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’

 from original blog archive may 06 before i started my methadone script, and was using around £80-£100 a day. this post speaks about when i purchased some methadone off a friend, thinking i would be able to detox on it, as it was my twin nieces birthday and i didn’t want to be using on it, or at their party which fell the day after.

I spent the only money I had yesterday on 2 bags of gear. My last 2 bags of gear, or so I told myself. The day before I caved in at 11am, after having gone just over 24 hours without a hit. I woke up at 9am and was feeling fine. Probably because I didn’t get to bed until 5am and that was because I was smoking a .5 bag, which I started at 2am but couldn’t finish too quickly as I was gouching out, totally beyond my control. I was going to save half for the morning but I thought ‘fuck it- do it all and start your cluck tomorrow’. Funny cluck, because I planned to take 30mil of methadone daily. Decided the best thing to do was wean myself off gear using methadone- though I had no money to buy anymore so I was relying on my scripted mates to donate some here and there. Hopefully. Anyway, I had been staying at my grandparents house as opposed to my own home because… well, I don’t know. I just felt happier there I guess. Today the weather was beautiful. In England, the winter is so long and drawn out. January, February, March… horrible months. Dull, cold… its as if the spring will never get here. But today, like yesterday was gorgeous. I took my methadone and I felt great. I went to meet my CPN (psychiatric nurse) in the street to pick up a letter I am to give to the welfare office to support my claims for benefits. I am still without any income… funny really, as I keep on managing to feed my heroin habit which is damn bloody expensive. I want to cry when I think how much I have spent. Anyway, he told me I looked brighter, and I bloody felt it. It was a combination of the weather (aside from PTSD, opiate dependancy and severe depression I swear I have SAD- seasonal affective disorder) and the fact I had not taken gear. Never mind the fact I had not a penny to my name to buy it so couldn’t anyway… it was still an accomplishment because I always find a way to get money. And I hadn’t. I saw my sister and my nieces (whose birthday it is well, right now actually) and I felt so happy I was bouncing about all over the place. Then I got a call from my ex-workmates asking me to go to the pub where they would buy me a drink. So I went there and that was nice. One of them asked me if I had any cash yet and I said no, so they slipped me £40. Instantly, I nearly recoilled in horror and was ready to push it back in their face but fifteen minutes before that, I kid you not, I had a call on my mobile which I didn’t pick up in time from one of my many dealers. He always calls to let you know he is in town (he drives down from the capital to sell his wares to us filthy scumbags). From the moment I took that money, I couldn’t get away from the pub quick enough.

Cut to here. I rung up, asked for 2b and stood on the corner of my old street where I grew up for 50minutes, when finally the driver comes along and I hop in his motor. Admittedly, he did give me ‘da two fattest bags ni-o-me’ but still, it didn’t compensate for me having to stand on that corner for 50 minutes. It looked like I was either a) touting for business or b) waiting for drugs. It was horrible, and I saw so many people I knew. A good few knew what I was up to which made me burn red with shame. I quickly rushed to my grandparents to down the dinner she had cooked and then pegged it to mine so I could do my gear. It is funny, I was feeling fine. Not ill at all. Well, I wasn’t physically 100% understandably, but because I felt more positive than I had done in a long while, I didn’t feel the sickness. But as soon as I got that money, kaboom, my guts started going and on came that clucking feeling. Crazy. I often wonder how much of it is psychological.

Tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow. What have I got. Lots of things. Got to think of how I can get some money, because I need more gear. I can’t be sick at my babies birthday party, can I? Thats just not on. And I must go put in my welfare claims. I can’t even do it when I’m on gear, so if I’m clucking… god forbid!

