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.

What was all that rubbish about life being good?

i don’t have time to write about whats been going on but i can assure you i have been doing myself no favours. got myself a taste for crack, snowballs to be precise. i am puking up blood and have been for the past few days. ive lost too much weight. my body is in such a mess, it is just so disgusting.

i will write something with some substance, soon. i promise. at the moment i have to go drink.

i am at my nannas house and i suddenly started to cry as my mum, sister and my twin nieces left. for days already i have been walking around in a daze. i just cannot shake off the feeling that i really want to just die. please give me an answer god, what should i do? will things get better? shall i hold out?

i had to laugh as i walked into the conservatory to have a ciggarette… there against the wall between my grandads bookshelf and his bureau was his shotgun. a coincidence? i doubt it.

yes, life is good.

i went through an awful time a few weeks back. i was a witness in court alongside my momma and sis and a few others and it really took it out of me, physically and mentally. it was horrible. i dont know why i bothered. they got off anyway. i say i will never do it again but i couldnt just sit back and let them get away with it, even though they did in the end.

my arm. i have an awful infection from 3 weeks ago. the gear was awfully filthy with terrible black bits in it, and i actually skin popped as opposed to mainline so there was no blood in it. 7 days ago it started to swell, get sore, go boiling hot. my mum being a nurse checked it a few days ago and was so stunned. i went to the doctors and now im on 2 flucloxacillin + 4 penicillin 4 times a day. mum said i hope this teaches you a lesson. does it? yes, for once. i got cut off my methadone ages ago so i have to use, but im down to less than a ten bag a day. i use only when i get ill. for once, i am feeling good. happy even. i desperately want to get onto subutex as methadone still made me feel as if i was on gear… no motivation, lethargic. and i cant go through with cold turkey. i tried last week but lasted 2 days. i just cant do that without detox + rehab, not yet.

good news? I HAVE A FLAT! my own, again. but this time, im not going to fill it with waifs & strays and junkies and drug dealers. ive not told anyone. ive had a couple staying with me for 4 months, who have never paid me a penny in rent… and they are just expecting they are coming with me. are they? NO WAY. i think they know it. but i have done so much for them and i cant do it anymore.

anyway, this place is beautiful. its absolutely massive. huge bedroom, huge living room, huge kitchen, beautiful new bathroom, balcony. ive started to paint the ceilings white. i am having seychelle blue for the front room and lemon fizz for the bedroom. i have no money to get anything else so my worker has helped me apply for a community care grant so i can get a cooker, fridge, bed, sofa, carpets. i feel so positively happy i really do. this is make or break for me. my own little home. and it has the cutest little name too does my street.

im going to start writing again regularly. well, im off to buy more decorating supplies. im doing up most of the interior myself. ill show you pics later.

i managed to use the vein on the back of my arm. for the past few weeks constantly. i thought my god! for once my body is not letting me down, but after the first week it clearly let me know it had. my whole right arm from mid-forearm to shoulder is numb. its terrble, i have been poking it with pins, as in syringes, right in as far as they will go, no feeling. i try to pick up things but i cannot do it. there is literally no feeling there. i can still get the vein, just. i cannot feel as the pin goes in, and it takes a while to find a vein. but after every one, nearly after everyone, i get the most dreadful pins and needle all throughout my hand upwards. i cannot do anything with it. luckily, i have had somebody with me to get my hits because my right arm spasms so much and i need them to hold it still so i can get the hit using my left.

i think something is up with my vein. i did a hit today and didn’t feel it for about 3 minutes, then suddenly it hit. when i put it all in, the pain in my right forearm was so unbelievable, like something was building up in the vein. i think my hit was stuck there (i left the torniquet tight on as i lept up because of the pain and didn’t even think about removing it)  and it finally got into the stream.

im in debt, ive lost even more. my body cannot cope with this.

