On Friday the 25th April I had all I could take with my parents’ sick psychosis game.
After hearing the Fat Cunt and Nice But Dim in L***’s bedroom after a game of ‘lets move my sisters floor boards’ I had become an oxymoron. Tired due to not sleeping for 3 days, yet wired from the copious amounts of speed I was now using.
To top it off, my neighbour S***** (L***’s mum) and I had a conversation.
‘They’re sick, sick fucks. I hate them, they take me for a retarded imbecile’ I spat, intense anger racing through my veins, along with my latest hit of ethylphenidate.
Wearily... well I suspect FC and NBD kept her up all night, she replied ‘they never meant for it to go this far....’
She quickly realised her error, but tiredness causes people to make errors. Finally, I had confirmation my parents were sick. As even my counsellor hadn’t yet spoken these words. People would look at me, like I WAS NOT crazy, when I was telling them my tales of abuse. Yet not one person, including those who enabled, had dared yet to confirm what I was stating was fact and not fiction.
Damn right.
Their game was getting ‘big’. No longer confined to a select few. It was now my whole community. As I walked down residential streets in an attempt to regain something that semi resembled privacy, it would appear many more houses had lights which were activated by sensors. And although I was a good 30-50 feet away from most, I would seem to activate them. Nearly every house in two. And, I never witnessed anyone else activating these sensors from so far away,
The maddening of Jay, had moved up a level. And it was a big fucking jump from a few family members, friends and neighbours.
Should I ever be successful in my attempts of suicide, it’s not suicide. It’s murder. And they all have blood on their hands.
When L*** left, my brain flashed back to him taking my photo. Anger again surged through me. No longer able to control myself I opened the window and shouted ‘YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED PLAYING THESE NASTY GAMES!’
L*** quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and pretended to be engrossed. But his cheek flushed the colour of beetroot and his head was hung in shame. His pace quickened and soon was out of sight.
I put one of the few CDs I could find in my CD player. Eminem. I wasn’t sleeping, so neither were my abusers, who had relocated from S****’s house to the neighbours on the other side of mine.
As the music blared, suddenly my mother’s colleague came out of the same house. Unable to remember her name, but her white blonde straight hair, fake tan and slim figure is unforgettable. Typically ADHD, it takes me 3 weeks to remember your name, but I only have to see your face once to recall it.
She turned and glanced up to my bedroom window, only to see my eyes lock with hers. Instinctively she turned on her heals and took a step back to the house she had just exited.
Finally, common sense prevailed. It’s not like I would un-see her if she changed direction. This lady must own dogs... because that reminds me of when a dog / cat hides its head and thinks you cannot see it, because it cannot see you!! She turned back around and came to approach me.
‘Hi...’ she said in a meek demeanour. ‘Would you mind turning the music down, my other half works nights’
Other half... you mean my Fat Cunt brother and his other half, who had been up all night, ABUSING ME... wanted sleep.
‘What bedroom are you using, front or back?’ I replied. Fuck no was I being quiet for them.
‘Back’ she replied
‘I’ll move my set to the front then’
Weird they used the small back bedroom, when the front was the master??? Ehh?? More cracks in their game. They used the back bedroom, as my front master was split into two rooms. So I used the back and IT WAS the master in my house. And they used it, so they had easy access to my room and abusing me.
I moved it, but the volume didn’t lower. And being moved 6 foot wouldn’t have changed the level of noise FC had to endure whilst tired and wanting to sleep before his next shift abusing me.
When I caught them abusing me, under the floor boards, I had great pleasure squirting bleach (on a good day) or blood from my syringes on bad days. I would torment them saying, what will you catch? Hep B, Hep C or HIV? I knew I was clean. I just enjoyed tormenting them in return. ‘It’s like a Kinder Surprise... you’ll never know till the test results come back!’
I was happy to play the ‘dirty junky’ card when they played the sick abusers card.
‘Don’t kiss P****. One of the Hep’s can be passed through salvia!’ I knew Hep B was predominantly body fluid to body fluid, not blood to body fluid. And Hep C was blood to blood. Not blood to body fluid, but fuck was I letting them know.
I mean, the ‘psychosis’ which relentlessly flipped my letter box, magically stopped when I placed a bloody tissue in it. Weird eh??
Talking to my sick abusers who watched me 24-7, yet seemly alone I stated ‘Mum swore on P****’s life you weren’t abusing me. She’ll get cancer or die now!’. I hate her for doing that. Karma will come back. I dread the day it taints precious P because of my mother swearing on her life. In fact, karma, full permission to give me another kick in the face and leave her alone. The rest, can rot for all I care. But she’s precious.
