn’t even get it… i couldn’t find a vein so blood that seeped in just clogged up my hit. squirted it out, recooked it in the spoon to get rid of the clots, put it back in a syringe, tried again. couldn’t get it. in the end, i just injected in my foot, but missed half of it so now im walking around like a cripple. nobody seems to realise how much damage injecting does, you loose your veins; most old-timers i know (old-timers being in their 20s, 30s) have to go in their necks or like me, their groins. and when they go…. so have one of your legs and you have to go back to smoking it. i don’t miss the hours it took me to find a vein.

i am finding it hard to fathom how for the past years i have nonstop used heroin and crack, injecting it into my body on a daily basis. completely not caring about the consequences. the first thing i did when i exited hospital after my overdoses was, yes you guessed it, go and scored again. i didn’t care. i’m dreading to think what i have done to my body. scary. scary because heroin is the ultimate painkiller, now i dont have that, and my body is starting to ache. big time.

im going to go to the chemist and pick up my two 8mg subbies, highest dose, which you let dissolve under your tongue. i am so glad i didn’t go on methadone but as i said in my last post, i only chose methadone so i could STILL use. like, its my birthday on October 1st and before i got my subbies, sitting in the doctors waiting room i was like “but what if you want to use on special occassions, like your birthday, you can’t. go on methadone, but just use every few months, naomi”              then i realised what lies i was telling myself, what i had been telling myself for years. i cannot touch heroin. at all. i can’t control myself when i use it so i am going to have to accept that if i want to have any form of decent life i have to cut it out forever. which i will find hard, as i sit here romanticising the ‘good times’

but then i think, what good times? it was only good for the first couple. everything beyond that was just to stay well and heed off withdrawing. i am wincing at the money i have spent. in excess of £120+ a day at my worse. what i could of done with that. oh well, this must of happened for a reason, right?

 guess you can pretty much say this is ‘make or break time’ now. I do believe for certain things and certain people, change can happen at any point. I have this gut feeling though, that if I do not turn things around now, I never will. I have already lost 8 years to drugs and I can easily see myself losing the other X amount, also. And if I carry on, nothing will be carved in stone except for the fact those X amount of years probably will not go into double figures. So, on the 25th September at 2pm I have an appointment with the doctor to be put on Subutex. I did not want to go on methadone- to me, it really was no better than heroin apart from the fact it was

1. free; so it kept me away from the constant need to find money any way and any how and
2. needed to be taken just once orally; no injecting needed
3. safe; no worries about purity, that it might be poison, etc. etc. 100% clean from a reliable source.

Though, obviously, as most of you will know, methadone has its downsides. People are heavily divided about it- both opiate addicts and their families, health professionals etc. When I was on my methadone maintanence programmes I discovered a lot of negative points and I really did not see myself progress in any which way or form. Like many others, I continued to use heroin and just used methadone as a safety net- it was there for when I couldn’t get any heroin, so I didn’t have to endure the dreadful ordeal that is cold turkey. These downsides consisted of

1. Drowsiness; I still carried on dozing off. Even when I lowered my dose from 60ml to 50ml.
2. Collecting; I had to pick up my methadone 7 days a week from Boots at the Grafton Center, along with god knows how many other junkies which meant we were all passing each other, just like we used to, but instead of going to our illegal dealer, we were going to the state supported one. We just tempted one another, and it was all to easy to approach somebody else picking up their script and ask if they wanted to go halfs on a bag. We couldn’t leave the ’scene’ behind.
3. Isolation; Once I no longer had to score heroin (which is, as we know, a full-time business) I got in with old friends and began to spend less and less time in the scene. But you had to go everyday to pick up your script, and drink it infront of the pharmacist, and your friends if you hadn’t given them a good enough excuse for why they should wait outside. You couldn’t with the money you saved from not having to buy heroin, go away for a weekend to say, Brighton. You needed to be in Cambridge to pick up your script.
4. Addictiveness; Methadone is a lot stronger than heroin and takes, obviously, a lot longer to come off.
5. Sugar; It took me ages to get sugar-free methadone, and this was only after complaining and comparing my teeth to everyone elses, or rather, the gaps where everyone elses used to be. My friend Becky is 32, her top teeth are rotted beyond repair.

