❤️ 09th April 2015 - Journal

Well yet again I neglected to sleep. It's preferable over sleeping, mainly due to the fact my speed gets stolen or my pins suddenly appear to have holes in them. This prevents me from being able to flag my shots. Flagging is when you pull the plunger back upon piercing the skin and when you enter a vein, deep red blood, erupts into the syringe, signalling that it's ok to push the plunger down. 

 

When they have been damaged, as they are not air tight, you cannot flag properly. Therefore you are liable to miss your shots. 

 

Hence the explanation for the two deep wounds on my legs.  

 

However the huge patches of rotting flesh are not just the result of a missed shot. I've missed loads of shots before. The rotting flesh was due to my speed being contaminated with only God knows what. 

 

Clearly they did no research into what they decided to cut my gear with. It rotted my flesh, causing deep holes, black and vile smelling. I've named the scars Mum and Dad. My hatred for them will last as long as these two scars deface my skin. That's forever by the way. The following day after sleeping, the concoction of speed I had in my possession has changed again and no longer had this horrible substance mixed with it. 

 

So another restless night of torment and torture. So I took as much pleasure I could in ensuring they had no sleep before one of them went to work, whilst whoever  was on psychosis by mum and dad duty was next door in the bedroom adjacent to mine. 

 

Although I was using my anxiety began to increase as 3pm approached. I decided to leave around midday, as psychosis by mum and dad was certainly less severe when I was outside. 

 

The level of torture and the frequency of torment declined either outside of their or my house.

❤️ 10th April 2015 - 17th April 2015 - MEET THE JUNKETTES!!!! Part 3

Finally! The last instalment of the Junkettes, AKA the people who happily decided to mass stalk me. They made me incredibly mentally ill. I will have this paranoia for life. 

I have never heard of anyone doing this to a drug addict before.

I assume, initially, the intent was to get me to stop. But it didn’t. It only increased my anxiety, thus my self medication to cope.

These people should hand their heads in shame. I am a petite lady. The majority of these stalkers were big grown men, who could easily over power me.

This was a very scary time in my life. Which will stay with me forever.

As you will see, mobile phones feature heavily. This leads me to believe some kind of tracking app was used. Only this time it wasn’t Pokemon they were hunting.

It was a real human being, with feelings and emotions. I’m sure they wouldn’t permit this to be done to any of their loved ones.

The fact my loved ones created this, hurts so much. I honestly thought my daddy would protect me from nasty, evil people forever. Yet he gave them the ok to do this

My daddy 1981 -  2015 - my Superman. My hero.

My daddy 2015 - Date - I don’t know. He scares me now. He makes me feel the way he used to protect me from people who created these feelings.

I miss him so much. My heart aches. I know I’ll never have my hero back.

It’s true, you don’t know what you have till it’s gone. RIP Daddy. Hello That Man!

Bus should be 163 not 168

#itsnotaboutthedrugs @Gemma_Stalked

❤️ 10th April 2015 - 17th April 2015 - MEET THE JUNKETTES!!!! Part 2

These are the people who stalked me whilst on the way to the Nut House (Springfield) 

*actually whilst in the Nut House Grounds

#iwillbefamous #thetruth #Itsnotaboutthedrugs @Gemma_Stalked

❤️ April 2006 - Once Upon a Time - First Taste of Lucifer's Nectar, Heroin

So, how did I, a middle class girl from convent educated background become addicted to two of the most deadly drugs available? 

I was very much anti crack and heroin, until it became a part of my life. How does someone anti crack and heroin become a crack and heroin addict?

Well you see, I'm guessing you can already tell from my previous posts I have an addictive personality and introducing an addictive personality to an addictive drug is just asking for trouble. 

It all began late 2005 when I was heading for an audition up town when I bumped into an old friend.

As I made my way down the stairs to the tube at Vauxhall, I saw a shadow of a girl I thought I knew. 

'H****?, H****!' I called, and much to my surprise the girl looked up at me.

H**** and I used to be friends from 1999 until around 2003. Although that wasn't the longest of times, we had bonded deeply over a love of drugs. Preferably cocaine, but funds dictated pills most of the time. 