i went to the a&e and my nose is broken. it hurts so much. i was at the doctors today, for another reason, and everybody was giving me so much shit because i have a big bruise on my chin, a split lip and a busted nose… nobody would believe the truth, they are convinced i have a boyfriend that is giving me a kicking. people giving you shit in the doctors surgery? well this just isnt any doctors surgery its the access surgery. appointments between 9am-2pm and 2pm-5pm you just drop in and wait to see a doctor and nurse. since none of us junkies and alcoholics can keep appointments, this surgery is exclusive to us, so we turn up when we want as opposed to making appointments we will never keep. its hellish. from 2pm i was waiting, until 4.06pm and everybody was drunk and fighting in the waiting room, and dealing drugs.

imagine my happiness when i looked in my pocket, found my cashcard, went to the ATM and found I had £100 in there. oh yes, the first i did was go to the dealers and get 3 Brown. it was crap, really crap, i did it all from 8.30pm by 5am in the morning. what a waste. anything to help me nose though. it hurts so bad.

i must go to the hospital. my best friend helen, 2 days younger than I, is in there. she is heavily jaundiced. consultant says she has 3 years maximum if she carries on drinking like this- which i am sure, she will despite the fact she is supposed to be going to rehab on the 31st. i cross my fingers though.

i am trying to give up drinking. only had a couple of special brew today which is good. only 9 units. ive decided i should go back on heroin. at least on heroin, im placid. whenever i drink, which is always, i feel like my Dad and as much as I love[d] him, i can’t put my twin nieces through what he put me and my sister through.

i sat with the doctor and a student nurse, which always embarrasses me. i just must seem like a textbook case of a nutter. i wasnt really using, not like i did when i didnt have a methadone script, and i told him this. he was very pleased and smiled. drinking? he smiled, seemed pleased. obviously, if you read the below post you will realise i lied and wangled my way through it.

i hadnt seen any of the old group so when i came out the first thing i done was go over and speak to them. i had a lot of money on me so i done 3 beer runs, which ended up costing me altogether £36.11. when id run out of money, nobody got me one back! how about that! i should of remembered all i was to these people was a meal ticket. while we were standing chatting under the bus stop (how hip and cool!) this little short black fellar comes over or rather, swaggers over with little bits of paper in his hand. “Here we are everybody, Dean is back in town man. Dean is back in town. Ya’ll take the number, call us and we will hook ya up, aiiiiight?” I had to laugh. It was if somebody came over leafleting for a concert or band. Oh well, they are leafleting for our best interest in life, I suppose. Still… I nearly pissed myself laughing.

Everybody said how well I looked, and I think I did. Owed to the shit load of slap and the tight figure hugging outfit I’m sure. As soon as I was back standing with everybody, the people I had been ignoring for so long, I actually missed them. Or rather the lifestyle. Not of them, the lifestyle that meant I got to hang around with them. The lifestyle that is heroin. I miss not giving a damn. I miss not giving a damn at all. I miss how good it makes me feel.

Well, I don’t have to miss it for that long. And I ain’t, I’m grabbing my coat and I’m going out trudging for some gear. I’ll never stop this, will I?