This first post is a mess. I wanted to present my life in a really wonderfully written style like bella de jour at blogspot. Then it dawned on me, you’re not a semi-high class hooker, you’re a junkie. An 18 year old junkie who is going nowhere, worryingly and particularly fast. So yes, welcome to my junkylife blog. Here, if you remember, you will be able to read about what it is like to be a teen hooked on gear. God, why would anybody want to. The worlds depressing enough. Christ, I am babbling. I know its my blog but I don’t want to put potential readers to sleep. Talking of sleep, I’m going to do a bit more gear, which means no sleep for me, just catnaps here and there. In between gouches. I hate heroin. Best piece of advice I could give to anybody: don’t touch gear. I used to sparkle. Now… now… nothing. Haha. Right, I’m actually signing off now. Finish my gear and watching a streetcar named desire. I’ve run out of smokes. Bugger.

It seems like it happened about a hundred years ago. That is how much my life has changed. But in fact, it has barely been a couple of years. I went to Laila’s house and sat on her bedroom floor- it was a small room- just enough space for a single bed and a desk at the other end by the only window. When you entered the room, you had to stand straight up against the wall to your left so the door could close. You really had to inhale if you were large or it would not be able to close- that was how small it was. Cosy, is the polite word us English would give it.

I am still sitting here trying to write the best I can for the University of Hertfordshire 3,500 word Story Competition. I have been working on this since late November and I have used up nearly a whole notebook with plans and story variations. The hardest thing I am having to deal with is the word count. Every time I get into Word I am nowhere near finished the story when it peaks about 3,000. But I am enjoying the challenge. I am used to writing novel length pieces or articles for the local press I am involved with… this is something I am having to learn to do- condense everything into 3,500 words and make it every bit as powerful as I would something that was six or seven times that. Anyway, the theme is VISION. They just gave you that to work on so its up to you what definition of Vision you choose to go with and work upon.

1st prize £1,000 2nd prize £500 3rd prize £300 4th prize £200

£1,000 £500 £300 £200 The winner will also be able to apply for the UH Writing Award three-year scholarship to the University of Hertfordshire, study commencing in 2007. You can go visit the competition page here. It is a brilliant opportunity- that being the scholarship. It would be my dream to bag that. I doubt I will but I am going to have a bloody good pop. Deadline is 15th January so I better get cracking. I’ll publish what I have wrote soon.

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.

 from a lined piece of paper i wrote on while having a drink in the park on friday. or was it thursday?Been a bit of a silly sausage. Only the other week I was sitting in a meeting with my key worker at the DDU (Drug Dependency Unit), telling him how happy I was and proud of myself for keeping off heroin for the longest possible time in my life. Which as you know, is a pitiful small amount of weeks, so embarrassing it does not even nearly reach four. Four. Four? Pathetic I know but it is the best I can do. As I left, I handed over a sample tube of my lukewarm piss and was given a firm handshake and ’Congratulations- you look so well, keep up the good work!’.

Luckily my Mum is a nurse and is therefore 100% clued-up when it comes to medical terminology. Hang on, am I that lucky? I strolled away thinking, “ECG? Maybe that is the name for a swanky new blood pressure monitor,”. Errr, no. She tells me what it is and explains they wouldn’t waste their time doing one if they were not pretty concerned. Heart problems scare me; my aunt had a heart attack at 34, her sister has angina, my Dad had heart disease, my grandad has had a triple bypass. I just know I am going to die of heart disease at an early age due to my excessive smoking and drinking. If heroin doesn’t kill me first. Or something else attributed to my disgracefully wreckless behaviour. I have been vomiting all day every day for the past four. Yesterday I had an awful attack and thought ‘I feel a bit weak’. Before I knew it I was waking up with my cheek stinging like hell with my Nan standing over me, trying to haul me up. My heart beat seamed to slow down and I had very slow, dull, painful beats in my chest, and it hurt (maybe the pain is from panic?). I suddenly felt weak and dizzy and I just fainted. Not for long- about 3 minutes? Nan heard my fat ass hit the floor from 3 rooms away. I DON’T LIKE THIS. I was up until 5.16am this morning, as my chest meant I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t. It is probably the methadone, alcohol and heroin combined that is doing me no favours. Ha- No Shit!

