Official Diagnosis

I received a letter today from the doctor. Confirming my hospital appointment for Monday week with the Hepatitis C clinic.


The letter confirms the diagnosis, and states medical jargon about the liver enzymes that have increased as a result. I fell completely normal, and feel absolutely fine, apart from the usual hot sweats, aches and pains, that can be associated with temporary heroin withdrawal, on a daily basis.

This makes it seem so much more real, I keep forgetting it's happened. As I said, physically I feel normal. I have started to be a lot more anal about the 'works' (needles/injecting equipment) I use, better late than never eh? I just keep thinking, at least this is curable, not in everyone maybe, but in most. At least it's not HIV which is only 'treatable', not curable. It's never too late to catch that either. I have learnt the hard way, it's easier and more common to catch these viruses than you think. I don't want to put myself at risk ever again. Eventually I will abstain from heroin use altogether, but in the mean time I want to put myself in the position of never having to go for a blood test for another virus, as I will be completely and utterly confident in the outcome. Never will I put myself at risk again.

In the mean time, I await the appointment at the clinic with anticipation, and many questions going round, and round my head. When will treatment start? How will I react to treatment? How long will it take? Will I respond positively? Will I be cured? What will happen if I don't get cured? What genotype do I have? this last question is one of the most important, as it effectively determines the chance of a positive outcome.

Like I said before, the fight has begun.

The letter, as I said, outlines the increases in destructive enzymes they have found in my blood. This is to be expected, but still makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck thinking about it. It's so strange that their is this destructive virus in my body, ticking away like a little time bomb, destroying a major organ, bit, by bit, and yet the body has masked it's intrusion. How clever is the human body? I just can't stop thinking about this thing inside me, I wish I could just tear it out.

How come everything takes so long? I know I should be grateful, I live in a country where excellent healthcare is available for free, but I keep reading that if it can be caught in the first 6 months (the acute phase), and I know I have definitely caught it within 14 months, at least, then my chance of responding to treatment is up to 90%. So why the delay if I have that chance? The first blood test took two weeks, then the second took two weeks, now the hospital appointment is another two weeks, I just hate the delay, knowing this thing is, admittedly very slowly, killing me.

I just want to crack on. The more that time goes on, the more I start to forget, and I know more than anyone, complacency is deadly.

The Lament of 'Danny Mac'

A friend of mine was watching a programme on Channel 4 (UK) the other night, called 'Coppers' about the prison and probation system.

It focused on the problems of over crowding the prison system in the UK faces today, and the problems prison staff face on a daily basis. It displayed the familiar characteristics, background and traits of an average career criminal today. It also attempted to show and questioning why so many prisoners ,are ,or will go on to, repeat offend.

Many of the inmates have been in and out of the prison 'system' for most of their lives. The programme even showed the shockingly young age at which people begin offending, by displaying mugshots of them when they were 8 or 9 years old, having committed their first offence, and then as a comparison showed their mugshot now, after being caught for the umpteenth time. It's unbelievable.

One of the guys they followed was released on a Monday, re-arrested that evening and was back in custody by Tuesday.

They showed prisoners attempting to fake epileptic fits, or diabetic comas while being processed at the police station, so they get to go to hospital, just to get away from their cell, where they know they can get away with having a cigarette. Smoking is banned at the police station. The police know they are pulling a fast one. They have seen it time and time again, sometimes with the same guys, even knowing their medical records. However the prisoners know the police have to follow procedure because of, good old, 'health and safety' and that 'classic', wait for it, 'human rights'. So they blatantly abuse, and manipulate the rules, in order to gain an advantage, of some, of any, kind. There-by showing a total disregard for structure, rules and discipline, the same disregard that got them in the 10 x 8 foot prison cell cell in the first place.

This then begs the question, rather than go through the whole procedure of escorting them to the hospital with what is a known scam and piss take, which costs the NHS an ambulance and two paramedics, plus doctors and nurses, and the police service two officers to escort them there. Why not, and this is a wild stab in the dark here, why not just let them have a fag at the station?

Because that would be too fucking easy.

Absolutely fucking ludicrous!

However the documentary was an interesting and sometimes sad, and harrowing look into the prison system, and the backgrounds of the people who are it's constant tenants and the people who work there daily.

One such repeat offender was called, 'Danny Mac'.

This is not a joke.

