❤️ 29th June 2015 - Journal

17 days no pins. Even ensured a clean piss test in an attempt to get my Ritalin back last week when I saw my psychiatric nurse at MDART

I've smoked some crack but remain drug free after Friday so I would be clean on Tuesday. This seriously removes the ability to sustain an addiction.

Only Buprenorphine (weaker tablet form of methadone) and cannabis.

I've had one diazepam from my mate, but stick to cannabis and the odd zopiclone my parents let me have.

I'm going to insist on a urine test each week I go MDART and will ensure its clean. This stops me using every day or every other. I'll cut down to twice a week. So practically halve my using.

Good news!! I have my first meeting with the social worker who is trying to secure funding so I can go rehab! Friday. I doubt I'll see a rehab for at least a month, but I've got a light in my tunnel.

At last!

J**

❤️ June 2015 - Once Upon a Time - The Binge Part 2

As I left N****’s block, I was relieved it was a warm night.

I was still unsteady from my Oh Shit dose of ethylphenidate I had just banged up in the rubbish room at the bottom of the block. I wouldn't need to reload for another 4 hours or so.

My heart beat began to slow down as I walked towards Brockwell Park, my home for the night.

My family had clearly predicted this and already set up camp for tonight's Oscar winning performance of Psychosis by Mum and Dad. I shouldn't be so damn predictable. (The following day I found numerous sleeping bags and camping equipment in the bushes to validate this weird shit isn't psychosis but all a huge act)

I walked up the road where I knew there was a wooden fence, making the park easily accessible. Just like the American stereo types, proper 101 Dalmatians style, there was a 6 foot, iron, spiked fence around the majority of the park.

Here I could climbed the fence easily and access the park, now locked up.

Upon jumping over I was soon greeted by not one, but two, Grim Reapers. White Scream type masks and long black cloaks. I saw them slowly walk in my direction.

I immediately ran towards them, and hysterically they both turned and ran for their lives. I have never seen anything more hysterical than death, trying to spook me, only to turn and run like a pair of chickens, from an 8 stone / 112lbs skinny, female.

I wanted to catch them, but realised my phone had gone. I stopped and turned to look for it. If the people in the park were a figment of my imagination, there was no one present to take my phone.

It had gone however. This was planned. The person who took it answered all calls but mine, promising to return the phone. Phone-less I couldn't record any of their bullshit, transfer money to the account I had a cash card for (my psychosis includes stealing 8 cash cards and 7 SIM cards), contact anyone bar my parents, so basically making my survival without my parents impossible. I'm 34 not 14 by the way.

Unable to find my phone, from the straight line I had run, in the empty park I decided to find some bushes with light, enabling me to bang up again. As I turned to walk up the hill a line of 50 or so, people were walking in the distance.

Boo hoo! They never approached me. So I didn't give a shit. You see, unlike real psychosis, mine was not terrifying, scary nor frightening. Mine was fucking annoying, and only within the realm of human possibility.

No one flew, no Satan in my face, no scary shadows. The only voices I heard were my family. Unlike everyone else there were no voices saying 'kill yourself', 'stab them' or 'jump'. I only heard my brother reading my phone text messages or blog. 

I never used to get psychosis or as I like to say bothered / tormented at N****’s.  Never at my girlfriend's and we banged up loads. Apart from hearing and seeing my father, brother and his girlfriend from my bedroom window, nothing at Springfield and I used a hell of a lot in there. A gram of speed intravenously, benzos and a couple of splifs daily.

So I headed towards the line of boring fuckers who had nothing better to do than torment someone with a drug addiction, ultimately making them use more, opposed to doing something positive which would help me.

I walked into some thick bushes heading as far in as possible. I had learnt to do this as if anyone actually approaches me,

I'll hear them break branches and push past bushes. This helped me determine if the voices I heard were actual people or coming from carefully planted speakers.

Yes speakers! My family have gone to grave detrimental detail to try make me believe I'm mad. Sad as ADHD treatment would have reduced if not stopped my drug abuse, helped me, not destroyed my life and I'd probably be clean now.

