❤️ June 2015 - Once Upon a Time - The Binge Part 3

Dawn had faded from a inky black sky, dotted with diamonds and a crescent shaped moon, resembling a clipped finger nail, to a deep velvet purple. The purple faded into a pastel pink, and orange glow, rainbow shaped, marked the soon arrival of sun. Finally pink to blue, candy floss clouds dotted the sky, creating various shapes, just like the ones  I used to see as a child.

Although in central London, the moist, dew splattered glass, smelt crisp and if the buses and slow stream of cars weren't present in the distance, one could easily believe to be in deep Hampshire or Summerset country.

Disappointed at the loss of my phone I continued to search the strip of grass I had ran, whilst chasing not one, but two grim reapers.

Whilst this was annoying, I knew the only people present were my family and tormentors. I would get it back.

Having hid in the dense bushes which created a second fence, around the park's perimeter. I decided to bang up one more time, before it became to busy to do so. I found a spot with adequate lighting, pulled up my jacket sleeve and used my bag strap as a tourniquet and flagged in a small vein on the underside of my arm. 

My options are limited for injecting now. In the whole 8 months I used without disclosing, the big veins on my arm were like old rope, but repaired and functioned. 

Due to my 'Psychosis' undertaking evil acts such as contaminating my gear (even my psychiatrist agreed a junkie would never lose or contaminate their gear!) or damaging my works by making holes in the needle, flagging was impossible and shots easily missed.

I  had  loss the ability to hit many of my larger veins as well as the sudden appearance of patches of rotting flesh. In every non fiction book I've read on drug addiction, the loved ones went above and beyond to ensure their darling junkie had fresh works. Ensuing they would minimise damage to someone who was clearly fragile before their discovery.

Not my loved ones. The scars I still bear will be a constant reminder of the soul destroying, damaging acts, they undertook endeavouring to make me stop using. No one can make one person stop using. But loving family support can influence their abstinence enormously. My ADHD makes my head turn to a state of constance chaos. If my world is chaos, I'm more likely to do something to reduce this chaos. Seeing as I would reduce, try not to use or even when I briefly stopped. The external chaos was ever present and equally chaotic, providing no respite in response to my changes. Naturally this only increased my using, breaking my abstinent phases.

In the three months psychosis stepped up it game, taking into consideration I wasn't nearly doing half as much as prior to psychosis, the damage to my body was four times worse, in half the time.

By now my tolerance was soaring to ethylphenidate, so whilst my shot was strong, it bearly buzzed me. While my heart did a mini grande prix, my hands sweated lightly and no doubt my eyes widened and jaw clenched, the hit's rush was absence from this shot. However there's only a fine line from a shot with a rush and a shot creating an 'Oh Shit' moment, in hindsight I can state this was probably a good outcome.

Due to the Buprenorphine, an opiate blessing me with pin prick tiny pupils, the massive black pupils associated with stimulant abuse, never touched me. If anything, they looked normal. 

'Hey! What you doing here?'

'I've been working. Just finished now' he replied lugging a heavy rucksack onto the bench near where I was standing.

'I've lost my phone. Fancy helping me look for it?'

'Sure' he replied.

I had come across a unusual early morning park companion. His name was J*****, he was 37. Had a girlfriend who was currently pissed with him. He also banged up heroin. I should have taken heed to this disclosure. Generally, intravenous drug use isn't disclosed as casually as you would do the weather. Yet, due to my intoxication, homelessness and natural need to converse, I foolishly fell for his banter and agreed to go and chill in his and score some light and dark. The Junkette's never have a problem with my intravenous drug use. A normal person would.

Upon giving up on the phone search we turned back to the bench upon which, his heavy ruck sack had been laid.

'My bags gone!'

'Shit you're joking?' He wasn't joking.

'All my work tools are in there'

'Shit, bad luck b. Maybe it was the dick who took my phone?'

'Fuck it, I'm gonna score some b. Wanna come?'

'Yeah fuck it. Why not? Got shit else to do'

So off I headed to a virtual strangers house. Due to the bizarre number of Junkette's sent to befriend me, follow me or drive pass me, strangers no longer created any natural fear or hesitation.

I would walk, boldly into a road. Not looking for traffic, instinctively knowing the cars would stop. Same with strangers initiating conversation about intravenous drug use.

As we walked up the hill in Brockwell Park, the last pink ting of dawn sky vanished leaving a pastel, blue sky. Dotted with light, misty clouds. Today would be a nice day.

We headed towards an estate in Tulse  Hill and up to a flat I was instructed to enter via the kitchen window due to lost keys.

'Hey! I'm back. I'm with J****. We're gonna get some gear'

'Urrrggghhhhmmm' a noise from a darkened front room replied.