I will have to go to the pharmacy everyday for my Subutex but the difference is, Subutex blocks the effects of heroin. There isn’t much of a point in me taking it, not like with methadone. My sleeping patterns have dramatically changed; I get up at about 6am every morning now so my plan is to go to the chemist as early as possible to avoid everyone else (lets face it- if I’m not sleeping now I’m on heroin, what chance do I have when I stop it!?!). I will have to rattle for over 24 hours before I go to my appointment and collect my prescription for one Subutex. This is because, the first time you take it, if you have heroin or methadone in your system you go into an instant, violent withdrawal. No thank you. I can’t cope with a normal withdrawal, so I’d had to experience that. Urgh.

I am really looking forward to this. May seem strange to say that, looking forward to feeling so damn ill when you know you could just spend £10 and rid yourself of that unbearable pain. But thats just it… you rid yourself of the physical pain for a couple of hours then you need to go and get more money to stop it starting again. And you do so much bad shit, you degrade yourself, abuse yourself, sell your dignity… all for something that doesn’t even last longer than a few hours. Something that has helped destroy your life beyond repair. See what I mean about the make or break…. either I do it this time, or I just resign myself to the fact I don’t want to change, and I will carry on my life of utter misery, disgusting behaviour and lawlessness. I just hope and pray I do it this time. This time… everything is resting on it.

sorry, i have been rather illusive. i am in the process of typing up all my handwritten diaries that i have been keeping during the online absense. or rather, its just notebooks and bits of paper; i might just be lazy and scan them in.

junkylife is closing, right? so im just trying to make a layout on blogger. aaaaaaah. never been good with graphics.

my life has been rather put in perspective; i have met somebody and i cannot quite understand what an impact it has made. but i cant help but feel i will just let them down. oh well. shall get back pretty soon and write. my body hurts and this little tiny bit of heroin is burning a hole in my pocket (its my morning sorter)

me and my mate always used to call “going over” (overdosing) ‘dying a little death’; thats if you get saved by the paramedics, of course. exactly one month ago today i done a hit of heroin and cocaine, after i’d been drinking vodka all day long. i don’t remember a thing when it comes to the drugs- i didn’t feel it hit, i didn’t feel myself loose conscience… i came round after about 15minutes with 3 paramedics in my flat, half-naked (they had to cut open my clothes to get quick access to my chest) and h00ked up to some weird machine. i got worse when they arrived, having had respitory failure. i didn’t realise how serious this was, but i actually stopped breathing. the paramedics said if they hadn’t been so close to my house, i wouldn’t of made it. i spent the next 15 hours in hospital hooked up to some machine. it was horrible. mike rang my sister and mum so when i got to A&e they were there. meanwhile, i was still half-naked and in and out of sleepiness. the doctors were very nice to me.

so yeah, i had a terrible brush with death. and it infuriated my family that i wouldn’t take it seriously. i would of done, but i don’t care. i’m back on heroin and cocaine. fuck. i just really don’t see a point; this is something that is going to be with me for the rest of time. i have to accept it i suppose. i feel so bad for going over, my family ring about 20 times a day each because they are so worried about me. if i don’t pick up they race round and knock on my door or phone the police to knock down my door. oh heroin. why was i foolish enough to touch it again after going through all that pain withdrawing off methadone?

been back to devon, back friends with dylan… i’ll write again soon.

Naomi is in hospital. She Overdosed at approx. 10pm last night. She is out of the woods but still in hospital under observation. This came as quite a shock to all of us as she had been doing so well.

Dylan.  

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

junkylife is dying. we need to move. anyone know how i can transfer all my garbage a.k.a writing?

aaaaaaaaaah. i feel so rough. no wonder, i drunk myself neigh on death last night, a fist full of diazepam (to celebrate my ‘out of the woods- i think my cluck is over’ (the physical pain part- roll on months of non-sleeping, depression etc. etc.). and the clocks went back, so i’ve had one less hour. i got all excited when i woke at 7am, thinking fuck i am getting better (you can’t sleep when you come off opiates, even with shit loads of sleepers and valium) but no, it was technically 6am. never mind. i don’t know how i got home last night but i did. i had to be carried to bed and upon waking, and waking up my mate, he told me i had given him a rough night, rolling about, stealing covers. when my eyes opened, fuck, my head was swimming. i was still in my clothes (which always indicates my incapacity from the night before; i can’t even undress myself if i get too wasted). got up, downed a big glass of orange squash, woke Mike, and wayhey, he produced a bottle of ASTI MARTINI from the side of the bed. god, thats one of my fave drinks. ASTI for breakfast with the first morning cigarette, heaven.