He, like many of the documentaries subjects, had been in and out of the prison system all his adolescent and adult life.

After throwing a fit after learning he was going to be remanded, after having recently being released, he fronts up to the camera, with his faux street attitude, and lets us hear a recitle of a 'poem/rap' he has written.

It was so, unknowingly, and oblivious to him, witty, poetic, and sharp, and at the same time savage, bitter, and vicious, that my friend had to re-watch the episode three times (they don't have sky plus) on the plus one channels, just to write down by hand the lyrics to show me. I loved it, and thought it apt for here. It's written to his beloved prison guards, with whom he has built up a beautiful rapport...

...If only you could hear the irony in my voice as I write this. Here it is for you, I don't know what it's called so I've made up the title, but think it fitting. Enjoy.:

'Danny Mac's Rap'

Let me out this fucking dump,

I've had a fucking nuff,

It stinks of piss, the food is shit,

Especially that fucking 'duff'.

The screws they're just a bunch of nobs,
They drive me round the twist,
And if I find out where they live,
They'll taste my fucking fist.

Your such a bunch of soppy cunts,

Go get yourself a life,

Best you fuck off home mate,

The milkman's on your wife.

You got kicked out of the army,

And bullied when at school,

Then you have the front to look at me,

Like I'm the fucking fool.

Your wife gets banged around the pub,

She comes home with the pox,
I bet you fucking take your kids,

To school in a sweat-box.

Get this in your ugly head,
My name is Danny Mac,
And if I find out where you live

I'll get your kids on smack,

So when they come back clucking,

And they are living life a doss,

I'll take them up to London,
Sell their arses at Kings Cross,

So who's the mug, me or you?

My name is Danny Mac.

Sleep tight mate, your okay,

Because Danny's got your back.

Although unpleasant in places, it did make me laugh. 

"At least he's putting his prison time to good use, and isn't at all bitter.", I thought.

PS: I changed the last verse because I felt it finished it off a lot better.

Drought

The town has gone dry. It's been on the cards for a while, but the drought has begun. It always seems to happen around this time of year. No-ones been busted, it's just no-one can get anything decent. It's times like this that the problem that heroin creates really manifests itself, and places itself right under the microscope.

Addicts all over the town and county have gone into meltdown. 'Gear' is available, it's just shit. A really pale, white, clumpy, light powder that has been so incredibly stamped on (cut), that the finished product is now unsellable. It comes to something when hardened dealers, with habits to support are refusing to buy into it. It takes a really shit type of gear for this to even be entertained. But someone has to make a stand, or the suppliers will keep buying it in, if people keep taking it off them. After all, why should they care?

I've resented having to spend £30 for a long time, on something that, apart from removing the illness, produces nothing in terms of feeling, taste, or quality. I'd get more warmth from burning my money.

It's not all doom and gloom though because one or two people have, and can, still get quality stuff. Eight dealers supplying the town, down to one or two in the space of a week is a drastic reduction. This has produced massive pressure on these one or two people. Everyone is vying for their numbers. Getting other people to ring for them. Ordering 5,6, then 7 bags at a time. The number increasing the more people persuade them to get for them. Hanging round, five people, cramped in a small Ford Fiesta, parked up in a car park, sweating, and waiting, waiting, waiting. If turned away, they sulk and jealousy creeps in. A desperate addict, is a dangerous commodity. They become senseless, panic driven and spiteful. Doing anything, be friending anyone to get their fix. People sell their bodies for this stuff for fucks sake, who knows what lengths some people are capable of. This puts these few people, with good stuff in a pressured position. They only have limited quantities, and need to look after themselves, as well as the people who have been loyal to them. The word that their stuff is good, spreads like a wild fire, reaching all corners of the addict community in hours. Phones are bombarded, deviousness and bad sportsmanship comes into play, as people hunt harder, and harder, for their one fix. The rule in this game, is look after yourself. It's battle of the fittest, most connected.

I'm ok. I know one of them well. However this puts pressure on me. I had to turn my phone off this afternoon the pressure was so intense. Eighteen missed calls on my phone when I turned it on. Incredible. I could help people, but then I lose out in the long run. I feel bad, and am the kind of person who tries to please everyone. However, would they help me if the roles were reversed? No. Did they want to know me, two, even three days ago? No. This is a world of superficiality, selfishness, and deception. You keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I'm not dramatising things either. This is really how things work. It really is incredible.
I know I have to use this contact to my advantage, now more than ever. Stock up quick, like squireling nuts away for the winter.