I have to see the doctor tomorrow at the Drug & Alcohol Dependency Unit. I haven’t seen him ever since I actually started a methadone script, so all he has got to go on is what I have told my keyworker whom since I now have a community script (I pick up from a pharmacy), I haven’t seen in bloody ages. And when I do see him he scribbles down a few notes- that are so unimportant. I know they are unimportant because while I do not lie to him, I do not tell him about certain things. Like when he asks about my heroin use i say “oh its fine, loads better. im not using as much” which is technically true, if you compare it to me old £80-120 a day habit. Now I’m only using £40. And when he asks about my drinking “still have a drink when you get up?” “oh no, i just drink normally now,” I reply. Which again, is technically true. I don’t drink when I get up, I drink when I wake up… I put my cans of Special Brew and my Vodka bottle and Grapefruit juice carton beside my bed before I sleep ready for when I wake up. Drink when I get up? Pfffft… I wish. I need 2 cans of brew and 2 triple vodkas before I can even muster half the strength it requires to get up and evade the inevitable vomitting fits for a little while longer. Then, by the time I’ve got up, its about 4.30pm and I go to the chemist then the pub for 5, which is where I drink socially with everyone else who comes in for a pint after work until about 9pm. Hahaha. It makes me giggle how us addicts can justify our habits. Ooooh, did that rhyme? But nah, this is the REAL big doctor. He should be just as easy to convince as his time is precious and he will wave me in and out and not care whether I’m telling the truth, or be able to tell if I am either. Not much I want… a reduction in my methadone- I’m on so much it’s making me go over (overdose) everytime I have a hit of smack that is about £15 worth and mixing with the alcohol, its making me constantly tired. AND I WANT SUGAR FREE METHADONE! I have no fillings and perfect teeth and I want them to stay that way. I was checking out a measure I use for my methadone and I noticed that since I forgot to wash it out, the little bit of methadone left in the bottom of the cup had crystallised into sugar and rock hard. Yum… no wonder so many junkies on methadone have rotten and/or missing teeth. If they don’t give it to me, I’m giving up methadone and going back on heroin full time. If my lifes going to suck, I don’t want to look like pure shit on top of it and have bad tooth pains. I don’t worry about sounding shallow, because I probably lead one of the most shallowest lives around. All I care about is getting money to get dope to please myself so I feel OK. Well, thats not strictly true but I can see how others might think that.

New Years Eve was as predictable as it always is. It started out in The White Swan, with my sister, Momma, her partner and her mate Jackie. I couldn’t actually bear how boring it was, so at about 10pm I split for a little walk down Mill Road. I went to the store to get some cigarettes and who should pass me but Kearen & one of his mates, spending New Years Eve like any other self-respecting junkie, wandering the streets with a can of Tenants Larger in their hand. I stopped and had a bit of a chat with them. His mate was from Preston, where they both grew up on the same estate and began taking heroin when they were 12. Get to know them, and you will realise they never had a chance. Kearen bless him took my number as he insisted he wanted to take me out. “Umm…. would you like to go to the pictures with me sometime. And for something to eat afterwards?” so I simply replied “are you asking me out on a date?” in quite a sarcastic voice, as I found it quite amusing. I gave him the number, as I know he probably would never ring anyway. No offense, but why would I want to team up with somebody else who has problems just as big as my own? Before I departed, his mate cadjed a £5 off me which I didn’t mind as I had £100 in my pocket anyway.I went back to the pub, realising I had been gone for over an hour, and started sinking Tequila shots. I was having quite a laugh after a while, most at the expense of my sister who was so trollied she began speaking or should I say singing every sentence Soul-Like in a and I quote “in a tribute to James Brown”. Odd. Not odd, must of been all the booze, ya think? Anyway, we went over the road to another Pub, this one that plays Jamaican music. I hate this place. I won’t explain now but we have to go to Court in March because of an ‘incident’ that happened at the White Swan in the summer. Basically, I’m a witness to a good kicking as are my Mum and sister. The people that done it are nasty bits of work, completely vile and unethical. They go to this pub a lot and so do their friends. I KNEW THERE WOULD BE TROUBLE so I told my family not to go. Lo and behold, there was trouble. Actually, we managed to keep the situation quite down. But as the count downs went 5,4,3,2,1 no hugs, joyous shouting… just MY FAMILY fighting. Yes at midnight we had the biggest fight. After a while, I suggested we leave because it was just getting silly. We weren’t having a good time because it had been spoiled by these completely disgusting people.

 Taken from the blog archives. This was from June 2006. Hopefully, this isn’t going to be the norm for 2007.