Hmmmmmmm…… I might go to church. Or just sit here getting drunk. Must see my twin nieces today. And stop reading my massive collection of heroin-related books. Like Christiane F, Junk, Nikki Sixx Heroin Diaries.

I really didn’t have much faith in myself, I had good intentions, sure, you are ready to quit all the time, as long as its next Tuesday. I was 90% sure I would do it, but then this remainder was whispering in the back of my mind; “how the hell are you going to just quit something you’ve been submersed in for the past 7 years?”. I live in central Cambridge, and drugs & their associations are everywhere; the dealers, the users, the public toilets I used to shoot up in, the chemists where I would get my citric acid & needles. Urgh. I can’t believe I led such an existance for so long. Or let me rephrase that, I can’t believed I stayed alive for so long.

Anyway, I’m still clean. No methadone, no heroin, no nothing. Because of the withdrawal symptoms, my stomach has been awful. Couldn’t stop puking at first, so my drinkings cut down. Some days it is just down to a couple of cans. Considering what I was drinking, that’s left me feeling very clear headed and for the first time in years, alone with myself. Perfect for reflecting on what a cunt I’ve been to those who love me.

I wouldn’t of been able to do this without a certain someone. He has stayed around me every single day and waited on me hand and foot when I was crippled with pain. He tidied my house, collecting the 250+ syringes that were around, even though it made him feel utterly sick. He took me to Devon after deciding he would help me come off it. It was a very rash decision, quick. But I didn’t need much thought. I was on a methadone programme, trapsing to the BOOTS CHEMIST in the Grafton Centre each day, passing the same people I would pass and associate with if I was scoring. It wasn’t helping and there were days when I would see them, skip my meth and go do a shit load of snowballs instead. I was in the same drugs crowd, but expecting not to use, yet have it in my face all the time. Not blaming anyone else but myself, but it would be like doing a withdrawal knowing you had a stash of heroin hidden under a rock in your garden. Impossible. I wanted to meet his family. He means a lot to me. Bless him. 

I am not jumping the gun, its been x days (can you do the math whilst refering to the previous post, I’m crap at calculating) and I know this is going to be a problem for the rest of my life. I can NEVER touch it again, and if I do, I know it will spiral into another dependance. I got a letter about finally, my psychiatrist. Problem is, I know it was a day or two ago, and I’ve missed it. I’ll get a second chance, but I feel like a git for missing it, having bitched about it for so long (or the lack of it).   

Talking of missing stuff, I saw my docter Wynn the Thursday before last. She is going to put me on naltrexone all depending on my liver function test. Which reminds me, I need to get some blood taken, the nurses tried last time and they couldn’t get a vein. Makes me feel great about potentially being in a car crash; need an urgent transfusion, all that wasted time faffing around for a vein before going for my neck or groin. And also, naltrexone, it blocks the opiate receptors; so I couldn’t have morphine (Well, I could, but I wouldn’t fucking feel it)  so what would that leave me? Nitrous Oxide. What a load of bollocks. So; go it alone, or take it? Either way, the NHS only provide it with pills and like my Dad on his antabuse, if he wanted to start drinking again, he would stop taking them a couple of days before hand, otherwise, if he drunk alchohol on them, he would violently become ill. So, surely if I wanted to ever do it again, I would just stop them? But for little out-of-the-blue temptations, its a godsend I am sure. You could take it, but you wouldn’t feel it. Oh I don’t know.

I spent a wicked day in the pub yesterday with Dylan. I was ill as fuck, I knew so because my first drink was a plain pepsi, and for me to be drinking a soft drink anywhere, let alone a pub, is fucking seriously out of character.

Oh dear, I feel happy. Hear that, happy. Christ. What’s coming over me? Maybe I have mistook this 7 years of addiction for simple teenage angst and rebellion?