So much negativity for someone who needed just one person to reach out and help her. Due to my two failed detoxes where the doctor removed my meds, knowing that was my reason for admittance, only ensured the abuse continued. As I failed, my family decided further positive help should not be given, but full steam ahead on trying to make our sane daughter think she's mad. So so terribly sad. I'll never think I was mad. Unless my father tells the truth I'll never forgive or love him again.

So, with the bushes and branches creating a barrier, I ignored my parents voices from the speakers, knowing they were no where near me. Using the moon light, another reason stealing my phone was vital, I used my bag to make a  tourniquet and removed the syringe I had, Blue Peter style, made earlier.

Soon, dawn began to approach, so I headed back towards where I lost my phone desperately trying to retrieve it.

Walking back and forth, I noticed the park warden and hid in the bushes. He opened the gate.

I continued my search when a male with a heavy rucksack walked through the gate. 

'Hey, what you doing here?' He asked

'Trying to find my phone. You?'

'Just finished work'

'Can you help me look?'

Little did I know he was a Junkette, planted by my parents with average acting skills.....

To be continued in part 3

❤️ June 2015 - Once Upon a Time - The Binge Part 1

'I think I'll get my Ritalin back' I stated to N**, glowing with the anticipation of having my 'normal' returned.

'It looked good' he replied

'It's the only time in my life I haven't used. When on Ritalin, crack and cocaine don't do anything, plus the sedative effects stop me smoking weed or taking benzos to sleep'

I was desperately hopeful I would get my concerta back. It would definitely encourage me not to use. You seriously don't know what you've got till it's gone.

It was a mild, June morning, grey heavy cloud loomed above suggesting a thunder storm was on its way. It would have been pleasantly warm if it was not for a cold wind.

It dawned on me, should I get my Ritalin returned, there would be high expectations on me, not to use. Least for 6-12 months. Occasional using maybe tolerated. Odd line of cocaine at parties. Maybe a pill or a toke of crack. Opiates were a major No-No. Once withdrawn risking addiction again was a chance of suffering the withdrawals again. So no chance there.

Plus there's no chance I'm risking giving a dirty piss test and losing it, meaning I could only use Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. This too stops my addictive behaviours as I can only use  twice a week, the three day break preventing physical addiction through using 3 or 4 times a week.

The devil upon my shoulder told me I should get the using out of me while I still had a chance.

'I wouldn't mind getting some legal highs.  Speed. And some benzos'

'It's illegal now'

'Only ethylphenidate. There will be replacements'

'What.... Now?'

'Yeah, come on. We'll just get a bag'

Not taking much convincing we headed to Boots for me to get my supervised Buprenorphine, and walked from Colliers Wood to Tooting, before getting a bus to the shop.

Warmly greeted I quickly noticed a new White Stuff, the ethylphenidate replaced.

'Is this good?'

'Umm yeah, it's popular..' The shop staff replied.

'What else you got?'

'We've not seen you in ages?'

'Yeah, no ethylphenidate, so I've managed to be good'

'We've still got some'

'Really?'

'Spend over £40 and I'll sort you a pack'

'I'll get some etizolam, and flubromazepam.. Umm you call them Comas'

'That's £25'

'And a half of new White Stuff?'

'I'll do it £50 stead of £55 for you'

And then a quick nip into the back

'And here's your free gift for being a good customer. It's legal to have, only illegal to sell'

'Nice one' I replied

'Only for good customers.'

In my hand I took the packet of Blue Stuff. I could feel the anticipation rising. The same anticipation I once felt for crack, and every other drug of choice I had used before.

The journey back was slow but little can be recalled from my memory. 

'I'll stop at the chemist'

'No' I replied, 'we can use the ones we have'

My eagerness meant I refused to add extra delays to my intravenous administration of my favourite brand of ethylphenidate.

Finally we reached N**’s. I quickly fetched one of my used needles. A micro fine BD 100ml diabetic needle. Unlike the easier to use 200ml Nevershare, the needle couldn't be removed. I pulled the plunger out, savouring the 'POP' noise. The noise gives goosebumps even when I am not using, and probably will continue to for the rest of my life. 