(the last time I saw P she was only around 3, so no comprehension that I’m the dirty junky, so showed me real love... I will cherish the memory of her brushing my fringe out of my eyes and saying I had pretty eyes coz my eye shadow... and having to say Orion was out at work, or with his cat mates, when in reality he is terrified of little people and I’m impressed he tolerated her little stampede of affection bundling towards him with her rough baby love!)
Around 9am-10am I saw my fathers car, complete with the number plate illegal altered. What was the number ‘3’ has been crudely changed to the letter ‘B’ with black electrical tape. Exactly the behaviour you would expect for someone who worked for the Metropolitan Police Force. The tape was even wonky... which was as noticeable as if it was a fucking pink cat, to my sharp OCD head.
When I’ve escaped them, ensuring he is punished for the illegal activities undertook in order to abuse me, is a top priority.
Eventually, fed up of the whispers, the noises as if I wasn’t alone, the general annoyance conducted daily, I left for the park.
My road, once a quiet back street, was suddenly filled with speed Mercedes, BMWs and Audi’s.
Oh, and Ford Focuses. Just like my fathers. Mainly dark grey, black or silver. With similar hubcaps and alloys.
But... my road only sprung into action, when I could view it from my house or when I left my house.
At night, these ‘car stalkers’ would turn their full beams on, or flash them at me constantly. I have this recorded somewhere!
This, combined with my amazing ability to set of light sensors from 100 feet... plus the constant flash from Mobile phones as people photographed me... and the incredibly high number of police, ambulance or fire engines, who would suddenly turn on the blues and whiz past me upon seeing me.. made me weary, drained and emotionally I began to numb.
The latter, is something which progressed to the point I don’t honestly know if I’ll ever truly feel love, joy, happiness, sadness, hurt or pain ever again. Today, I am almost complete numb.
The mass stalking has already preempted a suicide attempt. Causing me to swallow pill after pill every time I spotted another ‘stalker’. Swallowing down an incredibly strong antipsychotic with a benzo equivalent to 10mg of diazepam, it look less than 5 mins for myself to have consumed a deadly amount. I was getting wozzy and drowsy... yet the antipsychotics can cause anxiety and taccardia upon taking too much, my heart was racing and I began to lose consciousness.
This subsequently resulted in a hospital admission and being Sectioned, but regardless of the severe decline in my mental stability, the horrendous abuse my family subjected me to, continued at full steam.
Reaching the park, I soon realised I was alone. Well almost, as a helicopter could be heard above.
During those precious 5 minutes I found myself welling up, before floods of tears folllwed. You truly don’t know what you have lost until it’s gone. And privacy is something every single of one you take for granted. Only those who have been mass stalked AND lost the privacy in their own homes could comprehend. And from my research I am yet to find a victim of mass stalking who cannot receive respite in their own house. Even celebrities have the sanctuary of their own homes being private. And they have the added bonus of financial remuneration for their misery.
Soon I began to notice movement in the distance... they had caught up with me. A deserted woodland area, where one could normally be alone for days, began to fill with people. I returned to the main road, feeling defeated.
Full scale stalking resumed. So with a heavy heart, I went to collect my prescribed buprenorphine from the chemist.
I normally went to Boots in Colliers Wood, but due to Sainbury’s having slightly longer opening hours and the erratic nature of my life at the present time.
Although I had visited them a few times, today there was an unfamiliar blonde pharmacist. Neither did I see her again after her visit. My speed fuelled paranoid brain was convinced she was an ‘extra’ or ‘actress’, but now, with a sober mind, it’s easily to establish she was obviously was a real employee as you cannot put someone with no pharmacy training, on the pharmacy counter.
She immediately recognised me as the terrible, terrible junkie, and sprung into action! She finally got to play a part in the maddening of Jay. Rather than serve me, the customer waiting for the ‘pharmacy’ she decided to leave the counter for a good 15 minuted to help an elderly customer chose a shampoo. He did even ask for her assistance. She almost speed from the counter to assist the customer he did not require her help.
During this period, the amount of looks of disgust and the general disgusting behaviour I received from strangers, when combined with my ADHD prerequisite for perfectionism, which included being liked, make seen I waited patiently.
Once she had helped chose the perfect shampoo for a man, who didn’t have much hair to shampoo, her eyes scanned the pharmacy sector rather than return to the counter to serve me, she disappeared for 15 minitues before returning to a man browsing the none over the counter medication before telling him in detail about how to take Piroton. In an almost parrot like manner, she repeated the instructions that were clearly written on the box.
‘ take these three times a day before meals’. The
Man nodded, slightly confused with regards to the attention he was receiving. He returned item to the shelf and began to walk away. The the famous junkie
Caught his eye, and a slight smile Spread accross his face, his eyes briefly catching mine. Which coincided with his smile dropping, before his look quickly changed to sheer disgust, and he promptly walked away.
She spent another 10 minutes fussing over people on the shop floor before finally serving me at the counter.