when i went to robbies house, chris was sitting there. everytime i walk in and he is there i hear this western stand-off music playing in my head. i really cannot stand chris. he is about 30 and has been in prison for most of his adult life. as much as i hate him, his sentance was really unjust. anyway, chris is so so up himself. he isn’t that intelligent at all so he really shouldnt be. he has his own computer company that he claims is turning over hundreds of thousands yet he lives in a grotty council house and rides a 250cc moped thats from the late 80s… he talks down to everybody and thinks he is the bees knees. he used to really fancy me and we went out on a date. i wasn’t interested, i really wasn’t. especially when (he lived about 2 minutes away from me at the time) one lunchtime i popped in to say hello and he took off his shirt and asked me to pick his spot that was really annoying him. “eeeeeeeeew no way!” i squeal and he continues to reach around his back and crane his neck to see if he can pot it “oh please, its really getting to me. ive been trying to pick it for ages” RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT. goodbye. so yeah, basically, he hates my guts because i turned him down. he really does. he tries to belittle me at every opportunity and because i studied computer programming we have COMPUTER WARS where we try to outwit one another on the topic. he hates it because although he gave robs a computer, he always asks me for help even though chris lives seconds away and me half an hours walk. chris talks down to you as if you were thick as shit, quite simply.

Anyway, bex kept on whispering she wanted to score. i said i would do it for her but i would have to do a 2 hour walk, so 4 hours in total, to get it. we all went out with the dogs to the park and i watched chris and rob as they challenged these 3 little 12 year olds to a football match, and lost miserably. we went back to robs where we sat all night. they were just rolling one joint after the other and chris was deliberately missing me out, as he always does. it didn’t bother me too much as i dont really smoke green. he got a big mirror off the wall and started to make 3 lines of cocaine. when i say lines i mean big thick fuckers like you would never believe. i used to do cocaine all the time when i was 14, 15. i first tried it when i was 12, curtosy of my sister. then i started buying it in big fuck off quantities when i hit 14. now, i hate it. i hate uppers. lines were so big nobody could get theres up in one. becky was the last to do hers and she said “chris, can i split mine with naomi?” he scoffed “you do what you want with it. but if you dont want it, ill have it”  i didn’t actually want any. i hate it nowadays. she split it in two and it was far too big so i made her cut it again. then i did it, but only to fuck him off. ha. after that round, they did more and more, but i never asked for it again.

uppers sucka. rob is a puff seller and they had just got a nine bar, so were pretty broke. bex really wanted gear but robbie didn’t. well, he has been on it for 25 years. he wanted it, but was staying away from it. they couldnt afford it so they struck a deal with Nick, my ex-mate who lives next to my Mum. he is putting up some drug dealer in exchange for gear. cunt. the bastard owes me a tenner. i have a bunch of his stuff and he aint fucking getting it until i get that tenner. anyway, they gave nick a tenner and an eigth of puff for a twenty bag. we had to go 4 ways on the gear, we saved some for rachael, so it was pointless. i didnt even feel it. i stayed over that night, as did chris. i dont know why… he lives seconds away. but he hates me being there, he really does. he just likes to see me go before he does. we all slept in the same room, me and chris in chairs.

i had no money so when i woke up the next day, i was clucking. rob n bex were ok as they have their methadone. i was ill as fuck i can tell you. we watched the footie and i was just squirming in my seat. i offered to walk to the supermarket to do their shopping, thats how much i couldnt bare being sat in their house. i couldn’t go back to my flat, as my landlord found pins and wanted to talk and i couldn’t go to my families. so it was rob and bex. at the supermarket, i rang john, this dealer from london who was down for the day. i pleaded with him to tick me a bag of gear. my money run out and he didnt phone back. so back at robs, i rang them and offered to give them my very sexy phone in return for 3 20bags. they said yes. i was so ill by this point i was rejoicing. when i got there, and got picked up by this hunky white driver, turns out they were only giving me 2. deal was i had to pay them back thirty-five quid. no problem, as i was going to work the next day. i got back to robs and of course, i had to split the bag 3 ways. i kept quiet about the second bag but staying again that night, the next day i felt guilty as hell, though i dont know why as they were on 60ml meth each and 4 valium and 3 codeines. we walked into town, and pass my flat so i said i had some gear in there. so i had to split my twenty bag again. i dont even remember having my hit. we had it at 12pm and we woke up at 3pm. crazy! i get pissed off with them because they have tons of money and always take gear off me. that day i had fifty quid and spent it all on gear. i shared it all, minus 3pounds worth of heroin that i needed for the morning to get me through work. that morning, the landlord came round and the two dogs were barking like crazy. i looked like shit and didnt want to answer but he made me open the door and he went nuts because they were there. later on at work i had a go at him because he interferes so much, so much. ill write about him sometime. anyway, that morning, becky tried to get me to give her my gear, even though i had bought them all that the day before. plus they were hungry at 1am so i bought them both a takeaway which cost me twenty-two quid. anyway, i get pissed off because they are on combined five hundred quid a month plus all their drug dealing money,…. and they have never once given me a tiny bit of gear. i bought an eigth of gear once and we had it in a day and a half. they never give me fuck all yet take, take take off me. its annoying.