I've already explained the type of bond two people who are both pilling make with each other. H**** and I were definitely pilling partners with a strong bond. 

We worked together doing telephone market research and very soon spent every weekend together. In fact, we lived for the weekend rushing home from work to get changed only to head out as quickly as possible for some serious drinking and even more serious drug taking.

We fell out over some stupidness. We both met two guys, she liked one and me the other. I was out with another friend one night, and bumped into the guy she liked. I also ended up joining a stripping competition, watched by the guy she liked. 

H**** was quite jealous of me being thinner than her, so the route of us not talking sprouted from this. H**** was seriously not impressed with her man seeing me in the nude. Although, H**** was too proud to admit this at the time.

It was her, but not as I remember. H**** was always larger than me. Size 14 at her slimmest, but more likely a size 16. H**** used to have the blondest of blond hair, in her natural curly cork screw and perma fake tanned, but weren't we all (I still was). 

The girl I was looking at now, who responded to H****'s name didn't look like this at all. She was skinny, very skinny, much smaller than my size 10 frame, her dark hair scrapped back into a pony and she was very gaunt. Almost a deathly pale.

We said our brief hellos, and it was clear that H**** was in no mood for chatting in the street. We swapped numbers, but before I could let her go, I needed to know her secret. How did she get so thin? My mind never processed the detrimental aspects of H****'s appearance, just the fact that her jeans where a good size smaller than mine. 

'How comes your so skinny?' I asked as H**** was beginning to turn to make her way, 
'Oh, it's the drugs' she replied.

My mind began to race... What drugs was she on? One thing I did know was, I bloody wanted some of them!

I hurried to my audition, stopping in a pub for a quick drink and a cheeky line of coke. I had saved some from the weekend especially for this, hoping it would calm my nerves and enable me to perform better. 

Funnily enough it did the opposite. However the audition was the last of my concerns. As soon as I finished I texted the number she had given me.

I started with the niceties, hi, how are you? Where are you living? Do you have a boyfriend? Until I had made enough small talk to ask the real questions

'So, what drugs have you taken to make you so skinny?'
'Crack and heroin' she replied.

I was astounded. Shocked. I didn't want my friend to be a crack head and smack addict. But H**** was in way too deep to take heed to my pleas, and before I knew it, I was going to be dragged down with her.

The first time I saw her smoke was the day I helped her move back to London. This was around March / April 2006. 

I had already helped her move out of London away from her abusive boyfriend, and now she was moving back to Brixton. Brixton also happened to be the area her drug dealer lived in. 

Of course, she wanted a celebratory smoke. I cried as she blazed from her pipe, quickly constructed from a plastic bottle and smoked her B spliffs. 

I did not want her to be a part of this. She was my friend, I loved her, and she was better than this.

However, my rose tinted glasses where soon to be smashed. By March 2006 my world had crashed. My boyfriend of 3 and a half years dumped me for some barley legal girl (honest, she was 16) who lived down his street. 

He had been fucking her behind my back. What makes it worse is the fact, he had known her since she was about 8-9 years old (and him 17-18) and had been playing with his younger brother in the street. 

However, as with all my boyfriends he came crawling back. In fact, he hid his relationship with her for ages until I happened to find out myself. 

During this time he was still very much wanting to get into my knickers telling me I was the best he's had in bed and can he have some more. Just to make myself feel better I'm also going to add, she was UGLY! About 5'2-5'4, size 12 which makes you chubby when you're short and a face that could rival Domino's Double Pepperoni Pizza, yes, she had really really bad acne!

Ok J, lets get back on track. Not only had I finished with my boyfriend, but the guy I was meeting for a date had blown me out.

Tipsy, with a gram of coke, I headed to H**** to cry on her shoulder. Once I arrived at hers, we drunk wine, snorted coke and generally had a good time. 

That was until one of her smoking friends texted her phone. J****, one of the crack heads from her past. He had been in prison, and recently released. Whilst in prison he got clean and fell madly in love with H****. 

H**** was obsessed with male attention and ALWAYS had at least one guy she was in love with and could fall in love with a new guy each week. So, falling for J****'s love letters from prison hadn't been hard. 

