I first tried crack and heroin at the age of 24. For the first 6 months it was very irregular. I never went out intending to do it, it was just in the same place at the same time as me, and it was offered to me.
After about 6 months I began to smoke once every two weeks, only spending £12.50 on white and B. Within a couple of months this smoke had become every Friday night and I was spending £25. Within a year and a half I had gained enough trust from the dealer to have his number myself (October 2007).
That's when the Sunday night smoke started. I was only spending £25, if I was doing coke instead I would need much more than £20 and £5 of alcohol to get as high as I did with light and dark (crack and heroin).
I wasn't addicted, I never felt bad after smoking that was for sure. After a night on cocaine and wine I would feel like hell upon awaking. The depression looming like a black cloud, I would feel surrounded with negativity. The air was infected, touching my skin and filling my lung with it's sadness. Thoughts of slitting my wrists play like a mantra in my head. Doing anything is a mission and whilst at work every second would seem like an hour. Suddenly I have caught another 'cold' and snotty tissues soon collect in my bag.
After a night smoking, I felt damn tired. But in a good mood that was for sure. I was naive to the understanding this was the after glow from using b. You felt good, not shitty, as what I usually felt, with any over drugs, I had consumed over the years.
At the time I didn't equate the withdrawals as withdrawals. I can remember being at work convinced I was coming down with a virus. Aching and shivering, as for some reason I was unusually cold. Whilst my colleague's removed jumpers and opened windows, I pulled on jumper, even my coats and shivered through put the day.
This was interrupted by the frequent hot flushes, giving me a fushia glow. I would quickly peel off my layers, already noticing damp patches under my arms.
I didn't connect the poor nights sleep when I would wake up soaked in sweat, having to change my bed shirt and move to the other side of the bed, as B withdrawal. Surely it must be the memory foam mattress making me sweat?
Last and not least, I didn't associate the depression. The depression that turns into a craving. A craving that would be fulfilled. Fulfilling would only increase my tolerance. Increase what I used. The addictive nature; ensuring physical as well as mental chains were being made, Ebenezer Scrooge style.
You see B depression is clever. It doesn't hit you the next day like all other drugs I have tried. It waits, you see. Maybe you'll have one day being happy. Maybe you'll be lucky and have two. But the glow will wear off and the depression WILL come. Just when you least expect it you'll feel down.
It's incredibly mild in comparison to cocaine come down. Just a bit depressed. Like there's a metaphorical cloud above my head. The sun streams down on everything around me, but not me. Work is a chore, where I have to will myself to complete the simplest of tasks. Rewarding myself with a quick news article from the Daily Mail once I have completed task number one.
Suddenly I think, I know, I'll have a little smoke tonight to cheer me up. Then I'll be bothered to clean the flat and iron my clothes. It's only £25.
So it went from a Friday night smoke to a Friday and Sunday night smoke. Soon that became a Wednesday, Friday and Sunday night smoke. Within two years I had a full blown addiction (April 2008). An abusive partner only increased my insatiable appetite for drugs. His irregular behaviour resulted in myself coming to the conclusion that I had to be high to deal with him.
I would make excuses to leave his flat, telling him I was smoking a fag, only to head to the car and smoke the pre-rolled B spliff and hitting another blaze on the pipe.
The Ex didn't really like me going outside and would sometimes prevent me. On these occasions I would have a bath, heavily spraying cleaning sprays on completion to hide the smell. I would chuckle to myself when he would tell me stories of so-and-so was smoking crack and he knew because of the smell. The Ex would tell me it was such a unique smell he could always recognise it. Haha! Yeah right! Just not when it was right under your nose ehhh?
I ended up loosing my job, which wasn't drug related (August 2008). But it certainly affected my drug usage. Depression became an excuse to abuse crack and heroin even more.
Even though I soon found work I carried on using nearly every day. I would take the heroin into work so I could make a spliff for my lunch break easing the mild withdrawals that had already hit.
Then, finally, the long term temp job came. A job I wanted. A job I would excel at. A job I knew I'd get. A HIGH PAID JOB at £22 per hour. Yes please! My new work place was located where my dealer shot and weekly pay meant he saw me daily.
Smoking in the evenings I would lie awake to the small hours of the morning willing myself to sleep each night. I was lucky to get 3-4 hours a night. My hair was scrapped back each morning and make up applied on my drive in.