i had a dirty hit the other day. i was waiting for my dealer to come over and was so desperate i cooked up loads of old hits. you know, ones i had lost. so basically, congealed bloody hits. i do at least ten pound hits at a time as my tolerance is so high, and those hits barely do anything, i need a 20bag hit to get a gouch. anyway, i cooked them up and fuck, i nearly passed out there was so much. but almost instantly, i knew i shouldn’t of done it. a dirty hit was inevitable. it came on about 20mins afterwards and was so fucking awful. the pounding headache, sickness, shakeyness. not nice.

yesterday i was so desperate for gear i rang D and offered to swap my beautiful THREE HUNDRED pound tv with built in dvd and video. he gave me a twenty pound bag for fuck sake. i had to go meet him, he usually comes to the house, and we arranged for him to get the tv later, which he was going to give to his sis. i had to go in the pub where i used to work to do my gear. they had these new motion sensitive lights in the ladies so while i was cooking up, the lights kept going off and i was left in pitch blackness as there are no windows in there. i had to keep going out the cubicle. i was really brazen, going to the sink to get water with my syringe out in full view. i must of been in there for an hour. i did the whole bag in one, and then the wash. there was a massive wash obviously. i then went out and spoke to the landlord about working there part time. he was chatting to me about a huge property he owns. he wants me to take it on, live in it and rent it out to escorts. i used to have my own escort agency with a man who ran a pub. it was great, i manned the phones and looked after the girls. the money man…. it fed my heroin habit nicely, but it fucked me up in the head. i didnt like making money off the girls, so i packed it in. now he is running a brothel above his pub and making a mint. oh well, never mind. i’d rather not be a part of it. i would take that property on but i want to move to bradford asap to get away from it all. i got a call this morning from a bloke wanting to rent his apartment. 250 a month… wicked! im going to do it…  i hope. i got a call from my dealer wanting to pick up the tv. he was outside my house so i had to go home asap. it broke my heart watching him put it in a black bag with his mate. they spoke to me and couldnt believe how old i was. his sister is 16, she will of had that tv installed last night and be made up. oh well… i never watched much tv anyway so never mind.

im at my sisters. i did the last of my gear this morning. my track marks are hilarious. they are so friggin obvious. the veins on my hands, you can see them so well because they arent covered in individual punctures…. just long red scar tissue marks. they are like long cut scars. i cant stand cold-turkey. it drives me to the point i nearly kill myself. really, it does.

i love staying with my nieces. they are so beautiful. it breaks me heart to know they are so innocent and oblivious to it all. i just hope they never ever do something like this.

im going to pick up my baby sewing machine from mums so i can get working on clothes. how i think i can work while clucking i dont know! i got told that sammy r is planning to rob me of my laptop, stereo etc. etc. he is such a nasty bastard and i was made aware by a close friend of his that is an absolute fucking nutcase. stood at the old bailey for football hooliganism. i wish i had never met those people. they are the kind of people that upon finding no laptop at my flat, would torture me and make me go pick it up from my mums. i want to leave my flat…. im under a contract so how can i do that? i dont know.

i know im going to go and get more gear, and not just stop now. i actually need to be handcuffed and not allowed to leave. i need something to knock me out…….. completely. oh god its monday. great.

