❤️ February 2011 - Journal

Howdy folks!

At 6am this morning, I remembered why I have cut down on smoking B.

 Fuck me, I felt shit! Only got a little smoke last night as well, two lights and one dark.

Went to my local dealer who normally does three for £20. That's good, as the going price is £10 per rock, but if you get three, it's £25. When I turned up with my £20, cash in hand, he tells me.

'Awww, Jay girl, I should have told you, it's 10 straight at the moment, B's expensive girl'

'Shit T*****! You should have told me when I phoned you!' However, if T***** did that he may have lost my business and T***** didn't treat his customers very nicely.

'Yeah, I know, I know, if it was just my tings, I'd hook you up (yeah right!), but I'm doing it with my boy.'

'Well you're gonna have to come with me to the cash machine B.'

As you can imagine, I was not impressed. The only reason I checked T***** was A) He was local opposed to my other dealers and B) He did three for £20. And believe me, I certainly shared my opinion with him. T***** was some little yout playing big G. I must have a good ten years on him and he has a lot to learn bout shotting! Like, not leaving your customers hanging around in parks for 45 minutes. Adults, withdrawing from heroin, in a kiddie's park with no dog... Not a good look.

Anyway... T*****'s sizes could vary, but they were never really big and the quality was really hit and miss. Sometimes it blew you away, other times it was a waste of cash.

For those who don't know, there has been a massive B shortage in London recently. What has been about, has been shit! One guy told us, his customers who shoot thought it was ok, but the smokers (e.g. Me!), where complaining. 

Another blog which I have mentioned in my list to your right, has also been based around the B shortage recently. T***** hadn't even bothered switching his phone for the past month because he hasn't been able to get anything (which again I had to cuss him for that because what about all the white smokers who don't always get B, like me!)

I've come to the conclusion that T***** doesn't have regular customers. He's on for a month, off for a month. His 'workers' change frequently and on numerous times he's called to cancel due to them being stopped and searched by the police. 

Smack heads need reliability. It doesn't matter that it takes 2 hours on the bus to go else where. It doesn't matter that it's small. Nor the 45 minute wait in the cold. As long as it's definite, that's better than 'Yeah, yeah, I sed I'd call you wen it's here B... Not long now, gime 30..' then in 30 'I sed I'd call you dinennt I.... Stop bugging man. Soon blud soon. Char!'

Anyway. Back to my tale. I must have reached home around 6.30pm last night so that's when my smoking commenced. Normally, I wouldn't get the B and instead I would sniff a subbie, but last night my supply was very low.

I finished smoking around 9.30pm which is early for me. I have learnt from my mistakes though, and I now realise I need a good couple of hours to come down most nights! I started on the red wine to bring me down. I skinned up a weed spliff, and realised I was only getting one spliff out of what I had left. 

I certainly wasn't going to the cash point so I could get some more. I made one proper weed spliff and a second out of the mulch??? 

Basically, when you get your draw, you take out the twigs and sticks. I keep them in a tin with my rizzla and grinder. When I skin up, what ever is left on the newspaper gets put in the tin too. That's what made the second 'mulch' spliff.

At 10.30pm I managed to conk out. Very unlike me. I don't normally sleep easily. With the alcohol, weed and B I was almost gouching. I can't remember the last time I proper gouched as there's either too much subbie in me and/or (delete as appropriate) the gear is shit.

I slept soundly, until 6am this morning. My cat was sleeping with me and he needed his morning wee so got up. This in turn woke me up. Partly his fault and partly due to my bladder being very full.

Upon climbing back to bed, it hit me. I didn't feel right. I was freezing cold, so I turned on my side and curled up. Minutes later I was sweating, beads beginning to form on my forehead. I got up, switched on my light and hunted for the tiny remains of the 2mg subbie I had.

There was around 1/6 of a tablet in my possession, so I crushed it, sniffed it, re-set my alarm for a slightly later time and waited for it to take effect.

It did, and I was soon back to sleep.