These few will be revered, courted and celebrated by the few who get there 'meal ticket', public enemy number one to the majority. That's the way things go unfortunately. The ones who go without will survive. Though deeply unpleasant, a rattle never killed anyone. Something will turn up it always does.

I blame the armed forces. Although doing an incredible, brave, dangerous job abroad in Afghanistan, and although they have my utter, heartfelt respect and admiration, part of their job is to destroy the poppy fields and heroin supply used to part fund the Taliban's hate filled, terror mission. Around 80% of the heroin or opium in this country comes via Afghanistan, so will have a massive effect. Seven years into the invasion, and the pinch is starting to be felt.

It still doesn't account for the shit quality of the stuff that is here. That is down to greed filled, profiteering, and careless suppliers. Aiming to make maximum profit from the suddenly reduced amounts of opiates that they are forced to deal with. It hazards the question, what exactly do they cut it with? There is the danger. Putting your trust in a complete stranger, ten people down the supply chain, before you even put it in your arm. You must think we're mental. I used to too. It just becomes normal, and a necessity. To feel well, to function, to be normal, that becomes your only objective, a fixation that knows no moral limits. You sometimes forget what it's like just to 'be' normal. Whatever that is? I haven't felt 'normal' or 'well' for nearly six years. At least once every day, I have felt shit. I don't want sympathy. Just a bit more of a general understanding of the situation that is facing a large section of society, who are otherwise reviled and ignored.

The army destroy all the opiates, that much is obvious. But it's still needed for the medical industry. Morphine, diamorphine, co-codamol, tamazepam, they all contain opiates. All come from the same source, the opium poppy. They can't destroy everything. I just wish people would open there eyes to the misery and struggle the criminalising of addictive drugs causes. Not to mention the criminal records slapped willy-nilly on otherwise unassuming, harmless people, because of a choice they make with 'their' own bodies. Punishing people, by making them suffer. For making a bad choice.

Methadone doesn't work. if it was one or two people sticking their fingers up, or not getting on with methadone as a treatment plan, then I'd put it down to lack of will power. But every addict I have ever met, bar two or three, have failed and abused the methadone treatment plan. This isn't done to rebel, or for fun as would be believed. Every addict would love the opportunity to feel well for free. To have normality on prescription. This obviously just isn't working. People 'choose' to do drugs, and as Bill Hicks says, "don't protect us, we're adults.". Why should authorities (essentially just regular people with a bit of power) tell us what we can or can't do, with plants that grow on this 'free' earth. It's like in porno magazines where they put stars on the nipples, don't protect us we're adults. What I do to my body is my business.

Allowing me to put myself at risk due to the greed of another is just plain irresponsible. People will do drugs whether they are legal, or illegal. This won't change. If you hate drugs it will always be illegal to you regardless of the law. If you are going to try them, they will always be legal, regardless of the law. The police have little or no impact on the supply, all they do is disrupt. Wasting money on mildly disrupting things, its absurd. Why not prescribe and control, and help regulate the reduction in tolerance for addicts. Take the danger, illegality, routine, risk and 'fun' out of things. This is the way to stop it. Offer it on prescription for a fee. Cheaper than buying on the streets, but still enough to put the money to good use. Instead of fighting it with this insane 'war on drugs', embrace and control things. At least you would know the money is no longer funding organised criminal networks, and addicts aren't putting dangerous unknown toxins into there bodies.

However it would take a government, and society with an open mind, and a massive pair of bollocks to implement this. The class of cannabis went up and down, back and forth from C -B , more times than a fucking boomerang attached to an epileptic yo-yo. All because the government shit their pants, regardless of scientific, and medical opinion. There only objective is getting the public to lick their arse, to win elections, regardless of who they trample on. Let alone the people at the bottom of the pile, the lowest form of society. They don't care who gets hurt and suffers in the process.

So many deaths from overdose and abuse could be avoided. I know five people who died this year. All under the age of 45. All could have been avoided. They say ignorance and naivety is the biggest killer. It makes me so mad.

'Analyse This' (PS: This has nothing to do with the film...)

What always fascinates me is the many reasons, and motivations behind, why people decide to deal and get involved in illegal drugs.