I didn’t turn on the news today or anything, infact, I stayed swiftly away. But 3 of my friends called to tell me that S. Hussein had been executed. It is still the holidays, I barely have anything to do apart from catch up on my clothing orders, so I have been browsing my favourite blogs, checking them out and seeing how things are treating people. Unsuprisingly, the former Iraqi Dictators execution seems to be the topic on the majorities list. My Momma rang me this morning and told me what she had seen on the news; him being led to the gallows by men in balaclavas. Me and my Mum seldom agree on anything; but today was different. She begun to tell me how she couldn’t bear, despite what he had done, to see a life being snuffed out on order. And you know what- me neither.The crimes he committed along with the other people in power were absolutely attrocious. I simply cannot comprehend how somebody obviously intelligent can have such a warped mind and believe that he (especially being religious and thus believing in the sanctity of life) has the power to choose who lives and who dies. And we will never find out. I have read reports by journalists, protesting against people who say the death penalty is barbaric- one of the report titles in the Daily Mail English Newspaper said ‘Killing Masses of People Is OK, Hanging A Tyrant Is Not’

Dylan was the only one to get me a present I didn’t know about, and he got me more than anyone put together. Not that I mind, Christmas for me now is about my 4 year old twin nieces. Getting gifts doesn’t excite me anymore, nor does Christmas dinner, the amount of booze my Nan buys and the amount you are allowed to drink, the parties… the only thing I get excited about is my babies, Bissy & Mimi. Just seeing them with all their gifts is what makes me happy. I saw them on Christmas Eve and bless them, they pointed to under the tree and said “Naomi, there are too much presents here. Far too much. No space, no way. We have no more space Santa can take some back, yeah?” Though, I’m sure they weren’t thinking that once they opened everything.

Anyway, Dylan got me LOST DVD BOX SET SERIES 1 & 2!!!!! Not just Series 1, or Series 2, BOTH SERIES 1 & 2!!! That alone would of cost him a fortune. I looked at them in the shop and I didn’t even think about asking anybody for them considering they were £39.99 each. Too out of my league. Anyway, I opened that last and I didn’t know I was getting that. It was a small heavy box and I thought it was going to be a box of sweets or something! When I pulled off the wrapping I screamed. Screamed so loud the kids got really scared and Mimi started crying because it frightened her. God I felt awful! Nothing a cuddle couldn’t cure though. Anyway, he told me about “TO THE LIGHTHOUSE” and told me I had to read it. Not for the story, but for the beauty of the writing and the beauty of the words. Whatever that means. I am going to start reading it but at the moment all I can do is sit glued to LOST. I have watched 24 hours worth already. Wow, what a waste of time. Oh well, its the only show I love. Don’t bother with TV otherwise. Only use it as background noise. Makes a room seem less lonely if that makes any sense!

I felt that it was a book, I knew what it would be. At least I thought I did.

And I felt the other gift which I could tell were two CDs wrapped in one bit of paper. When I opened this again, I went nuts. It was “ANOTHER SIDE TO BOB DYLAN”  and The Pogues “RUM, SODOMY & THE LASH“   I cannot stop listening to them. This year I actually loved the presents I got. Loved them. Weren’t much but Dylans meant everything to me. I ordered him this t-shirt and when it arrived I tried it on and it wouldn’t even go on my head. My Momma let me order it on her card when I gave her the money and she complained like fuck when I had to return it and wanted to get another one before I got the refund. Wasn’t allowed, so I’m waiting for the shirt to arrive. He probably thinks I am just lying and haven’t got him anything. Xmas eve was a disaster, the night before my sister washed the bags I made for his daughters in her machine, washed for a 4th time because the fur was long pile and it was malting big time. When I got around in the morning the lining which was a light pink was dyed bright purples around the hem! I couldn’t believe it. I know she didn’t put them on the low wash like I asked. So I had to go work extra fast sewing a bit of ribbon around the hems to make sure it wasn’t visable. Needless to say, Dylan didn’t have time to get them later so was very pissed off, and for obvious reasons I can’t swan around his wifes house and give him them. Things are complicated with him. I feel awful. I feel like hanging myself for what I have done.