My alarm was an unpleasant reminder of reality, as it woke me an hour later. My head felt groggy and even though the subbie had removed my flue like symptoms it took far more caffeine to get me going this morning.

Work was a struggle as I barley managed to stay awake for the day.

And that's why I no longer smoker B. I'm already dreading the depression that will hit me tomorrow or Thursday. Ho Hum. What goes up, must come down.

Love Jx (adapted from Diary of a Crack Princess) 

❤️ January 2011 - Journal

Not feeling too good today. I have, for the first time in my life. Got the flu and boy does it suck.

I've never had flu before, but I'm one of those people who gets really pissed when you see people with the sniffles at work telling me they have flu!

Seriously, you cannot get out of bed when you have the flu.

Got sick on Tuesday at work so went home early. Felt rough in the morning, but as I had been a little naughty the night before I assumed it was over tiredness. Had to literally prize my eyes open with a wet flannel and bought two coffees and a Redbull, opposed to my normal one cup of coffee.

Managed to battle on through until 2.30pm, that's when I asked my boss if I could go home early, taking some of my TOIL (Time Off In Lieu, basically if you work an extra half an hour, rather than getting paid for it you can take the time back later).

Managed to get home for 4.30pm. Was asleep by 5.30pm. Although I woke up from 8.00pm until 9.30pm and 8.00am until 9.30am, I didn't really wake up until 3pm on the Wednesday. Almost 24 hours sleep!! I was constantly waking up that night, soaked from sweat. The t-shirt I had conked out in managed to get a sweat stain over my boobs making them look drawn on (around the edges and the nipps!)

The past three days have been spent sleeping and doing nothing else. My old flat mate, Z**** has popped over every day though to help me look after the cats, which I am very grateful of!

Right, I'm going to go now, but very soon I shall entertain you with a tale from my past. Definitely more interesting than reading about me feeling miserable and sorry for myself!

Take care peep.

Much Love, J

❤️ April 2001 - Once Upon a Time - Ecstasy & LSD

I have only tried LSD once in my life and it wasn't very strong, so I wasn't tripping as much as I would have liked. It was around April 2001 whilst I was working for the telephone market research company in Wimbledon. This was my second job after McDonald's and my colleagues where from all warps of life.

Due to the nature of the job, you chose your hours the week before. The pay was low but you got decent bonuses. You could work up to three shifts a day, morning from 9am - 12.30pm, afternoon from 1.30pm - 5pm and finally the evening shift of 5.30pm - 9pm.

Anyway, due to that a lot of people worked in the medium sized office. Some people who only did 9am - 5pm. Some people only doing evenings. Ecetera, you catch my drift. The majority of staff were young people, students at college or university. Therefore taking drugs was a popular and predominant theme among most of the staff.

This is where I met new weed dealers (who I used for a good ten years after leaving there!), my first reliable pill dealers and then of course the odds and sods who where able to supply different types of drugs such as Magic Mushrooms, LSD and Speed. 

Of course, I was up for trying any new high. So when the subject of purchasing some LSD became the topic of our cigarette break conversation, I made sure everyone was aware that I wanted in.

It was D***** or D** as he preferred to be called, that was able to get them. D** was around the same age as me, 20. I can't remember for sure. Maybe he was a little younger, but maybe he was a little older. 

He looked older than me. D** was a bit grungy stroke hippy in his appearance, dress and music taste. Although, he was also in to hip hop big time, so at least we had some common ground there.

He had mousey brown, wavy hair that hung to just below his stubble covered jaw line. The stubble extended to create a messy goatee beard and mustache in a matching mousey brown. D** was quite pale as he wasn't a fan of the sun but maybe that was more noticeable due to the large amount of black, Asian and mixed race boys who formed our clique. 

D**'s wardrobe consisted of black, navy and khaki coloured baggy t-shirts, possible adorned with images of Metalica or Guns 'n' Roses teamed with baggy jeans or cargo pants. Worn very low. Tempting to yank down low.
D** was a heavy weed smoker easily caning a Henry in a day. He was a real laid back dude, always totally chilled, peace, love and harmony man. D** was also a pill head and he had joined me and my best friend Z** numerous times, for a few Friday night pills, spliffs and drinks at Zoe's flat. Anyway, once the subject of LSD had arrived, we had agreed to drive to Fulham on Friday after work to pick up some from his mate.