The first type is obvious,the ones who do it in order to feed their habits. Make enough to keep them-self or themselves (if in a co-habiting relationship) a little bit of 'personal' (personal use) a day to stop them looking elsewhere for money, and then sell enough to repeat the process the next day. This is common sense and something any addict has thought about or even dabbled in on a very small basis. It is also more difficult than it seems however, as the temptation is always there to get 'high on the supply', leaving them back at square one in a vicious circle of temptation. This is often the most likely outcome. But for those with an element of self control and purpose this can be an effective way to keep themselves functioning, going to work, bringing up kids, without the need to scrap around for money or meeting dodgy people at unsociable hours, or spending money that should be used on necessities. This then produces an element of routine and normality, 'keeping up appearances' as it were, while ticking things over at a manageable pace. Almost like a small, local, home based business. A farm that sells tomatoes on the side of the road, to use a very loose metaphor. However this type of dealer is unreliable, and usually doesn't last long, but may reappear on the circuit at random intervals. They will more than likely keep going for quite a while, and are at high risk of getting 'busted', even ending up in prison, due to the recklessness and chaotic nature of their business.

Another type is the profiteer, someone who wants to make there money and get out quick, or just make a lot of money full stop. This will either be an addict with enormous self control (see above paragraph), or an ex addict, or even a regular person who gets a kick from the danger and illegality of it. They buy in bulk to hammer down the price and ship it out at a fast rate in much smaller quantities in order to gain maximum profitability. Common business sense really. They then repeat the process on a very regular basis to build a tidy profit, perhaps even increasing investment and turnover. They'll do this for five-six months, long enough to make a worthwhile amount of money, but not long enough to get noticed or yield unwarranted attention from the authorities. If they are smart. If not they will soldier on until the bitter end, where they will usually end up in prison, and lose all their assets. This is big risk with big profit as the reward. The more money they have as an incentive, the more worthwhile the risk. However the greater too the greed. As I said common sense really.

The third type is the control freak. This will usually be an ex addict or a complete neutral entity. They have usually come from a middle/upper class background, privately educated perhaps. They may suffer from low self esteem, confidence issues, or they will  lack excitement back at home. Have a boring family routine perhaps. Almost like the 'Kevin Spacey' character in 'American Beauty'. 
They will get a kick from the illegality, excitement, danger and risk involved. Money is not the attraction here. Attention, admiration and control is.
They will usually be a person who's whole life is shrouded in mediocrity, and suddenly they have stumbled upon something that is not only dangerous and risky, but also fascinates them. This brown/white powder offers them power, and control. They suddenly pull the strings. People need them, depend on them, want them.
They are fixated with this, and often will exercise there power and control in various ways. Lending out quantities and being the clients best friend, before pulling the rug out from under their feet, calling in all the money and leaving the client in a state of desperation. Then stepping in at the last minute to supply them and let them know they are in charge. This you could say is a stereotype of course, but talking from experience, a fairly accurate one I'd wage.

It is this last type that fascinates me. For although they obviously profit more than number one, but less than number two in my list of descriptions, the money here is not the obvious hook. It can't be, else they are going about things the wrong way. Also the first two have obvious, realistic motivations, and incentives for doing what they do, gambling the way they do. Number three doesn't. Not only that, but number three has the most to lose, and in a way, the least to gain. The likelihood being with this type of person, that they hold down a regular respectable job, are married, have kids. That's a lot of risk, for minimum, superficial reward.

This is why it fascinates me. It's almost narcissistic. Self indulgent. Like having an affair with a very illicit partner. The danger of having the knock on the door, the dawn raid by the police, must haunt them every night. They would stand to lose everything. As an actor that really interests me. It's also interesting I think that we all have a side of us that needs that excitement, that edge to our lives, it's just few follow it through or ever find it, or find safer more acceptable outlets in order for our edgier sides to be set free. Most of my friends have nothing to do with heroin, drug addiction or even illegal narcotics in general, and although I have my own motivations for starting my habit (See post 'In the beginning...'), when I explain to them about some of the things I've encountered, injecting, scoring etc, most seem interested, and intrigued, not repelled or shocked. This makes me think this kind of person is alive in all of us, its just we excerpt this need for control and excitement in very different ways. If any of the kind people I have described used the natural flair and acumen they have to positive, legal effect, they would be very successful people with worthwhile usable skills. It's this need to self destruct that sets them apart, and holds them back.