 Today I have had to endure being pushed, shoved, knocked into things, tutted at, sworn at… which can only signify one thing- its the run up to Christmas and I went to the mall to buy presents! Big mistake leaving it all so late. It was pure hell. I lost count of the amount of times I said ‘Sorry’ for accidently stepping in somebodies way and have them tut and comment on my lack of spacial awareness. Don’t you just hate the Christmas Vultures. Yes you know who you are; you ruthlessly dash about knocking down anything and anyone in your way, you won’t even think twice about snatching a toy from the hands of a child who has just picked it, the last one, off the shelf and you tut tut tut at everyone and make Christmas Shopping a truly horrible experience for everyone who DARES to cross your path. Anyway, I actually managed to get some things. JUST. Vintage Pink Kitchen Pots for Caroline my sister, plus a beautiful double bed size Pink Fur Throw. My twin nieces, Barbie Walkie Talkies and a kids electric guitar each (its this totally wicked guitar with tons of Aerosmith stylee noises- since they are 4 i opted for a pretend one). Nanna, loads of special brew and figgy puddings and Palmers Cocoa Butter. Going to get her a wok though. Couldn’t resist treating myself to 2 beautiful corsets from Warehouse SPOTLIGHT @ Debenhams. My mum convinced me to try on a red one (very 50s looking, which I ultimately purchased, its under the cut) and I never thought red and red hair would go together, but alas, according to her and the shop assistant it did, so I got it. And I also got a beautiful beaded one. Still have loads more to buy for however. Which is proving tricky considering Read the rest of this entry »

I was just reading an article about the 5 young women, who all worked in the Red Light District Of Ipswich, who have in the past few weeks been found murdered- 19-year-old Tania Nicol was found on 8 December, after she disappeared on 30 October. Her body was later discovered in a pond at Copdock. Gemma Adams’ body was found on 2 December, in a stream at Hintlesham . She was 25, her partner reported her missing on 15 November. Anneli Alderton was found dead on 10 December of asphyxiation, she happened to be three months pregnant. It was not sure when she disappeared, but before her body was reported to police, some days before a driver had noticed it but instantly thought it was a mannequin, and thought nothing more of it. She was not reported missing. Paula Clennell’s body was discovered on 12 December in woodland near Ipswich, she had not been seen since the morning of the 10th. Nearby her body,  Annette Nicholls who was 29 was also found on the 12th in Levington after being missing since the 4th. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6171469.stm

The only predictable thing in my life is that I have bought the same two newspapers everyday for the past 5 years, without fail. And when I have the luxury of cable TV, when I am not watching Lost or something Lost related the only channel I watch is Sky News or BBC News. I get that from both my grandad and Dad, we all are, and were addicted to the news, for some reason. Of course, whenever I hear of something tragic that has occured, and lets face it, thats all the news seems to comprise of, I feel deeply for the people that are involved. But most of it is ’so far away from home’ both geographically and literally. The last thing that truely struck a chord was when Sally Geeson was abducted from Cambridge in the early hours of New Years Day this year, and was found dead a few days after. This was because she lived 4 doors away from me, and because I was at the same place she was celebrating, and walked home as she did on the road where she was abducted.

I don’t think anything has affected me since. Until Now. The above quote comes from a page entitled “Deadly Dilemma On The Streets Of Ipswich“ 5 Young women murdered in such a short space of time, most likely by the same person or persons. Nothing has hit home harder than this. And why? Because they were all users of drugs. And reading the testimonies (most ironically, one of the girls who was the last to be murdered was interviewed as she continued to work the streets of Ipswich, even after learning of the other prostitutes targetted… she was that desperate but pledged she would be more wary) of working girls still out on the patch the other girls worked, which media companies are clambering to get interviews off, just is to close to home to ignore. I can identify with every word they say… the desperate state drugs get you into. You would once be adament that you will never get into that kind of situation, and you feel sick at the thought of it. Then Heroin or Crack comes along. And you still vow you won’t get that bad. But then, before you know it, its got you. And you just can’t quit it. And there are only so many ways to make money. You don’t want to take up something too risky, like shoplifting or dealing, because this could potentially seperate you from your reason for living… and if you are a girl, who is still good looking, or even not, you know that there are many guys out there willing to pay to sleep with you. Easy money, right? Or not in this case.