I filled it roughly a third with crushed bright neon blue crystals. Sucked up water to the 100ml mark and shook the syringe vigorously until 80% of the crystals dissolved. Too impatient to wait for the rest to dissolve I walked to the brighter kitchen whilst using my bag strap as a tourniquet on the middle of my right arm.

My T**** tattoo serving its purpose, stopping me use there. A) I didn't like disrespecting his memory and B) I couldn't see my veins as easily.

In the kitchen I quickly to inserted the needle using the plump vein, now throbbing on the left side of my right hand. I pulled back unable to wait any longer, then the claret red snaked into the syringe, immediately turning a rusty brown as it merged with the pale blue liquid.

My heart skipped a beat upon seeing the green light signal. I let go of the syringe quickly enabling me to change the position of my grip so I could push the plunger. I pushed and straight away the familiar burn in the vein I was using hit me. Within 20 seconds, the pleasurable chemical taste reached the back of my mouth. Whenever you inject you taste it in the back of your mouth.

Suddenly I felt more alert, awake. Colours seemed brighter, sounds clearer. My brain immediately went from a crazy, chaotic demeaner to calm, clear and organised. The anxiety which cripples my very existence faded into obscurity. My self hate turned into secure confidence. My unachievable perfection turned into a possible reality. My body obsession with being fat at 8.7lbs (119lbs or 54kgs at 5'6 inches / 168cm), no longer concerned me as my hunger evaporated.

Heading back to N**’s room, I felt sight disappointment as I hadn't done enough to feel any rush. That's the problem with the diabetic needle. You couldn't fit a big enough hit all the time. I immediately started to prepare a second hit using one of the heroin cookers to dissolve the speed, patiently waiting for more to dissolve this time.

N**** sat on the floor trying to sort himself out as I stired what would be my second hit. Pouring more of the crushed blue crystals I turned to N****

'I didn't feel that one much. Maybe you should go chemist. You can't get enough in these 1 mil. Mind you, my big veins are fucked thanks to my parents. In a whole year of using before my first detox my veins where never this bad. I could still hit them. They were like rope, but they're fucked now. I can't hit shit with big veins. Now, I can only hit the ones in my hands'

I drew up my second hit and this time used a vein on my inner arm. They were smaller bit closer to skin than the deeper, bigger ones. Although easy to hit, easier to fuck. A slight nudge would send the needle straight through, giving you a painful lump of fluid trapped under the skin. Burning painfully when touched, the pain would take 4 weeks minimal to go, and the lump, twice as long.

The second hit too was nothing special, however a 24 hour binge, unbeknown to me, had commenced.

Before I knew it, it had passed from 1pm Monday to 10am Tuesday. We had stayed up all night using Blue Stuff and the seriously inferior new White Stuff.

I had probably been absorbed in writing this blog, picking at scabs, pluck chin hairs, clearing bogies, playing games and other 'tweaking' behaviours all night.

'I want some more' I said to N****  and pretty soon we returned to the shop, something I would continue to do for 6 days continuously.

The time I spent high and torment free, are remarkably forgetable. So far I was yet to suffer any psychosis by Mum and Dad. N**** was fine and the night at his was pleasurable.

My time was spent in a calm haze gifting me with a hazy relocation of normal, junkie day (use, get money, thankfully for me, from my bank account, get more) to junkie day activities.

However my psychosis must have caught on that afternoon and immediately planned my punishment. This time, only after the buses had stopped, say 3am, N**** was instructed to do the old favourite of let's accuse J**** of having a secret phone and psychically abuse her until she flees in terror and is homeless for the night.

It was calm, but N****’s behaviour was causing me anxiety. Mainly engrossed with a game phone but he started looking at the window and door before giving me his evil smile.

'Do you want to tell me anything?' Nigel asked, the edginess in his voice now apparent. I knew I would have nasty accusations based on nothing whatsoever thrown at me very shortly.