I met D** in the Wetherspoons in Wimbledon around 7pm on the Friday. I was drinking a large glass of wine and had not long taken a half of a new pill I had acquired. They were called Purple Spotted Mercedes and were round, an almost pale blue-white and complete with purple spots. 

They were a nice pill, you didn't get too hyper or tense. I certainly didn't gurn and chew the inside of my cheek as intensively as I did with other types of pills. When you came up the rush wasn't as strong as other pills. There was no mad dash to the toilet to be sick. No face turning crimson in seconds and sweat beginning to form. Definitely no speed, a common ingredient in cheaper pills. However they clearly had a little LSD or Ketamin added. I've never had Ketamin on it's own before. 

It's probably only one of two drugs I have never tried. I am aware of it's effects though. It mongs you, for example a lot of people who go out and take Ket, often end up half passed out on a sofa at the end of the night and end up wetting themselves. It's like they're aware, but their body is asleep and won't move. Ket can make you slightly hallucinate along with being a pain killer. 

I remember the anti-drugs cards we got at school telling us that someone on Ket had hallucinated and imagined a hole in the club wall. Apparently they repeatedly headbutted the wall in a desperate attempt to walk through their imagined hole. The pain killer prevented them from feeling the pain and the hallucinogenic ensured that they carried on harming themselves.
Back to the story, as a result the pills were not very speedy with only the MDMA pepping you up and slightly trippy so you were able to chill easily on them. Along with the glass of wine I was tripping quite nicely. I was drinking with my colleagues - Z**, the oh so sexy C****, J* and her boyfriend M***.

J* and M*** were proper skate park grungy looking. J* had deep brown eyes, very pale olive skin and short cropped black hair. Her hair was streaked with bright pinks, purples, blues and greens. She had at least 5 piercings in each ear along with her eyebrow, nose, lip and tongue. 

M*** in contrast had ice blue eyes and wore his blond hair shaved, in a mini mohekan. He had a piercing in his nose septum and two large circles in his ears. You know, those things that expand the hole. M***'s hole's were rather large and you could easily place a finger inside each. 

They were both fans of black. M*** in skater chic, baggy t-shirts and combat pants while J* wore black tops, trousers and skirts. She would always look fashionable, just not the fashion I would follow. Tonight she wore red and black stripy tights, a black, above the knee skirt and a black top that showed her fantastic cleavage and hid her slightly chubby tummy. The skirt had all kind of zips, pockets, buttons and flaps.

Z**, was in her skinny stage (a combination of copious amounts of Ecstasy, a well known appetite suppressant and a shitty boyfriend) and even though she was only 5'2, the 6 inch platform boots she wore, combined with her tight fitting trousers made her look as if she was super model stature. Her hair was bleached a light blond but she had about two inches of black re-growth coming through. 

Z**, had bright blue eyes and she too had an olive complexion. Like J* she too was pale but this was not through a fashion choice. J* actively avoided the sun and wore lighter make-up because that was the look she was trying to achieve. 

Z**,'s pale jaundice colouring was due to the shit time she was having in life. Regardless of this, having no boobs and bum, Z**, still looked hot. She wore neon pink eye shadow, dark purple liquid eye-line (on the top and bottom) and dark navy mascara.

Like me Z**, was wearing a fake, tight, cropped leather jacket similar to the ones made popular by Posh and Becs and a tight white t-shirt. Hers being a high round neck though in comparison to my very low cut v-neck. 

I thankfully had lost all my puppy fat by this stage and had gained the slender face to match the slender figure. I now was the proud owner of a pair of wicked sharp cheek bones. 