I think something must be wrong with me, because I am thinking about this all day long. I can’t even tally up the amount of times I have sobbed when I have read about the girls and their families, seen something on the news about it. I cannot even begin to describe how I might imagine their loved ones are going through.

This really hits home because that could of been me, or my sister, or my friends. I am hoping this might make everyone have a think about what exists in the underbelly of not just the big cities, but the little places around the country. It exists everywhere. I never dreamed for a minute that Cambridge had a squalid drugs and sex underworld. But my god, how have I learnt the hard way. I just hope those girls are now at peace, but I know their families and loved ones, even if their killer gets caught, never will be. I cannot begin to think of what they must of gone through. And I don’t want to.

Yesterday was my Nannas birthday. It was lovely, really. She was 81 and all throughout the day, members of the family came trickling through the house with gifts. It felt strange in a way. Probably because this is the first ‘family thing’ that I have been involved in for a long time, after all, I was cast out due to my habit. But the day was a bit of a ‘welcome back to the family…. for now’. Many comments were made to me about “Isn’t it nice to be back. Carry on doing well and you will never ever be treated like you were again,” So not said without exercising some caution, and quite rightly so. I obviously never told them that actually, I have slipped up awfully and have spent over £420 on heroin this past 2 weeks. I know this exact figure because I checked it on my bank statements online, just now. Awful. Anyway, I stumbled out of bed yesterday and greeted my Nanna in the kitchen with some beautiful Fair Trade Pink Pastel Roses and a bottle of Cherry Brandy. My Nanna loves a tipple, or two, or ten.

Later on that day, I had to go out and meet Dylan which upset me a bit because just as I left my Nannas my twin nieces came over. I wanted to see them for a lot longer but I only had enough time to have a quick chat, a kiss & a cuddle. Anyway, I went to see him. I felt he was being really odd with me, and I do not blame him. At 10:22pm Monday he sent me this text; “Ok its official. I didn’t want it 2 happen but it has & i dont know what 2 do  i just love you, u mad crazy girl. u drive me mad, i cant stop thinking about u, fuck & bollox, what r we going 2 do x” So, since I did not reply, he obviously did not know how I would take it, so was a bit unsure. Even I don’t know how to take it, yet. We sat in the pub for a while, but as it was my Nannas birthday I wanted to get home and see her again, so he left early. Before I was about to leave my sister rang and asked where I was. When I said pub she immediately said she wanted to come out and I suggested we go see London To Brighton. So 20 minutes later she was sitting in the pub with me at 6.30pm and we were downing vodka & oranges which was very bad for me as I hadn’t had one thing to eat and had been drinking since 3ish. The cinema we saw the movie is actually above a pub, a really cheap Wetherspoons. We had a rediculous amount of booze that by the time it came to the movie, we were so messed. We ended up getting popcorn and fanta and 6 beers, which we happily devoured. My sister insisted on going to the toilet halfway through and I realised she was gone a real long time. When I exited to go find her, I found her behind the popcorn counter taking some beers out the fridges as the stand was unattended. She did this purely because she was drunk, god knows why of course. I quickly ushered her back. It was a wicked film. I agree when they say its the best in a long time. The end kind of disappointed me, if you see it you will understand what I mean.

I did a stupid thing on the way back. I got a call from the boys from London, to say they were in town. They said they would meet me on the way back from the movie so I got out £79 and got 4 bags. I did this because I was drunk. Today, I realised I didn’t even need them. I had a tiny hit this morning but it was horrible. I passed out in the bathroom and woke up about 40 minutes later… too stong for me. Their gear changes all the time and its impossible to estimate the strength, and when your veins are tough  like mine to get, you dont have the choice to “do a bit, if it isnt good enough do another bit”. The stupid thing wasn’t buying it, moreso buying it infront of my sister. I told her that it was for Laila and she hardly believed me. Luckily, she has not told my family yet. If she does, I am up shit creek.