As I sat alone in my office, struggling to keep my eyes open I would desperately search the web for solutions. There was a brand of Sudafed that pepped you up. I remember taking one before and other people said the same on the web. I bought them from the chemist along with a large bottle of caffeine laced fizzy pop.
This did little to relieve my sleep deprivation and by mid afternoon, if I didn't save any B to smoke, the withdrawals would begin to start. My eyes watering and the constant yawns. I'll just rest my head for 5 minutes I'd say to myself.
Sometimes it was hours later, when the shrill of the telephone would wake me up. Sometimes it was 6pm and the security guard who knocked.
Sometimes it would be the aches and pains; the shivering and sweats that would wake me.
It was one of those days that's influenced the next idiotic decision. I had arrived at work around 9.15am. A little late. My work load was tiny and I was a self sufficient worker, deciding my own work load and creating my own tasks, as manager of a new project. I had very small project targets to achieve and was up to date with deadlines. I managed to work until around 10.30am before I felt my eyes droop. I went to have a cigarette, hoping the bitter January air would chill me awake.
However back in the office, It wasn't long before my jumper was scrunched into a make-shift pillow upon my desk. I dozed for around an hour. The B had been good last night and I didn't save any for today. Not even a half in the ashtray. I began to ache and restlessly I changed position but nothing seemed comfortable.
Even when I did manage to get comfortable and enjoy the pleasure of a little snooze the twists in my gut would soon wake me. Hearing it groan signalled not having a lot of time to get to the toilet. I darted into the single disabled toilet, locking it and removing my trousers in less than 10 seconds. 11 seconds later I pebble dashed the disabled loo.
The snooze, wake, toilet routine continued and for a bit of variety I had also thrown up last time. The clock now read 11.45am and soon it would be acceptable to have lunch. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get a little something to smoke. Just a little. Just to get me through the day. I'll go to bed early tonight and catch up. Shall I ring him?
Thoughts ran through my head, I had to stop my sickness. I had to get some energy. I had to work!! I had never called him this early before. I didn't even know what time he switched his phone on for business.
I pushed the green button and nervously held the phone to my ear. It made no noise for a few seconds and I was convinced the 'The person you are calling is not available. Please try again later' message was on it's way.
RING RING,
My heart fluttered.
RING RING,
Was he going to answer?
RING RING,
'Hello, J****, what's up?'
By now my heart pounded as though I had taken the drug already. Within seconds we had arranged to meet in one of our regular spots. Only a mear 15 minute drive from work. I knew I needed materials to make a bong and snapped my Bic Biro in half, removing it's insides. I then pushed out the coloured stopper at the top making a straw. I placed this in my bag along with a rubber band, some blue tac and a drawing pin. I arranged to meet him immediately, stopping at the Tesco Petrol Station to withdraw £30 before purchasing a bottle of diet coke, a roll of tinfoil and a new lighter.
I parked up at the agreed meeting place and lit a cigarette inhaling deeply several times. The cigarette topped with the anxiety of waiting to score made me feel sick. Opening the window half way I took two deep breaths before admitting defeat and opening the door to throw up the mouthful of diet Coke I had consumed only 5 minutes early. I placed the cigarette in the ashtray and grabbed diet Coke. I drunk a few sips before tipping the majority over the puke. Almost instinctively I looked over my shoulder making sure I didn't have an audience and slammed my car door shut. I took the cigarette which was now smoldering and held it to the side of the bottle making a Bic Biro sized hole. The cigarette had now served it's purpose and I angryily swipped the cherry off the top, dropping it into the ashtray. Opening the tinfoil I ripped off a square and smoothed it over the top of the bottle securing it tightly with the rubber band. I carefully pearced the holes with the drawing pin in my familiar cirle pattern. Finally, the snapped Bic Biro straw was squeezed through the hole and secured with blue tac, creating an air tight seal. I inhaled the air in the bottle through the straw placing my hand over the top. It was good; it was air tight.
My dealer, we'll call him M***, wasn't one for leaving you hanging around. He knew that's how dealers got caught. Still, I had completed my time occupier and he still wasn't here. I had called him upon reaching and I was assured he was on his way. My calf muscles ached as I sat in the driver's seat. Pulling my chair back for maximum leg room, I stretched my legs, tensing my calves until they cramped. I repeated the movement every minute or so...