My thin plucked eyebrows enhanced my now large green eyes and my curly hair had been blow dried to an inch within it's life, pulled tightly straight and coloured in a very dark blond. My black jacket and white t-shirt was combined with a pair of tight navy boot cut jeans and black Reebok Classic's finished my look.

And C****  well he was just 6'4 foots worth of pure sex. Chiseled jaw, sexy eyes, mixed race, totally fucking amazing. 

We must have looked a rather odd sight in the pub, people from all different types of genre. Z**, and me were the 'pretty' 'fashionable', heavily made up girls who followed current fashions and aimed to look like sex bombs the majority of the time. C**** and D**  hip hop baggie cool kinda guys. Finally J* and M*** black, dark and grungy.
D** ordered a beer and came to join us at our table and it wasn't long before I had to turn the conversation to drugs. I mean, come on, it was my favourite thing.
'D**, we still good for later, yeah?'
'Sure man, no problems girl. After I've had this pint, I'll give ***** a call, see if it's cool to come down now'
'Wicked, I can't wait to try it, I've never done LSD before'

Apart from D** no one at the table had tried LSD, so he told us his tales of his LSD experiences. We listened intensively, kinda in awe of this tales. 

We all dabbled in drugs, but mainly cocaine, pills and weed. Chain smoking my cigarettes, whilst glugging down my wine, it wasn't long before my large glass had gone. D** too was almost finished, so I darted to the toilets before our journey.

My bladder was full, but emptying it would be as easy as I would have liked. For some reason when on Ecstasy, like heroin peeing is f**king hard! I don't know why, maybe it dehydrates you and your pee tube sticks together. That's what it feels like anyway, you have to seriously force yourself to pee. 

The number of times I was at my 'rents' house and had to turn on the bathroom tap or shake a bottle of water to encourage it, I couldn't count! 

Knowing this and knowing that D** would be waiting for me crossed my mind so before I entered the cubical I turned on the wash basin tap. It was one of those ones that you pushed down and after a set amount of time it would automatically stop. Pushing it right down hard, I darted into the toilet, pulling down my jeans quickly and whipping my thong to one side. Then I squeezed with all my might! 

Thankfully, just as the tap was turning off, a trickle appeared. I was finally relieved! Glancing down I noticed the familiar wisp of steam floating up between my legs. Again having a steaming piss was common place for me on a pill. Why it steamed I don't know. Clearly it must have been hot.

I stopped at the mirrors on the way out to check myself out. Boy, I was hot! For the first time in my life I felt truly attractive. After all the bullying at school and being the only girl in my year not allowed to play spin the bottle because I was too fat and ugly, I was now a swan. 

I had my fake tight leather style jacket unzipped below my cleavage, squeezing my boobs which make them look at least two sizes bigger. Wonderbra's were my saviour and I wore them heavily padded. I was a double D, so it wasn't like the guy would be disappointed when I took my bra off. I went from looking like a double D, to looking like a double E. 

My white t-shirt was tight and low cut and unlike Z**, s baggie round neck emphasised my slim waist and large boobies. My tight navy jeans skimmed on the floor and were ripped and worn at the back. I had bought them in long and they were too long for me when I wore them with trainers. 

My hair was long, the ends reaching my nipples and had been recently dyed a dark blond, mousey brown colour. My straight, slightly curled under hair style had been copied from Rachel in Friends. The colour enhanced my dark green eyes.

I had heavy eye make up, wearing dark grey eye shadow, teamed with black eyeliner, thick, smudged around my eyes and blended to the outer corners of my eyes. This was teamed with several layers of black thick mascara. 

My skin was slightly tanned and clear. I leaned towards the mirror staring into my enlarged pupils. My eyes had the expression of a fox, or other small animal before it got hit by a car speeding at 70mph. My pupils were so large, the small green rim could hardly be seen, but large pupils where sexy. I touched up my sparkly lip gloss and left the bathroom.

When I returned D** was already putting on his jacket, heavily dragging on the last few pulls on his cigarette before draining the last dregs of his pint. 