Finally she disappeared into the back. Another 15 minutes passed before she returned with my controlled drug. Her behaviour was weird. Sainbury’s normally excels at customer service , but serving pharmacy customers at the till was clearly below her remit.
She begrudgingly took my payment and gave me my buprenorphine. As I was not a regular At Sainbury’s generally they watched me like a hawk put them all in my mouth, paid close attention to me whilst I waited for them to dissolve and inspected my mouth throughly upon me telling them they were gone.
Many addicts remove the subbie from their mouths. I have been notorious for doing this myself. Unlike methadone it’s harder to feel a heroin high when you take subutex. They can then sell them on. Anther downfall, from a medical opinion is their water solubility, which means they are suitable for injection. Thankfully my habit was purely a smoking addiction and this is when I was initially prescribed them.
Due to them being a partial not full opioid, they don’t bind to all your opiates receptors. So, for example, say you gave. 6 opiate receptors / plugs in your head. Methadone or heroin will plug into all 6. As you have no empty plugs left, your body realised there’s no point in making any natural orne. Which is why methadone and heroin withdrawal is far worse than buprenorphine. Buprenorphine is a partial opiate antagonist. So, regardless of whether you take 0.4mg or 36mg, it only uses 3 of those 6 plugs. This makes withdrawal easier as you will start making your own natural opiates to fill those plugs.
It is actually illegal for the pharmacist to let someone with a supervised prescription leave the chemist with not having consumed their medication.
However, this pharmacist, Jennifer, just handed me the medication and said ‘you can go now’ as I began to put them in my mouth.
‘You’re not suppsed to say that, you could get in trouble’ I replied. ‘This is a controlled drug. I could remove it’
‘Oh, it’s ok, I’ve seen you before’
My mind races as it tired to recall the pharmacists st Sainsbury’s. Maybe she seen me about 14 times since I was fresh out of Detox back in December.
So that made a total l of 14/1096 times I had visited. We had hardly reached the stage of her trusting me.
I was cautious at her behaviour and replied
‘Then, what? I’ll get reported for removing my medication, when I haven’t, and the drug’s team will stop my script?’
I could sense the anger beginning to build
‘I TRUST YOU’ Jennifer snapped back at me. The frustration was apparent.
Then I had my cartoon lightbulb moment. She wast tying to get rid of me. Clearly my presence in Sainbury’s was having a negative effect on the reputation of the store. Yet, prior to becoming famous for taking drugs, Sainbury’s had been happy to take around £300 a month as I shopped regularly there.
I refused. I was naturally wary and cautious of people, especially those who partook in the evil maddening of Jay. I sat down on the chair, and unlike other times, where I would rub my tongue from left to right, quickening up the process, I purposively let them dislove as slowly as possible.
Whilst sitting there I removed my note pad and began
Writing large notes that my ‘stalkers’ could easily resd
I HAVE ADHD AND NEED CONCERTA
£ YES - FOR THIS & STALKERS
£ NO - FOR ADHD MEDS
DUE TO ADHD = THIS MESS
MY MUMMY DOESN’T WANT ME NOR MY DADDY
BEFORE THIS MESS, MORTGAGE, JOB, SUPPORTED CHARITIES
I HAD SKY TV, HOT TUB, BAR, MERCEDES, TSEGA
MY WORLD HAS GONE AND THEN MY FAMILY DO THIS
I AM GOING HOME TO DIE.
YOU CANNOT SAVE ME, NO ONE CAN. BECAUSE THIS IS NOT REAL
By now the subutex has dissolved and I decided I was going to central London in a vain attempt to be stalker free. I was going to find somewhere I could have a drink, and when I was drunk enough, I would come home and overdose.
With my family and the public’s reaction to me, life was unbearable. I couldn’t take it anymore. The only positive in my head was the fact I weight bearly 8 stone (112lbs), thanks to the copious use of speed and its appetite suppressing qualities. This was the only happy, self esteem, voice in my head.
I got on the tube in Colliers Wood hoping for more respite the closer I got away from where I lived.
I didn’t get the respite I had hoped for. Clearly this game was much bigger than what I had thought. It was not just my local community playing these horrible games. It was the whole of London. They would all have blood on their hands when I died. They were all playing the game of let’s push J to suicide.
When I exited the tube, at a station I can no longer remember, I headed towards the nearest drinking establishment. Outside was a large crowd of 20-30 people drinking outside, and like most people in this game, springing into action upon spotting me. I tried to find another pub. Yet again, a crowd of 20-30 people, who suspiciously looked similar to the previous crowd.
Still on my mission I continued to walk. Speeding Mercedes, BMWs and Audi’s drove pass me at dangerous speeds.