Last winter I was in a pub and I met him. I think it was November. No, it was November. I merely went into the pub so I could have a hit. It was not as simple as that however and I was so panicky because the bar staff stared at me as I went in. It was a Tuesday (not a very busy night at all) and I bypassed the bar and went straight to the toilets. They hate that- people that come into the bar just to use the bathrooms and not buy anything. But they will tolerate it, as long as you are quick. I knew I was not being quick. I had to take off my socks and shoes to see if I had a vein in my feet and although a couple looked prominent and inject able- there was no way they were taking anymore abuse. This took about 10 minutes at least. Then I had to take off my trousers and look for a place in my legs, which I eventually found. But not before having it nearly clot on me. I kept on trying to go in veins which I think were capillaries, so naturally the blood was flowing in so slowly it was practically non-existent and I did not want to risk a miss and a potential abscess. This was a further 15 if I am underestimating. Then, I nearly started crying as I found a vein down by the side of my calf, an inch or so under my kneecap. It hurt like hell but that is the price you have to pay. I had to sit on the toilet for another few minutes while I groaned in pain- it really stung as it flowed away once I had removed the syringe. I knew I had been far too long so I made myself get up, though I had incredible pains in my leg. As I exited the toilet, I thought it would be a good idea to put my phone to my ear and pretend I had been so long because I was having a phone conversation. Plausible since the bar had loud music on. Despite this, the bartenders were looking at me so I thought it would be a good to go up and order a drink. Double Jack Daniels and Coke.

ever since i can remember, 11th November has always been really important to me. anniversaries seldom fail to strike a chord with me- even the one of say, my fathers death. not that i do not care, just the day it happened on does not make a difference to me. but with the 11th, it is always special to me and i always mark it and go to rememberance services (and also the ones on a sunday if it falls on another day), make a donation, write to soldiers and donate supplies, literature, letters & step-up my letter writing campaign. i write poems about peace, i work with my favourite peace charities. the whole day is spent doing something, and indeed it gives me the drive to do so for further weeks. i find that amazing. no other anniversary does that. my family do not know why i hold it so close which i find strange because their (nanna, grandad, mum, cousins) siblings and parents all served in the conflicts from WWI- present day Iraq.

I don’t like to judge but I got really annoyed today when i was out with my mum picking up some fabric for my banner (patchwork quilted 10ftx10ft peace banner, baby!). Everybody paused for the 2 minutes silence and it was very obvious… posters all around and announcements over the tannoy every 15 minutes from 9am informing everyone. Yet come the 2 minutes silence, there were quite a few people walking about and talking quite audibly. Naturally, I couldn’t help but look at this one lady, aged about 50, very well-to-do looking who was talking on her mobile while her heels banged loudly on the laminate floor. I looked up while I was standing still and she turned her phone away from her mouth and said “Yes? What are you looking at? If I do not choose to stop for the 2 minutes silence that is my business, certainly none of yours!” afterwards, returning to her call. Obviously, I didn’t reply as it was only about a minute past the 2. After that I just tried to concentrate and think about all the people who have died and their families, but it was kind of difficuilt when so many people were talking, on phones, carrying on browsing loudly.

Sorry but if somebody does not want to remember the fallen people, just out of respect for the people that do i think they should remain silent and still. Maybe use the time to think about ways to make themselves more peaceful and kind and good to others so in turn they can make the world a much better place.

 Am I too over-sensitive?

I abandoned this blog for a while because I got sick and tired of all the responses I was recieving. I know that if you record your life and publish it for the whole world to see, you should expect to recieve replies, otherwise, why would you do it? I am by far too sensitive and as pathetic as it may sound, the amount of venom written about me by people living thousands of miles away who I will never ever meet or never ever know, actually really hurt. Nobody at 18 should be a heroin addict whose veins collapsed years ago, resulting in them having nowhere else to inject but in their groin or neck. Thats why I started this junkylife.com diary… I wanted to share what it was like to be a heroin addict. You see them portrayed in the media, and often not as true-to-form either. When I began heroin at 13, I never thought for a minute that I might have to inject in my groin resulting in Deep Vein Thrombosis or absesses and ulcers which could quite easily result in gangrene and the eventual amputation of my legs. Where was that in Trainspotting or Sid & Nancy, eh?