We said out goodbyes (me, feeling secretly glad as C**** was leaving too and therefore not left with Z**, ) and headed to my car. My first car was a E-reg, black, Mini Mayfair. I had a cheap tape cassette stereo and therefore my music choice was rather limited. 

The radio was pretty crap and the only tapes I had was Dr Dre, Chronic 2000, a couple of hiphop mix tapes and some old garage tapes.

I got in and opened the passenger door from the inside. D** climbed in and I placed the keys in the ignition. The buzz from my half a pill was beginning to fade. I had taken the half around 5.30pm when we reached the pub and I had drunk a bottle of wine in the two hours I was in the pub. I gave Z** the other half as I still had another three in my wallet. I decided I wanted a top up now and proceeded to take one out and snap it in half. I dry throated it and looked at D**.

'Do you want this half? Purple Spotted Mercedes. Really nice buzz. Not speedy, kinda trippy'

'Ummm.... Yeah.... Sure man. That's safe man... Totally safe Jen. You must've read my mind babes' D** replied whilst happily taking my offering.

I turned over the engine and turned up the hip hop. Our quest had begun. I asked D** what direction I needed to go to and he directed me. It was a warm spring summer evening and the air was kind of hazy. People sat outside drinking in pubs, walking dogs and generally enjoying the unusually warm weather. We wound down the windows and smoked one on the pre-made spliffs I had prepared earlier.

I have no memory of our conversation, although I know it was mad. As I started to come up the world began to look fuzzy and slowly bounced up and down, almost vibrating. My memory was fuzzy. My vision was fuzzy. Words sounded fuzzy. Pretty soon D**'s continuous mellow chat mixed with the low buzz of hip hop became one combined melody. 

The dusk became dark. The inky black spilling further and further forward, covering the pale blue that remained. Traffic lights began to sparkle, car lights twinkled and the street lights glowed neon. The heavenly little pill enhancing what is normally conceived as boring.

The main roads changed to residential. Residential streets changed to housing estates. And the housing estates to our final destination. 

Having never taken LSD before, I only purchased two. One for me, and one for my girl. We were clubbing tomorrow night and LSD would be a good addition to our drinking and pilling.

After our purchase we headed back to the pub. The 90 minute drive was reduced to 45 as the heavy, Friday night traffic began to ease. The others had gone by the time we arrived at 10pm. Me and D** didn't care, we drunk some more and topped up with another quarter of a pill each. At 11.30pm we left, skinning up in the car before we started our journey. I dropped D** at the bus stop and we said our tipsy goodbyes.

And the LSD that's another story.

❤️ 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

❤️ 17th January 2018 - My Rant - Private Thoughts

Well today, I can say I’ve enjoyed this evening’s ‘honest communication’ with my family.

Of course we never spoke. Nor did I authorise them to these thoughts. Like a LOT OF MY PRIVATE THOUGHTS.

Right now I know this phone is most likely hacked. And I know they’re watching on their CCTV, which is a huge crime against my human rights for starters. 

Please ensure invasion of my privacy is included when you convict these people.

In my absence. 

Please punish them for the abuse they have done to me.

If I’m dead, it’s manslaughter not suicide. Well murder to be honest. But the former should be the least of their charges.

Anyway, wrote a rant on another post. Seems a shame to waste it.

Things are moving forward for me... either good or bad, they’re screwed.

Even if I’m done over, the abuse that they’ve done will slowly be uncovered. And if I am done over I’ll top myself. I know Mr X and colleague are reading. So they’re part of my murder too. They pretended they would help me. They lied and if so, I’m dead due to their actions.

Here’s my rant. Time for me to play games. Who does NBD love most. Babies or fat cunt partner? Blood and water and all...

She can decide.

If I get anything official that confirms my offer, this offer is null and void unless prior contact has been made.

If contact has happened... in my OFFLINE folder will be a post called her full name. It will grant amnesty to her in the event of prosecution. 

I promise, swear. I was brought up correct. NEVER LIE OR STEAL.

So this isn’t a lie. It’s here, black and white.

So.. read my rant. You’ll get my drift. She’s a fucking evil bitch too... but not by nature. Her environment made her evil and sick.