It didn't take me long to realise her £35,000 salary and good supply of crack and heroin was the only reason he was around. My warnings fell of deaf ears and unfortunately H**** didn't realise until a month later. 

Once he practically moved in and cleared out her bank account so he could smoke while she toiled away at work.

Needless to say J**** was soon on his way for his free smoke. I have to admit, J**** was looking very very buff! In prison he had been working out all the time, so although he was only 5'3, he had a body like Fiddy Cent and it was very pleasing on the eyes.

It wasn't long after J**** arriving did H****'s dealer turn up with four light and two dark. I was happy with my coke at the time, but as the night progressed the mood turned from a happy, party vibe to a more somber, chilled out scene.

I skinned up a good 3-4 spliffs, trying to calm my cocaine buzz. However I don't think I had really drunk enough alcohol, so I wasn't going to pass out any time soon. 

Both H**** and J**** were beginning to nod. Eyes closed, head slumped forward, dropping further and further down. I certainly didn't want to be lying here awake while they were both sleeping, especially as all three of us where sleeping in a double bed (not a King sized one either). 

I knew the impending come down was waiting to incarcerate me and I wanted to have passed out before that.

Cocaine come down was evil. If you didn't pass out before it hit you, that was it. You wouldn't sleep, you'd be restless and you'd want to slit your wrists and lie in a warm bath. By the next day, after a good sleep it wasn't so bad, but you were still teary.

'Gimme some of that please' I asked H****,  looking at her B spliff which had fallen out of her hand. H**** passed it over to me along with tokes of the next 3 spliff she billed up after that.

At the time I found it rather bizarre that I felt little effects from my first B smoke. Eventually I began to feel a little more drowsy and we went to bed. H**** and J**** up one end, and me up the other end on the edge of the bed (I have to be within easy access to toilets as I always wake up!)

It was around 12pm when the music studio, situated about 50 yards away from H****'s window woke me up. I felt queasy and my head was cloudy. I opened my eyes, only for my head to explode like fireworks due to the bright light streaming in from her bedroom window. 

The make shift bed sheet / curtain kept out almost no light and with only one cushion to rest my head on (not even a pillow), I was without my usual light barriers.

All of a sudden I knew I had around 10 seconds to get my head down a toilet bowl. I bolted for the bathroom, having to unlock H****'s door as I went. Thankfully there was a bathroom down stairs near H****'s room. As I slammed the bathroom door shut I could feel liquid rising, filling in my mouth while I was lifting the toilet seat. I just managed to keep in contained in my cheeks until the toilet bowl was clear.

I chucked my guts up until my stomach was completely empty, including the bright green bile. Once I was sure there was nothing left to be thrown up, I had a quick wee (two birds with one stone, or should I say flush!) and turned on the cold water tap until it ran cool. 

I now refilled up my stomach with cool, refreshing water. Each mouthful rehydrating my alcohol shrunk brain. The sickness didn't immediately cease upon being throwing up, so I crawled back to bed and lay there not moving for some time.

Eventually H**** and J**** woke up and I was soon on my way back to my parents house. After my first experience I can honestly say I didn't understand heroin at all. I didn't really get that fucked from it, it didn't taste that nice at all and it certainly made you feel very very sick.

Plus, I definitely wasn't addicted and began to think what a load of crap the hype about heroin was!

Of course I was being slightly naive, but honestly you don't get addicted as quickly as the anti drugs people make out!

So that was my first taste of B and what was once a drug I really didn't like that much, became a drug I loved even more than the white sometimes! It takes a few tries for you to begin to appreciate the wonders of heroin. Nearly everyone I know was violently sick when they first tried it.

Anyway peeps, I'm going to go but please pop back for more tales.

Love J** (reworked from Diary of a Crack Princess)

❤️ April 2006 - July 2009 - Once Upon a Time

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)

#itsnotaboutthedrugs @Gemma_Stalked

❤️ Introduction - April 2015

From my hand written diary.... 

If you’re reading this and you’re not my privacy denying family and I’m either...

Famous 🤩, Published 🤑, or Dead ☠️

YOU know ‘some’ of the things my parents did under the guise of ‘psychosis’

Psychosis 🤪 By Mum 👵🏻 & Dad 👴🏻

Notes, memories, tarot readings from a time when I needed help and no one came.