'No' I replied casually.

There was nothing to hide. I was famous for my drug use, the only guys who attempted anything where 'actors' instructed by my parents. Unlike the rest of modern society, had no qualms with someone using drugs intravenously in their presence. Regardless of the bloodbath occasionally caused in the process.

N**** settled back to his phone and me to mine. 

30 minutes later, after receiving a text message suddenly he turns the TV up to the loudest setting and promptly left the room. Almost as if he was letting someone in. My psychosis. 

The upon returning he opened both windows, hidden when on his bed, to the full width.

Then my punishment commenced. Movement catching my peripheral vision or in the Ribena bottle reflecting under the bed. The small speaker playing the sounds of my family whispering, sighing and coughing was deployed or activated. Clearly some kind of camera was on me as I could hear my brother read the post I was blogging about word for word.

After ignoring this annoyance, which I was rather good at, N**** obviously decided or was instructed to step it up a notch.

'What's that noise!?'

'What noise?' I replied, startled at the anger in his voice.

'Nothing' he almost snapped back, his face angry and twisted, eyes filled with venom, staring straight through my own eyes. Then, as if twisting, his scowl turned to the demented trouble indicating smile before laughing with cruel, taunting tones.

Another half an hour passed, the tormenting had been stepped up yet again, N**** playing a CD which purposely plays a track which sounds like it's skipped, and out of tune, warped songs. Ah yes, psychosis that warps the sound of music (not your speech) only when in this room with the CD player on.

I could heavily sense another presence was around, as a top flat access via the roof and emergency escape hatch was possible. I was annoyed at my family invading N****’s flat. It had been my last safe place to use and provided respite from their crazy behaviour. Without it, suicide would have been likely. Now they had taken this too. I was heart broken, N**** had been dragged into this, as it was I who dragged him into intravenous drug use.

'GIVE ME THE PHONE!!' N**** suddenly demanded, grabbing my bag. He began to rifel through it and I snatched it back.

'THERE IS NO PHONE' I chucked the contents of my bag onto the floor. This was N****’s game. This was how he joined in the tormenting. Gentle N****  my only friend, my only safe place, now violent, scary and ensuring my torture was continued by not only letting my family, but joining in, the torture.

'SEARCH ME!' I shouted while stripping.

'NO, YOU'RE LYING, A****! A****!' He shouted, calling his sister at 3am.

'What!' She replied

'LET ME HAVE YOUR PHONE, SHE'S LYING, SHE'S HIDING A PHONE'

'I'm not!' I replied, tears beginning to stream down my face. I got dressed.

'SEE! SEE! YOU DIDN'T LET ME SEARCH YOU'

'I was naked'

'YEAH, YEAH' the evil grin wide across his face reminiscent of a Cheshire Cat.

Suddenly I'm yanked from the bed.

'GET OUT!' N**** screamed.

I began to collect my things.

'A****' N**** screamed and a tied, half asleep woman appeared in the door way 

'THIS BITCH WON'T GO'

'I'm packing my bag and then I'm going' I managed to reply whilst crying a torrent of tears due to the pain of N****’s betrayal.

'COME ON' I was yanked to the door.

'I'm putting on my shoes' I replied losing my balance as I had been in the process of putting on the second one.

'I DON'T CARE'

Then, with my second shoe barely on, I'm grabbed and yanked by my arm, and sharply pushed down half a fight of stairs.

Tears had created two steams down each cheek, I steadied myself on the wall I hit, and turned to face my tormentor.

'Why?' I sobbed, but yet again the evil smile just spread across his face as he locked the door. Locking me out to a night on the street. With hindsight I can say this is what was intended with certainty, as he also stole my Oyster card. Something I've realised he's done frequently to me as I recovered them.

I walked down the stairs, still sobbing. I nipped into the rubbish bins on the way out. I had bottled water and my needles, so I banged up a big shot. Almost too big, I had a mini 'Oh shit' moment, the sweats, racing heart, paranoia I would die, alone, in a communial bin.