Nothing offered relief from the cramp like aches. I pulled down my visor inspecting my make up free face. My pupils were large, upon yawning they filled with tears and blinking only set them racing down my face. Contorting myself within my cramped little car, desperately trying to ease the ache in my back I could see it had been 8 minutes since my phone call. Two more minutes and you can call him J****. Two minutes and it's been 10, thus acceptable to call back. I began changing the radio stations sporadically in a desperate attempt to entertain myself.
By now I was constantly staring in my back mirror. 'Please, please God, please don't leave me like this. Make him hurry up, please' I willed, knowing deep down God doesn't help drug addicts score.
Finally, in what seemed like an eternity but in reality had been 10 minutes, he arrived. I jumped out of my car and raced to his. He gave me what I had been dying for. I had what I was craving, the medicine to heal my sickness. I drove a short way, making sure M*** could no longer see me and turned down another back street. I parked in the first space, awkwardly with haste. With shaking hands I teared at the blue plastic covering the white. Thankfully M*** didn't wrap them up bear tight so opening them was easy. On top of the foil I poured some ash from my ashtray and broke a fairly large lump off.
M*** did BIG draws, a good six blazes or six splifs from a 10s.
My heart was racing as I took my lighter and flicked it's pretty dancing flame above the crack. I inhaled deeply, but the blaze was large. I only just had enough breath to finish it, melting away to nothingness. The red amber, which was now in the place of what had been the crack, continued to glow and smoke until I reached for my cash card and covered it. Terminating it's defiance to rebel. I held my breath for as long as I possibly could before exhaling slowly.
Now my heart was pounding ten-fold, but I felt as if life had been restored within me. My eyes opened and my limbs no longer felt heavy. With shakey hands I proceeded to bill up a very large B spliff as quickly as possibly (Trying not to loose any! B is easy to spill!)
Finally this was accomplished and the splif was quickly placed in my mouth. I was already craving the next blaze of white, but I greedily inhaled on the B splif waiting for my agony to leave.
Within 5 minutes my eyes stopped watering and the yawns ceased. The need to stretch my calf muscles stopped which was a catalyst for the restlessness. I was now calm. Calm and ache free.
The B soothed the intense craving for more crack, taking the edge off slightly. My hands stopped shaking so feroushly and my jaw was now unclenched.
Glancing at the clock gave me a shock, 12:44pm, I had 15 minutes to get back to work. But I didn't start the car, instead I unwrapped the white again, placing a smaller peice on my blazer. It was vaporised quickly into my lungs, 12:46. Still I didn't turn on the engine, this time reaching for my Rizla and quickly peeling a sheet of paper from the cardboard packaging.
12:48pm. Splif done. The first splif was practically finished and now left at the bottom of the ashtray in favour for the new one. I drove frantically back to work. Frantic driving, frantic smoking. I wouldn't be able to park at work. The car park would be full so I headed to the first free road and luckly managed to get a spot as close to work as possible. Taking the bottle/pipe from the tray on my car door I needed one more blaze before I went to work. This time an even smaller piece was placed on the pipe and inhaled in a flash. Before exhaling I begun to get read to leave. I carefully placed my bottle/pipe into my bag and my wallet, cigarettes and mobile on top to conceal it. The wraps of drugs were now zipped in my wallet and the Rizzla in a zip compartment in my bag. Then removing the ashtray, I slid it into the bag ensuring it would not fall and spill it's contents.
I walked quickly to the main road from the quiet back street, letting the splif die as I approached the traffic jammed road. There was a bus stop directly on the corner and it was always busy. I decided not to save 10 minutes and get the bus, but instead, I continued to smoke the splif as I walked down the high street, concealing it with my hand when the occassional person waslked past me, when the police drove by and outside the shops. I finished it before I returned to work and breezed through the security gate with a glowing energy. Saying my hello's I quickly made my way to the disabled toilet in the B Block. The block where I worked happened to be the quietest part of the building and with many people not having returned to work after Xmas, it was deserted.
Soon I was in the single toilet and I locked the door. Quickly I had another blaze before doing the obilgatory flush and wash hands. Thankfully the hallway was empty as I left and I darted to my office.
I got a lot of work done that afternoon, staying until 6.30pm, when the crack ran out. So much for an early night as I headed straight to get some more.
Pretty soon, this was an everyday occurance, spending between £50-£100. Weekly pay was convenient and my bills didn't get paid. I maxed out credit cards and was almost in the gutter.
Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed reading.
J** The Junkie (reworked from Diary of a Crack Princess 2011) 