Ha.

sorry, i have totally neglected this thing. haven’t had much access to the internet. “why?” do i hear you say? well, just been too lazy. i wanted to write earlier, when i got back from Devon last Monday. but, that was day one of my cluck, my cold turkey, my impending doom. i decided to stop the methadone, the heroin… just like that. i’m still hanging in there. so it has been a while, certainly for me anyway. i have never in the past 7 years gone longer than a few days, at the most. i’m just numbing myself with paracetomol, weed & alcohol. actually, strike that out, the first one; paracetomol. those are just for placebo effect. i think the only reason i am being successful is because when i tried before, i wasn’t ready to give it up. i was still enjoying it too much. now, now i’m sick to the fucking back teeth of it.

i’ll write again soon. and thanks shelly, its nice to hear from you. thought of you the other day.

george, drop me a mail.

whoever fucking decided to raid a 20 year old girls flat who doesn’t have a criminal record is a fucking twat. sorry, but did any police watch me? they couldn’t of because i wasn’t even anywhere near my house for weeks. so if i didn’t go to my flat for ages, why would my flat be full of drugs? what, you think a junkie is going to leave loads of heroin and crack in their flat but not visit it and devour them? duh. i know who provided this ‘information’ aka bollox. they were obviously pissed off they couldn’t find anything because they gave up searching (they didn’t even break open all my locked cupboards, my safe etc. as i think they got the picture i had nothing. but if i did, twats didn’t open the most obvious hiding place). BUT NOT WITHOUT smashing shit loads of my stuff. i had a massive oil painting of me that they smashed apart (presumebly to look inside for drugs?) which will cost me a bomb to fix. they smashed all my plates, cups etc. by just swiping all my kitchen cupboard contents onto the floor. they tipped out all my fabrics, trimmings etc. on the floor, smashing loads of glass beads, smashing my acrylic paints open. now i have to get a solicitor to claim back all the damage INCLUDING the fact they broke down my door, didn’t secure it, and i got burgled. yes, i got burgled as a result. i can’t believe this, i just want peace and quiet. the police took one look at why the door was so easy to re-break (a drugs raid; even though i was found 100% innocent with no drugs) and didn’t give a fuck about helping me. he arrested and bailed the two found guilty for it but are they going to get charged? are they fuck! they don’t want to help a junkie but if i were a middle-class mother of two they would of sat me down, consolled me and done everything in their power to bring the two to justice. police, why are you such bastards? my mum is a nurse and when somebody with self-inflicted injuries comes in (Whether its an alcoholic with liver disease, a self-harmer with an injury that needs stitching or an anorexic with severe life-threatening malnutrition) SHE CANNOT AND DOESN’T AND WOULDN’T DREAM OF GOING “hmmm… they bought it on themselves, sorry. not going to treat you. next.” but police can do that, and they do.

soooo… on another note. i had a good time in bradford. however, i went clubbing, came out at 4am and yes, HEROIN AND CRACK COCAINE FOUND ME! even though i don’t have a clue who to score off there. a person begging outside the club asked for a cig and i gave them one, she saw my arms and said “oh god, you don’t look like your on gear but thats a bit of a fucking giveaway, you want to cover them up girl. though i suppose, non-junkies won’t know, will they?” so yes. i spent £60 on drugs and went to some filthy crack den before returning to my hotel and telling my mum i had gone for a curry. gone for a curry? i went for a big massive hit and the reason i was falling asleep so much the next morning while watching I AM LEGEND is because i saved a £15 bag, shot it up and it knocked me for six when combined with no sleep, methadone & loads of booze. i might aswell kiss goodbye my life now. im going to go over one of these days.

 i’ll be brown bread before i know it.

woke up pretty early, 7am. thats early for me. im just sitting here drinking jack daniels & coke. oh, how i love that it is socially acceptable to drink this early when its christmas! well, at least, at 10.30am onwards, not from 7am when i started. i got mugged of my brand new Samsung D900i last Sunday. a boy hit me and snatched it. i tried to fight him off but wasn’t strong enough. some lady in her house called the police and i was in the station until 4am in the morning making a statement. did they do anything? of course not. i need to ban the phone, by retrieving the incident crime number and ringing up 02. i don’t want that fucker to get anything out of it. its bright pink, so he will sell it or give it to his girlfriend/mum. i only had it a week, and thats £150 down the drain (my £50 memory card was in it).