We walked upstairs to a bedroom and J promptly climbed into bed. The house was disgusting. I had never encountered such dire standards of cleanliness. Grease in layers so thick upon the cooker I could have written my name. Equally thick layers of grim was present on the floor. The walls were shades of grey, where the original light shade had been dirtied to an extent it was no amount of cleaning would remove the dirty shades of grey, varying at hand level to shades almost as dark as black.

The toilet filled with dirty brown water and refused to flush. Alarm bells began to question these living standards, but the heroin voice drowned out any doubts with 'fuck it, you're getting a hit. You need a downer after all that speed'

J**** dosed in bed whilst I banged up some speed, refusing a hit himself. He would bizarrely and sporadically be immersed into withdrawal and roll over with an accompanying 'ohhhh... I'm clucking'

After an hour he called a dealer. Within 30 minutes it arrived. A teeny rock of crack, 2 blazes top. And some brown which J**** immediately cooked up. Upon giving me a syringe filled he promptly told me he was going to bang up in his femoral vein outside the room.

I was baffled. The gear clearly hadn't been filtered and even had pieces of tobacco in it. I squirted it into the cooker and used a filter. Pushing a drop on to my hand I tasted it. Tasted of tobacco and too much citric. I realised he had use the whole pack. It even says on the packs, this packet does one gramme of heroin.

No addict would use a whole pack on a 10 of brown. I pulled some paper work out from under the bed. Completely different names appeared from J****. Then children's schools books. Then pictures of an Asian family. 

The ease with intravenous drug use.

The half arsed withdrawals.

The unfiltered gear.

Whole pack of citric.

Thankfully I was only able to bang up a small amount, and it clearly wasn't gear. The crack was legit and I smoked half.

'Caught out!' I sang to J**** as he came back into the room in the style of Usher. 

'You're a Junkette, actor, set up to be friend me'

'What?'

'You're not the first'

...... TBC

❤️ 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

❤️ 07th July 2015 - REHAB! They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab

And I said YES! YES! YES!

Finally I've had my interview with rehab guy. It's gonna take 4-8 weeks to get it sorted. I have to go to a dual diagnosis rehab due to my ADHD. The rehab guy said he would make sure I could take my methylphenidate AKA Ritalin there as some won't let you take any medications.

Having my methylphenidate is crucial. I want to learn to live prescribed with it in a controlled environment so when I'm out coping without drugs should be easier.

I'm praying to God I get my script back. I don't think it'll be worth going otherwise as I can just see myself using again.

My ADHD was awful today. My head felt like it wanted to explode. Staying still was  impossible. Due to me wanting to give stimulant free urine tests, I haven't smoked for 5 days. I have never used so little in my whole drug using life.

My psychiatric nurse asked me to describe my ADHD as she too noticed it was very predominant this afternoon. I explained it was like a kettle which could only be switched off with using stimulants. So I use, kettle switches off and cools down. Next day it's still cool. Day after it begins to boil. Day after that it's boiling but can't be switched off without using.

My head wanted to explode this afternoon. Yes I've had a smoke now, so will have a couple of OK days.

Heard my Bessie detox mate's in the nick for drink driving! She's terrible for doing that. When I'm with her, I offer to drive. I hardly drink so only have a glass. She's drinking from waking.

It's so sad, detox won't have her back as she broke the DVD player, poured someone's coke all over the floor (blamed me! Yes I was pissed at the time, specially since I was bullied so badly because of it), and stired shit by slagging everyone off behind their backs.

Thankfully she sent a text admitting it to another resident who told the truth to spare me.

So they've refused to readmit her. She keeps trying to overdose. I'm scared she'll end up locked up in the nut house.

If you've read my experiences you'll know there's no help whatsoever in those places. The nurses are too busy dealing with the real crazy people to even converse with those who are sane of mind.

You're ignored, locked away and will only deteriorate.

Mental institutions are NOT suitable for those suffering drug addiction.

The Mental Health Code of Practice states when detained the reason for your detainment must be addressed. I got no treatment for ADHD, addiction, drug abuse or therapy for my psychosis created by mum and dad. Even though mine wasn't real, it still wasn't addressed.

Seriously, people who abuse drugs and overdose need detox and rehab. The nut house is only for people who talk to Jesus, know the Queen and worship Satan.

Never try to get someone who is mentally capable but suffering metal illness sectioned.

It's ruined me. Bye bye career! Drugs detox, not to bad. But mental enough to be sectioned... I don't think my career in education project management will be resurrected. 

Anyway please wish me luck on getting my script back! I want to be normal, and have only refrained from drug abuse when on Ritalin.

Love and bless

J x

❤️ 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

❤️ October 2015 - Once Upon a Time - Heroin Overdose

Again, this is not an overdose per say. I wouldn't be here to tell the tale otherwise. Again, this is my near miss. Enlightening me as to how a overdose by  diamorphine would entail. 