You see I know these kind of people exist because I know of one personally. When he meets a supplier of mine, he insists on taking them for a meal. Making them indulge him for over two hours or more, before handing over the gear, keeping them hanging on for as long as possible, lingering on his every word until releasing what he's got them there for, the brown/white powder that acts as the strings on a puppet. Sometimes he won't give them the full amount but considerably less than promised. Like I said its not about the money or profit. Promising to bring more next time, always keeping the dependence on him to a maximum, like giving and taking candy off a child. He is married, has kids, works as an accountant, yet in secret carries out this ritual of self importance and indulgence, risking everything for minimum material profit, and maximum personal gain.

Like dealers, addicts come in all shapes and sizes, and from all professions too. You only have to walk into my treatment centre and you will see lawyers, accountants, teachers and the like, all fighting addiction to alcohol, cocaine, or opium. It's not just tramps and career criminals, that's just what the media want us to see. The desperation, the destruction. That's what creates a story. Characters from difficult backgrounds, with difficult, complicated lives and stories to tell. Not successful career people who had a bit of a slip up, made a mistake while studying at college. Where is the drama in that? The unknown, untouchable world? The intrigue?

There is none.

In truth, its boring.

As an actor I love watching people, analysing them. What makes people tick? Amateur psychology. It's fascinating. I have got to admit, I too love the drama, the excitement, but I have my own personal priorities now. To maintain my habit, get stabilised on my methadone, and start to regain some normality and focus before my treatment begins. To move on with my life. I'm 28 and a bit now, I need to close this chapter and move on to the next. I would like a girlfriend, companion, kids (in the future). That won't happen while I abuse myself like this. After all, as the cliché goes, no one will love you if you don't love yourself.

Ignorance

So it's the day after, the night before. Just started to get my head round things.

Hepatitis C is a disease that not a lot of people are aware of, but with statistics of 300-400 million people infected world wide, it's something that needs to be talked about, known about. Not just have it sidelined, attributed to us junkies with our dirty little habits, using us as a nice distraction.

I'll be honest, I thought that, and I am one. Thought I was cleaner, and better than that. Cleverer than that. How narrow minded and stupid am I? I'm learning the hard way unfortunately, that diseases/viruses/illnesses don't discriminate.


However I'm ready now to fight this.

I feel one hundred times better now the diagnosis has been done officially. I'd kept it to myself for two weeks so as not to worry anyone, because there was a 20% chance my immune system had cleared it itself. Even though the odds were well and truly stacked against me on that one, it's funny how we will cling to the tiniest bit of hope. I suppose you have to.

But it was that hope that was making me anxious. I felt like I did when going for my driving test. You know, when you wait for your result at the end? Would it be total and utter elation and relief? or complete disappointment and despair? Unfortunately the latter.

That's life though, and even if there was a 5% chance of getting rid of this I've got to fight it. For everyone who cares about me, as well as myself.

It's good to communicate my feelings at last. When I first told my mum, it hit me. Two weeks, perhaps more of bottled up anger, frustration, fear and emotion. Upset partly because she was upset, but partly because of pity for myself. How pathetic is that? But I don't care how careless and self destructive you are, no one deserves this. The self destructiveness is an issue and problem in itself, it's not a 'fuck you' to society as people think. It's more than likely, and in my case the opposite, crying out for some love.

Its comforting and inspirational to be able to read various stories, and mountains of information on the internet.   The success of others, the wonderful drug trials. This virus is a relatively new field for medicine, it was only acknowledged in 1989, only 20 years ago, and the treatment they have available now, let alone in the future, is astonishing. I have got to be positive.

What did we do before the internet? Information and answers were so much harder to obtain. How scary would that be when dealing with something like this? We take for granted so much the sheer quantity and quality of the information available at the click of a button. It's absolutely incredible. It's helped me enormously. Education is the prevention and cure to everything, I think.

When faced with adversity, it's incredible how apt the brain is at dumbing things down and censoring the enormity and impact of things. Allowing you to cope. I keep laughing it off, making jokes out of it, taking the piss. Even with the doctor, which helps. I don't think the seriousness of the consequences will ever set in until you experience the full effects of whatever it is your dealing with.  It was the same at the beginning of my addiction, I never ever acknowledged how destructive and dangerous it was. Maybe at times it does sink in, but never consistently. This must stop you going mad I believe, and is an amazing coping mechanism really.