my arms are dropping off, aching, dying. i went shopping on saturday for gifts and they were so heavy i pulled a muscle in my back and was just stuck on the spot and couldn’t move. in the busy shopping centre i had to buy a suitcase and put as much as i could in it, as nobody offered to help me (who does in this day in age; a couple walked past me hand in hand as i was getting mugged and done nothing, not even called cops) as i stood there unable to bend down. i had to kick all my bags along the floor into the luggage shop, which hurt bad enough. but anyway, important thing is, i got all the presents. i would write what they are now but my family will read this and then the cover will be blown. but my mum, who constantly slags me off, should feel proud of me that i had £250 that i spent all on presents when i could of gone on a crack and smack binge and got everyone a present worth £5 each. her presents come to £95 alone. hissssssssssss mum. she is being such a bitch, she is pushing me to the brink telling me i’m killing my nan, ruining their relationship. shouldn’t she know the only way i can change things is by not being here? what she want me to do, top myself?

im off to pick up my script. and get last minute presents.

im knackered. lack of sleep. sunday night i was walking home and i got mugged of my brand new samsung d900i that i purchased a few days prior. i was happily going along listening to music on it and i just felt somebody punch me. tried to hold on to it for as long as possible but i couldnt in the end, which might of had something to do with him stamping on my head? a couple just walked past me while it happened, and i tried to run after him but he was on a bike so i couldnt catch up in the end. some lady in her house called the police and i was sitting in the station until 4am. i really didn’t want to, i mean, what was the point? we all know the police aren’t going to do anything about it. but neh, how irritating. i have a clean criminal record and wouldn’t dream of stealing off someone, so i find it hard to comprehend when i hear or experience first hand stuff like this. i just hope to come across him again.

apart from that, nothing new to report i suppose. i need to go christmas shopping. i have so much to get for people. i have an appointment on thursday for a new prescription. i have actually stayed clean. can you believe that? im drug free. it doesn’t help that the phone i had stolen had all my dealers numbers in…. or does it? actually, i think it does. thats good, right? that i can’t get in touch with them. might be the case but now i’m just drinking a bottle of vodka a day and about 8 special brew. great. Helen Tilley should be giving birth soon. Sods law it will happen while I’m in Bradford over New Year.

I get paid tonight. I just have to resist the urge to go out and buy a load of heroin and crack for a massive session. I think I can do it, if I lay off the booze, because I have no self-control when I’m drunk. And I need to give a clean sample for this weeks drug test. I have to. Of course, after my appointment at 2.30pm Thursday, I’m going to go and buy the biggest amount of smack and crack you have ever seen and hit it up into my feet like there is no tomorrow… and who knows? maybe my tollerance will have dropped so much there won’t be!

well, im all happy and smug, carrying bags of christmas presents and the wrapping paper i am going to adorn them in. been trapsing all day buying presents for my family. been slugging my guts out making sure i have the right things for the right members of family.

 THEN…. I think, oh, i will pop back to my flat. I get there and WHAT DO I SEE?

 My flat has been broken into. The door lock has been replaced with a cheap wooden one; why? Because, the police have forced entry. Why? I DONT KNOW. ALL I KNOW IS THERE WAS THIS POOR PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR AN EXPLINATION ON MY FRONT DOOR WHEN I TRIED TO GO THERE TONIGHT AT 7pm. No, i haven’t committed a crime, otherwise, the council wouldn’t be telling me i could go get my new keys to the new lock. But, of course, I have to get those on Week Days, unless I want to ring the emergancy number, which is for… ummm… emergancies… am i an emergancy? i have had my lock changed, my flat broken into, i have no working keys, and i want to get into my house? is that an emergancy?  i hope so. it annoys me that the council, etc. etc. have my contact number… they have THREE DIFFERENT CONTACT NUMBERS AND BEFORE THEY BROKE DOWN MY DOOR THEY DIDNT RING ONE OF THEM! why didn’t they? if they rung my mum, she could of given them my key. if they rung my sister, she could of also. if they rung me, i would of let them in. sorry, but they are crazy! i am completely co-operational… why didnt they come to me first before breaking down my flat door? all i’m thinking is, wow, what the fuck has happened?