It's poisonous element finally bear to its over powering force. They succumb to a life of slavery as its addictive qualities take over, blurring the lines of reality. 

Thankfully it was never my poison. I was able to use three times a week, although intravenously, taking kractom on the smack free days

This day the gear must have been particularly strong. However my friend did  not get to the levels of intoxication I did.

We banged up, and it finally killed my speed high. I had probably been awake for 3 or 4 days . I found myself dosing into a warm heroin hug, slowly rocking me into a light slumber which would ultimately turn into a deep, 24 hour sleep.

The rabbits would remained in their two story sleeping cage, not let out at 8am. They and the cats would remain without food. I hate myself for this behaviour. Especially as I now know my beloved Tsega was dying of cancer. 

Drifting into my slumber I began to dream. Suddenly I gasped for air, almost panic stricken at my apparent ability to forget to breathe.

What the fuck? I had gone at least 30 seconds without taking a breath. I began to dose again, only for my forgetfulness to strike again.

Shit! I was clearly close to overdosing. I was aware a heroin overdose resulted in unconsciousness, and now I knew it was from stopping breathing.

Frightened death was looming, but too wacked out to act as a rational person would, I forced myself to remain awake until the buzz eased off.

One breathe in, two out, three in, I forced myself to count until the heavy intoxication eased.

Only then could I fall asleep

❤️ 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.

❤️ 04th June 2015 - Journal

Bought new clothes. As I tried them on I heard 'I've gotta watch her she's a junkie'. Just left changing room door open. 

Again in the toilet.

Banged up in wooded waste land.

Tried to speak to The Sun and although I was telling them a member of the Met Police broke the law, they seemed weird. Told me to go hospital. Something not right here.

Found Internet cafe where my brother could spy on me. Makes me so sad. Dunno if he was speaking fluent Spanish. If so well done fat cunt!

Honest I'm surprised.

Got on bus and got talking to Junkette. Well one saw me go to my bag and said in Punjab or similar 'she's banging up'. I replied I was getting my phone. I got the head phones and pretended to talk. Saying out loud what my parents where doing and that it was legal Ritalin. This enabled me to engage with one.

After hearing the truth he felt sorry. I asked

'Why am I famous'

'You were in The Sun'

Wham! Everything fell into place.

Got hostel in Brixton where Junkette was waiting to make sure I didn't bang up.

Crying in tears I tried to find a pay phone to call home. 4 ate my money but didn't work. As I walked the street I told people it wasn't true and more confirmed. A picture of me smoking crack taken by my  bestie. 

My mother still lied. I cannot believe they have ruined my life. And lied. Suppose

'GIRL WITH ADHD USES LEGAL RITALIN' doesn't evoke as much hatred as dirty crack junkie. This is why The Sun seemed weird on the phone. 

This must have been January, possibly when I was in hospital as my LinkedIn profile got more views than an MP.

Not only have they destroyed my house, car, possessions, killed my rabbit, had me sectioned, but now I know why everyone is on track mark watch.

They control my internet so I can't find the article either. I knew people wouldn't lie for them forever.

Either they tell the truth or, if I fight for it, when I win, there is no family. 

They prevent me calling The Mirror, why? The truth WILL come out. 

All they have done is make me use more drugs. They could have paid for ADHD doc, got me concerta, paid for detox and rehab. 

That's all I want my Ritalin. I can't get it until detox is booked. My drugs team are full of excuses as to why it's not being booked.

I want to go. I want my meds. I'd be willing to do daily drugs tests for concerta. I'm heart broken.

My career in education, over.

Everyone is pushing for me to fail. Not one person will help me. I need help. I can't do this alone. I'm scared, weary and running out of fight.

Before I met people and then they decided whether I was nice or not.

Now they all hate me and I have to prove I'm nice.

I wanted a quiet life. Rescue chickens, growing vegetables, peace, being anonymous.

I can never forgive them for taking that from me.

Along with the sick things they've done, they're up there with Fred and Rose West for sickest parents. I'd rather physical abuse. It lasts 20 minutes and it's over. My abuse it 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I'm trying to fight for help and the truth. Otherwise I'm heading for suicide.

I can't fight the whole of the UK.

I'm so devastated. Not only have my whole family ganged up on me, tortured me, destroyed my life, but lied to the national press.

I will never pretend this is in my head. If they want me in their life the truth is imperative.

Death has never seen more appealing.

Junkie Jay (not my real name but I will change it by de-poll) 

❤️ 03rd June 2015 - Journal

Today my parents made me homeless by telling all the hotels which normally charge £65 or less to say fully booked or £150. 

Stayed in a shed using all night 

Sir Cunt and Fat Cunt Stalked me and would race that clapped out car at speed, if I googled a local hotel, getting their first. If I wasn’t turned away, I was quoted x 3 the normal price for a night in the warm.

At least I could bang up in peace in the shed. Lit a fire so I could see.