I honestly want my nieces to have their mummy. So regardless of her participation, if there’s a post in public or OFFLINE, please no charges.

NBD - be grateful little P has amazed me with the love she gives me and I feel for her. I HATE YOU for refusing me one last visit with her. I wasn’t even gonna bring her in my house. I was gonna bring Orion out. But I love her so much. I’ll spare you. Only coz I love her. Don’t be fooled, NBD has fully participated in the actions on my blog. And coz she’s kinda my age and female, really hurts. Coz I couldn’t do what she’s done. 

Ok.. rant ahead 

Better get stupid named B**** and S**** (NBD’s siblings... really dumb rhyming names. Like her mum’s IQ is a bit low names... but I’m nobody, being watched is all in my head, so I can say what the fuck I want. In privacy. Everyone does. Should have heard the bitch slagging off NBD and F.C. after they refused me to see my niece) in mum and dad mode. They didn’t abuse me enough to be sentenced. Fat Cunt, Nice But Dim, Bitch and Sir-Cunt-A-Lot, enjoy P and P while you can.

Oh... NBD ... I kinda think you’re ok 😉and your behaviour has been influenced by the negative/detrimental people in your life (aka the sickos). I don’t think this behaviour is really your nature.

If you wanna join this team... before it’s too late. I’ll spare you. You can be with P and P. But you gotta chose. Before I decide it’s too late.

Why not send me a random chain email, a joke.. I’ll reply, we can do some BS small talk, and maybe... if I’m in a good mood and nothing pisses me off... I’ll see if you wanna link.

I want my nieces to have their mummy. It’s natural. But wait too long, and you can go down with the rest of them.

You were happy to abandon your maternal instincts and abuse me. You ignored my pleas. You left me desperate. And for fucks sake... you were / should be a nice person.

Look at you.

Anyway, wait until I have official confirmation and it’ll be too late. You have my email. You know where I work.. 

It’s up to you. Decisions decisions. Life behind bars with only some lesbian to eat you... or wave bye bye to the sick partner and in laws who made you a sicko too! And keep your kids. Who do you love more? Fat cunt, or P and P? 

My heart bleeds for the love I will never have from P and P. Which is why you and you only may get a chance.

IF YOU WANT A CHANCE, GOTTA MAKE THAT MORE BEFORE ANYTHING IS CERTAIN. You’re not watched 24-7. He goes work. Up to you. 

But... you may be a sicko like my mummy and not wanna be with the babies. In which case get your family ready. 

And I promise, screen shot this if you’re want, I know you’re watching, reading, hacking my account and all sorts... but I won’t delete it. You make that move, and as soon as this hits the ground I’ll get my legal guy 😏 to confirm you’ve got amnesty.

Promise. Coz I love P & P. Swear on their lives and all. And Orion and Cyra’s. 

Even if this is a con, no matter how much bad publicity I get, the abuse will be told. It’s a massive part of it. 

Or I commit suicide and my friends alert press and police to this blog, my diaries, other notes...

Either way your fucked. And whilst the latter means no charges pressed, everyone will still know what pieces of shit you are. EVERYONE. COZ YOU MADE THIS BIG!! You dug your own fucking graves. Why be so sick and involve so many people? Did you think I’d just pretend it’s not real. Even though it still happens now, fucking sober??

If I die, you’ll be famous. People will look at you like scum. I expect there’s enough evidence to press charges of manslaughter against FC, SCAL and B. You’ll be followed in shops like a crim, even though you’ve got a £5k credit card and £100 cash... oh and it’s fucking Poundland! 

People will sneer at you. When they notice you, they’ll stare. They’ll look in disgust. No matter how much of a nice person you really are.. no matter if it was one stupid mistake which landslides into a mess.. and there’s no one to help you... public don’t care. They’re cruel and you’re all abusers.

Enjoy what you’ve subjected me to! When I needed you all so badly. And cried and begged for you. 

Either way, no matter what, screwed. Either truth or suicide.