urgh, i hate that line in amy winehouse ft Jay-Z’s ‘REHAB’. i would hate it if someone put my dads name in a song; “i’m gonna hang myself till i’m in peace like garry-c”. ok, ok, it doesn’t quite have the same ring, does it? but i’m just trying to make a point. maybe i’m just too sensitive? anyway, yesterday was brilliant. looked after my twin nieces bissy & mimi, 5, for the whole day. they wore me out big time, so i met dylan in the pub afterwards for a much deserved beverage. had to go to the chemist, get my script, then i went back to the pub but i felt like a complete loser because i was by myself and it was Singles Night. i was afraid people were going to think i had just turned up looking for lurve all on my lonesome. i avoided eye contact by sticking my nose in a copy of the Big Issue and clutching my pint to my face. i didnt find love, thank god. i hate men. at the moment, i have really had it up to here *makes cut throat gesture* with them. apart from Dylan. ages ago we had a bet that giraffes have blue tongues. i totally DIDN’T believe this, though I really should of done, since it came from the man who GREW UP IN AFRICA, FOR GODS SAKE. anyway, deal was, if i win he gets me a tattoo of my choice, if i lose, he gets me a tattoo of his choice (either way, i win, right?) i am thinking of getting something similar to this; what do you think?

what the hell am i doing up this early? well, it is now 7.10am but i got up at 6am. i didn’t even get an especially early night… well, i got into bed at 1.30am so i suppose actually that is early for me. i was exhausted, sitting up on the computer and as much as i wanted to carry on browsing through worthless websites, i knew i needed to get into bed. was it the £60 worth of heroin and crack i consumed in hit after consecutive hit? or was it the 6 special brew, double vodka red bulls or sherry i downed far too quickly? who knows. i do not know how my nanna does it. i am staying at her house and at 6am when i went into the kitchen to sneak my special brew out of the fridge, she was in there already. i forgot she gets up at 5.30am EVERY morning, then proceeds to make a pot of tea for her and my Grandad Geoff, drinks it then cleans her already immaculate house before jumping in the shower, dressing and cooking a kick-ass breakfast. 5.30am? my nanna is 82 on 5th December (note to self: go buy her present PRONTO) and as much as i try to fool her, she cannot be fooled, especially when it comes to alcohol. i said good morning, opened the fridge and pulled out a can of coca-cola and when i thought she was busy mopping the floor, stuck the can of special brew down my pj bottoms, shut the fridge, and with my back to her, began to walk back to my bedroom. no chance; “you are not starting this early are you?” she asks, to which i take the can out from my pj bottoms and proceed to put it back, accompanied by the lamest answer “oh no, i just wanted to put it in my handbag so i dont forget it when i leave”. i knew that was shit, and so did she, since i am staying here for a while as my sister and the twins dad are going christmas shopping, so they are coming over. i saw the twins last night. bissy is very poorly so i suspect i shall catch her chest infection today if i didn’t already last night (when she was on my lap hugging and kissing me). well, it is now 7.21am. i hate getting up early as i have even more time on my hands with fuck all to do with it. i think i might try and attempt a new layout for this blog. it would be nice to actually have a neutral layout that isn’t all junkified as my life doesnt just revolve around that, does it? oh actually, yes it does. but my momma doesn’t approve of the site but hey, what momma would? anyone that strolls across this site will instantly know her daughter is a raving smackhead, the least i can do is not glorify my lifestyle with a layout containing pictures of my drug paraphenalia etc. etc.

i got up at 10am today, but to be honest, i needed the sleep. yesterday, i didn’t get to bed until 3am when the police dropped me off back home. no, i didn’t do anything wrong (ive got a clean criminal record). earlier on in the day when i met my ECHG worker danni, we rang the police and asked if i could make a statement. they said they would come see me in the afternoon. they didn’t ring me until 11pm at night and thats when they picked me up. i didn’t get back until 3am. hence why i was tired, and i had to get up at 9am. they arrested him at 4am in the morning and he didnt get released until 3pm. he would of been so ill from lack of heroin. even though i had 2 seperate letters he had sent me confessing and apologising for beating me up, my broken phone he smashed up which was still covered in my blood, and the injuries to my body- he was released without charge. i feel bad i told on him and he had to go cold turkey. i thought everyone in the street life circle would hate me and call me a grass, but everyone has said “you will be suprised how we dont mind you contacting the police when its regarding a male hitting a woman”. so i feel slightly better. i can’t walk down the street without shitting myself, ill have to see him at some point. i’m petrified. i am so frightened. i did a swab drugs test yesterday when i went for my methadone prescription. hidden in my bra was some clean piss (which i had just paid £40 for in the form of £20 heroin and £20 crack) but she did a swab from my mouth and i lied and said i was clean. riiiiiiiiiiite…. obviously its going to come up negative. bollox. i am off to meet dylan. i am so angry. pissed off. scared. i’m going to get my commupance. lack of evidence meant he is off scott free. i knew that.