After 5 minutes had passed, the moment had passed and I collected my belongings. I walked out the back door, listening to it slam, signifying the beginning of my night sleeping rough.

I automatically headed for Brockwell park unaware of the delights waiting for me, as authorised by my parents. Regardless of their phoney psychosis, they never disturbed me, so injecting drugs would not be a problem.

To be continued in part 2

❤️ 19th June 2015 - Journal

Sorry for lack of input.

I've been feeling kinda down. I've got no fight left in me and dread the possibility that this will be expected of me, to brush under the carpet, even when recovered.

I won't be able to clear my name.

So much effort into something causing nothing but further detrimental effects. 

As I'm famed for smoking crack cocaine, least let me share my recovery once achieved. 

I'll probably be denied it. 

Shame, I can admit my faults. I certainly can't live a lie. 

Hmmmmm.

❤️ 09th June 2015 - THE TRUTH!!!!!

Fuck me, I've been told the truth.

The Junkettes - Readers of The Sun

The person whom I believed to be my best friend... Well he conveniently snapped me smoking crack.

So the whole of the UK (majority, The Sun is probably the most read newspaper), believes I am a crack head.

This is why I'm famous. And it's damn unfair. Yes I am a junkie. But I suppose 'girl addicted to ethylphenidate who has ADHD is banging it up' wouldn't evoke as much hatred as 'CRACK HEAD, LET'S MAKE HER THINK SHE'S CRAZY'

When I was told everything fell into place. It's so sad, this is why even when I'm clean I have stalkers. Everyone is ready and waiting to knock me down. Not one person will help me.

I want my concerta back. Until I have a date for rehab this isn't happening. My drugs team are messing me around. Giving me a new excuse each time. I'd go detox today if someone would get me in their (you have to be clean before rehab and I need to detox from buprenorphine).

All this madness does is make me use.

My parents could have paid for private rehab months ago. 

I don't like having to use... I like choosing to use. The only drug free time in my life was when I was on concerta (Ritalin).

I cannot fight against the whole of the UK. I doubt I can wait 3-4 months for rehab.

There's always another way out though. It makes me sad contemplating it, but the thought gives me so much peace in my head.

My rabbit has bonded so Mr Fyver and Mrs Fluffy no longer need me.

My cat Orion has found a new home. 

There's nothing left for me really.

Why would any parent want their child to think they're mad. Why? 

I wish I had the kind who sends their kids to rehab.

I wish mine understood it's not as easy as just stopping.

I wish they had ADHD so they knew how my brain feels.

I wish they would help me.

I wish they would tell the truth about me.

Most of all, I wish they would give me a break.

I may find it possible to forgive my mother. Never my father. He is evil, pure evil. When he did the nasty evil things to me I would hear her crying.

Each time another nasty thing happens to me I think my mummy allows this. 

If anyone can help me get into rehab please let me know. All I want is my Ritalin, rehab and a chance to tell the truth.

I know I need help. I know I have problems, I can't do it alone. I'm running out of fight now.

Desperately sad J (I'm changing my name) the junkie or as you know me, the crack head.

❤️ 01st June 2015 - Query To USA and Ireland

Just wondering can you purchase Ethylphenidate in Ireland and USA?

I'm half way through a Once Upon a Time post at the moment.

But this question popped up and my ADHD brain wants answers now and before it forgets.

Would love to know what legal highs people have experienced.

So all my sidewalk walking, trash can using, readers who say aluminium wrong (Al-You-Min-Yun, not Al-loom-Mi-On... You speak English so the English chick's definitely correct 😀)

Or my potato loving to be sure, we're having a grand ol' craic readers I'd love to hear back.

The comments are not racist! 

1) I love America, you make the second best movies and have the BLAM-est rappers 

2) I'm 1/4 Irish as my father's parents were Irish and immigrated here due to a 20 year age gap between my grandfather and grandmother.

3) I'm a believer of karma, love, peace, The Universe and all things nice 

Mwah, please recommend my blog, share and first commenter gets a post dedicated to them!!

(Yes I'm dying for a comment)

Junkie J