I decided to seek refuse in a decrepit old council block. Seeing the large metal refuse bins, I slid behind them and prepped a shot of speed. I didn’t need light to bang up, I knew exactly where to insert my needles by following the angry red raised tracks. All of a sudden, this area, which normally would be deserted became akin to Oxford Circus on a Saturday afternoon. Clearly my stalkers where able to track me to this area, but where unable to locate me, tucked behind the bins. There was enough light to see the spiral of dark red blood fusing with the blue transparent syringe of speed. I pushed down on the plunger as quickly as possible, pulled the needle out and quickly pushed my arm on my jeans to stop the flow of blood. A sense of calm washed through me.
As more and more people began to circle my hiding place, I could now hear a helicopter circling above. When the coast was as clear as it could be, I made my escape. The bins where next to the car park for the council estate, which was now filled with cars, racing at speed, their brakes screeching as they sharply turned.
I returned back to find a pub, and yet again the crowd, which by now, I could establish was made of the exact same people who were present at the other two establishments. Rather than stopping I walked past and head ‘RIGHT, WE’RE ON THE MOVE’. I may have been out of sight, but not out of ear shot.
Even in central London I was hunted like a rabbit at Wimbledon’s greyhound racing stadium. This was far bigger than what I anticipated. No where was safe.
I finally stumbled upon a small public garden. Filled with bushes and trees. There was police tape blocking the entrance. Something I had noticed a lot recently. In fact I had encountered numerous pointless police tapes during my recent journeys. There seemed to be correlation between the number of stalkers and amount of police tape. I knew this had been placed there for one reason only. To prevent me entering.
When the last ‘stalker’ walked past me I quickly ducked under the tape and hid amongst the foliage. There was clearly no crime committed there. No evidence of a murder. This was clearly placed here to stop me coming in. Fuck it, I thought.
I had also realised, due to the amount of stalkers I was encountering, having a peaceful drink was also off the menu too.
This caused my heart to shatter yet again as the enormity of what my family had done hit me yet again. I felt the most awful ache in my heart, a pain so indescribable, there are no amount of written words which can accurately describe the pain. The pain radiated from my heart, throughout my body, with a pain, way more intense than any drug high I had encountered in my life.
The closest way to describe it, would be the complete opposite from a novice experiencing their first body orgasum from a shot of heroin.
Realising peace was far from imient, I found another council estate and again wedges myself in the aloof where the bins where kept. In my hiding place I could just see some flats which where above shops. The metal steps, eerie where a sharp contrast to the lit windows where I could see the outline of the Fat Cunt and Sir Cunt A Lot. I could hear their loud voices within 15 minutes of being hidden away.
Although I had not been spotted, the tracking device alerted my stalkers and they frequently walked pass, or raced if in vehicles.
Feeling defeated I gave up and headed back to the tube. Naturally, it was filled with stalkers. There was two hard faced Eastern European girls who upon seeing me, pulled their phones out in an attempt to photograph me. However I noticed before them before they had the chance to do so.
Tears began filling my eyes, before streaming down my face. I pulled the ‘emergency’ lethal bag of antipsychotics and benzodiazepines put of my bag, making sure, all these nasty, judgmental people could see the copious amount of pills in my possession.
I wrote on my pad in large letters
WHY ME? I’M NOT A BAD PERSON?
As I transferred the antipsychotics to the same bag as the benzodiazepines, one fell onto the floor. I caught another ‘stalkers’ attention as I looked for it, our eyes meeting.
‘Excuse me, sorry, you’ve dropped one’ he exclaimed. This left me thinking it was clear, there was so much hatred and disgust for me, that next time I had to make sure my dose was enough to do the job properly.
But this stalker was weird... he didn’t emit as much hatred as most did. He had kind eyes. Maybe he had suffered from addiction problems in the past. So when we next caught each other’s attention I summoned the courage to ask ‘why me?’
His eyes, which I will never forget, grey, blue coloured, filled with sympathy, felt sorry for me. He shrugged his shoulders and then placed both of his palms up, hands tilted down, in a ‘I don’t know’ gesture.
Maybe some people have no idea why they’re abusing me. Maybe I’m just an enemy. The scale of this operation was now making me petrified. If people knew about ‘the game’ all over central London, surely this meant the end of my career in a college in south west London. Surely my colleagues knew too.
Even when I was smoking £200 of crack cocaine and heroin, AT WORK, I had still managed to hide my drug addiction from my colleagues. In fact, as I was not medicated for my ADHD, the crack enabled me to work incredible hard, and I even won two awards in the height of my addiction.
Then my beloved Tsega and Orion enabled me to The get clean... well cleaner. Not using daily.
I headed back to Tooting, where my regular cohort of stalkers took over. I kept the pills on show, but tightly gripped in my hand.
I knew, like Alice in Wonderland, eating them would help me escape.