I know every engineer on every train
All of their children, and all of their names
And every handout in every town
And every lock that ain’t locked
When no one’s around.

Dylan lovingly woke me up at 7am by continuously ringing my phone until I answered it. Even when I did, I was still half asleep I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Just caught something about him wanting to meet later, which might be a bit tricky as I have my appointment to get a repeat prescription at 2.30pm and after I need to see Danny about getting in touch with the police. Danny is my ECHG (English Church Housing Group) Support Worker and she is absolutely wicked. So lovely. Coincidently, she used to work with my sister when she was in a childrens home. She probably finds it no suprise that I turned out the way I did if she remembers anything of what my sister told her and how she behaved. My nanna is 82 and gets up at 5.30am in the morning, makes a cuppa tea and tidies up. I don’t know how she does it. She came in at 7.30am to see if I was up and suprisingly I was due to Dylan, but I acted as if I had arose all by myself. I didn’t hit the sack until about 3am. Managed to drift asleep at the computer and drop a can of special brew all over her wooden floor. I always do that. Did it last time I was here but at least it wasn’t all over her computer this time.

The reason I was so like that is because yesterday I was bored at mine and popped out for some cigarettes when I bumped into my mate Charlies Mum. Charlie lives near me and is also a user, alongside her Mum. Her Mum asked if I could help her score. I said yes. And decided to do so myself. I scored 2 x £20 heroin and 1 x £20 crack cocaine. I ended up doing both bags within 30 minutes of each other and straight after I had to go pick up my 60ml of methadone. THEN meet Dylan for a drink. I had a couple of vodka & red bulls to try and perk me up but I felt as if I was going to fall asleep. It was awful. I had to stand up to keep myself from dozing off. I had been using this great vein on the inside of my left wrist but on the second hit, I completely missed it all but because there was white in it I didn’t notice. What a waste. Never mind. I’m not a huge crack cocaine fiend and there is a little tiny bit left over.

I don’t know how the fuck I support my habit. My Momma says I’m one of these people that “Always falls into the shit but comes out smelling of roses” She is right. I do. I always find my feet and if I’m going cold turkey, I always come across money. I can’t figure out whether that is a good thing or not. Probably, otherwise I would have a criminal record the length of my arm by now.

My grandad is giving me a lift home in a couple of hours. I hope HE hasn’t been in my flat. I am petrified he will have stolen my TVs or even worse my sewing machine that cost a penny short of £1,000. That is my livelyhood. I hope not. I’m frightened to open the door. Or what if he is waiting with a knife to stab me? Snap out of it Naomi! If he hasn’t stolen my sewing machine I’m going to get cracking on some bags and some clothes, I need to make some extra cash for Christmas Clubbing Money. All those festive Do’s to go to… I can’t miss out.

Oh well. I’m going to carry on listening to oldies radio stations and dancing around the room trying to shed some of the many pounds I’m putting on. I dropped a lot of weight now my appetite has come back. Its probably natures way of keeping me well over the freezing cold winter period. Because as it stood a month or so ago, I was setting myself up for pneumonia said my mother, a registered nurse who is very well qualified to predict such a thing. Aparently, I was a prime candidate. I still am. Great. Just finished a pint glass of sherry and feel as if my esophogus is melting away from the excess stomach acid that is cascading up it. Know what I’m going to do? Pour another sherry? Are you crazy? I’ll have something less acidic, like a Special Brew.

My dad was a manic-depressive alcoholic self-harmer. He never hurt me or my sister but he sometimes did my Mum. I remember her being so frightened of him arriving back home at night, that she would put up a bed in my sister and I’s bedroom. I remember her reading us Bambi as he staggered through the front door and up the stairs to their room. Her voice trembled as he reached there; she wondered what he might do when he realised she wasn’t in their bed and in our room. All she ever done was try to protect us. Luckily, he just collapsed into their double bed. She continued to read us Bambi, whilst crying. I was 4, my sister 8. I fell asleep before she finished the book.