But I’m sure you’re unaware of the full length of TORTURE I was subjected to from my ‘loved’ ones. 

I cannot even fully detail their ‘Prisoner of War’ style torture, for fear of being Sectioned.

I HAVE NO FAMILY 

How My Family Made Me Mad, Glad & Bad! - She'll be so crazy she’ll need more drugs to cope!

Jay - a rather successful person, trip and falls after losing her car, her home, being bullied at work, finding out the mother she used to love had cancer and losing her beloved pet. 

Her family decide sectioning her is the most successful way to ensure she refrains from intravenous ethylphenidate use.

Instead of helping her reach sobriety their actions make her so miserable her using sky rockets. And this is her story. 

Methylphenidate was snatched from me under cruel, unfair circumstances. Ethylphenidate, like its prescription only cousin, is a short acting stimulant. At the height of my addiction I was using between 1-3 grammes, intravenously, where I'd bang up 1/10th a gramme to 3/10th a gramme per hit. I'd do this from 10 to 20 times per day as my tolerance, combined with it's length of action, meant it lasted no more than an hour.

Waking up sober and indeed the numerous times during the day I faded back to sobriety, yet still suffering from their cruel actions under the guise of  psychosis, only drove me to use far more drugs. At least double the amount I used when I was able to use in peace. My useage was upped by 50% easily due to their action. Ultimately they are the reason why I lost my Concerta script resulting in the same consequences too. I was so addicted at one point I was unable to arise from my bed without hitting up first.

So enjoy my decent to hell.

This blog contains information from my iPad and subsequent phone emails, journals in notes and finally diaries and has been collated since my 20’s at the start of my drug addiction, declining to crack and heroin addiction. My brief moments of relative recovery and then my final decline when I hit rock bottom during my legal

High addiction which progressed to intravenous drug use.

The more you read the more you will understand why my psychiatrist was quick to get me two urgent drug detox admissions and the subsequent week’s admission in Springfield mental hospital.

The sad thing is, my parents actions only insured my drug use skyrocketed. Instead of showing me love and researching addiction, they turned their backs on me and researched psychosis in an attempt to recreate something a brain creates through sheer horror. 

I always have suffered from mental health. My ADHD was not diagnosed until my 30’s. Treated 32. I had suffered crippling addiction problems by this age. Self medication of my ADHD began at 13. These destructive habits were deeply engrained now. It would require a lot more than 10 days in detox to undo the damage all ready done.

At first it was cannabis and alcohol. They would soothe my hyper ADHD brain and enable to me sleep. From 16 was smoking cannabis daily.

Whilst it calmed my ADHD it also made me lazy. So my discovery of ecstasy and cocaine, it’s effect on my dopamine receptors was all I needed to quickly become addicted. This meant I was no longer relying on weed, which means no bingeing and being lazy. In fact I wouldn’t eat at all. 

However I could hold articulate conversations. I didn’t go off on a tangent. I could organise things, tidy, deal with paper work. I was efficient and effective.

The come downs where crushing. The misery, which whilst cocaine was generally a day, ecstasy could have you feeling blue all week.

Mind you, dropping from 12 stone (168lbs / 76.2kgs, to 8.7lbs (119lbs / 53.2kgs).

After ecstasy and cocaine was crack and heroin. I only ever smoked b in a spliff and crack was never injected. I did max out two  £10,000 credit cards and new I had to make some changes.

So, I kinda got clean. I changed to subutex, an opiate replacement like methadone. And changed to £60-£100 crack a week. Much better than £700 a week.

Then, whilst almost within reach of my Ritalin script, methylphenidate... the temptation to buy the legal high ethylphenidate was too consuming to ignore. I purchased it, along with numerous legal highs (I have easily take the over a 100 Drugs in my life... I must list them!)

You can find the majority of them listed in the ‘List of Drugs I’ve Tried’

The loss of my normal Concerta increased my self-medicating to daily.

If I am unable to get my Concerta prescription reinstated I will definitely purchase Ethylphenidate’s new replacement and revert back to self-medicating.

The events depicted in this blog are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental

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JayElle Famosjunkey

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