I never wanted to be like my Mum. But last night, I got beaten by my so called friend. Pushed over and through a huge glass bowl vase I have been lovingly painting. Cut my hand badly. Badly. He smashed my phone apart so I couldn’t ring for help.

He won’t go. I’ve tried to make him. Please, go, please go.

I’ve started a new script. Apart from being beaten, I haven’t given in. I haven’t used. I won’t I refuse. I won’t. I am at my Nannas now. I’m going home. Where I’m going to get a kicking. I know it.

Its my 20th birthday today. October 1st 1987. Its also my best friend Tom Bs birthday. I still say best friend even though I haven’t seen him in ages, but since secondary school, which was St Bedes, we were great friends. There were four of us; me and him, my best friend Helen who I have known since I was 7 (our mums are best friends, so are our sisters) and Joe Minervino. Our birthdays all fell within one week of each others, and in me and Toms case, on the same day- same time, same hospital, same year. We were never apart. Joe killed himself not long after his 18th birthday, which we never expected and devestated everyone that knew him. Helen… I don’t see her much anymore. She is 5 months pregnant, an alcoholic who is being given a couple of years to live. Everyone knew at school us 3 would turn out as wasters, end up dying… but not Joe. The injustice…. he is the one gone.

I have been depressed all weekend. When I woke up this morning I had nothing but one card and it served to make me feel even worse than I did. Birthdays are for celebrating the birth of someone special. All I have been doing recently is destroying my family and friends… I’ve been doing them no favours. My nanna is 81, and up until recently worked full time, was full of life, vivacious. Now, if she calls and I miss it a couple of times, the next time I answer and its her, I am greeted by hysterical crying because she has been racking her brains about the possibilities as to why I am not picking up, and she assumes the worse, that I am dead. Its horrible to see how I have, and am, ruining such a wonderful lady. She has stuck by me while I have had this ‘problem’ much more than my own Mum or anyone else. And I fear as if she will soon be gone. She has started to give up, and I know it. And I still don’t do anything about it. It’s.Not.Enough.

This morning I had 3 20bags of brown and 2 20bags of white. Now waiting for me at home (I’m at my nans with my twin nieces, who are 5, my sister, mum, nan, grandad) is 3 brown and a white. I’ve been doing far too much white recently. And I’ve just recovered from the worse abcess ever. When it burst, I cannot describe the amount of stuff that came out of it, and for 2 weeks I had 2 gaping holes in my arm, you could see right in. I have killed my veins so I can’t get anything. So I’m missing hits of light and dark (snowballs) all the time. In my experiences, misses that contain crack with brown are so much worse. I’m due about 5 in the next month I’m sure. I’d be rushing home if I could get a hit easily, but I’m losing so many I don’t need to get excited about it.

Everybody I meet is telling me I’m so thin, I’ve lost so much weight. I’m used to being curvy, 10-11stone usually. Now I am 9 stone, so even though I haven’t noticed my family have and all my friends. I’m constantly getting put down. They tell me I suite being curvy better. I used to have bad problems with overeating and purging. Now I don’t have the appetite for anything. I go days without eating. The only calories I get are from special brew. I have noticed things I took for granted; the things your body does, like heal itself are no longer present. Cuts I make in myself take ages to heal and they nearly always 99.9% of the time get infected and I need antibiotics. I am run down, big time.

There is a cake, loads of more food…. I’m expected to stand around all cheerfully with my Mum singing happy birthday at me when today I met her she sent me a text message saying “You look like an absolute tramp. You are so skinny and you look like a hobo. You don’t have that sparkle anymore. You are nothing nowadays” She has been calling me these types of things for ages. Doesn’t she realise the more she says that the more depressed I get? Not blaming her or anything, but it doesn’t help.

I will write more tomorrow hopefully. There is so much to note. Things have been nuts recently but since my family are about (even though they read this journal) I don’t want them to see. I can handle them reading it tomorrow, or the next day etc. but I just want an easy day. My 20th birthday has been horrible. I just wanted to hang myself. I really can’t stand this anymore. My habit is at least £100 a day and I can’t fund it anymore. I can’t cope with the alcohol either. I want to wake up and not be physically dependant on anything. But instead, I wake up to ice cold beers I have set my alarm at 5am to get up for, so I can place them by my bed for when I wake up at 8am. Then I inject a big fat hit of heroin and crack. Then its to finding a way to get money to get more drugs. Please. I’ve had enough.