Your mind can't imagine pain, or suffering. It can, but its difficult. I find it hard to recall what a rattle feels like, how bad it actually is. Until it rears its ugly, aching head again. That's why many people relapse. Even though the withdrawal was painful, and awful. Even though they can remember that much. The level of it, the difficulty of it, gets dumbed down and is hard to recall, making people think it was easier than it was. That they can do it again no problem.  Why do you think women go back to having children again and again? Because a chemical is released to help them forget the pain and enormity of it. Else the population would decrease, and eventually we would cease to exist. Or all men would be kicked in the balls on a daily basis.

Like I said yesterday, this helps. Writing things down. I don't want this to become a medical journal though. As I said yesterday, this was never its purpose or aim. This is just one of the crazy things that's happened, so down it goes. As time goes on I'm sure you will be informed of many more ups and downs, amongst many other stupid, crazy, laughable, sad, and funny things and people that will be experienced and met along my way.

The doctor has asked me to stop injecting. I have only used needles for four years so the damage to myself is not to bad. The doctor said he's seen horrific arms and legs on such young people. It's crazy for you to understand, but that is the scale of desperation we are talking and the level of fixation on this drug. I do think he's right though, its best to stop now. Because of this, and before I end up with hideous arms and legs.

"Take this as a warning." he said.

He's right too. It's just going to be tough to readjust my tolerance. Normal people think a jolt like this news would definitely be enough to force anyone to quit. No question. But I know people who have lost legs and still not given up. That is the magnitude of the problem we're dealing with. Yes, it's self inflicted, but that's irrelevant. No-one asked for the sheer difficulty of the withdrawal both mentally and physically.

"Just stop." people say. And it seems such an obvious easy solution too, when your on the outside looking in.

I know, because before all this I thought exactly the same way. If only it were that easy?

The way this drug heroin is portrayed, is as dirty, boring, not enjoyable, horrible, dark, evil, and unsociable. As opposed to the 'other' illegal drugs that are portrayed as fun, uplifting, sociable, funny, cool, and although all drugs are dangerous, there is definitely a difference in social standing and tolerance. It pisses me off though, because heroin IS nice. That is why people do it. Not because its fucking horrible, as people would suggest. You see 'there is the rub', it's too damn fucking nice. Unlike alcohol, heroin in its purest form (before cutting and additives by criminals are implemented to increase value), apart from the addiction side of things, and the WAY you take it (smoke/inhale/inject), heroin actually has no long term effects on the body eg; memory loss, liver failure. So in that sense it is safe. If you drank for 40 years your liver would fail, if you took heroin in a controlled manner and safely nothing...

Apart from the effects from HOW you took it. Although controversial, I'm not advocating its use, although the control and prescribing of it would reduce crime ten fold, I'm talking long term effects here, not overdoses, as that is irrelevant. You can overdose on paracetamol if you wanted. Overdoses happen because of the implications of mixing (alcohol/barbiturates) with heroin or the combination of abstinence and/or unknown purity. This could all be avoided with controlled prescribing.

Heroin after all is medically diamorphine. The drug prescribed to cancer, and other patients with life limiting illnesses in order  to alleviate pain. Heroin is the street (cut) term. Diamorphine is the medical (pure) term. The risk of addiction, you see, is irrelevant in life limited patients. Everything bad is fine if used in moderation. Moderation is the key. We're adults can't we make our own choices? Why make everything difficult? Painful? Why constantly try to protect us from feeling nice? Making up our own minds? Because the problems this self-righteousness causes, pisses me off.

I truly believe where drugs are concerned, society and its lack of education and naivety are the biggest problems, and are their own worst enemies. I'm not being defensive here, I don't advocate the use of drugs illegally at all, really I don't. I can't cope with the problems I've got never mind wishing it on the next person or another child. I just feel if controlled and prescribed, instead of wasting money scaremongering teenagers and parents/old people with misinformation and lies, it would be so, so much safer to prescribe it in a controlled manner. The money would go away from the underworld and the funding of other crime and into useful society building projects, and healthcare. It would also allow a lot of people to be set free from the ritual of illness followed by the meeting of a man in a house or on a street corner and being controlled by brown/white powder, pharmacists, key workers and the system. Methadone obviously doesn't work. It's addictive too and that's ok when prescribed. So what's illegal about heroin if it's not the addiction, if its the fact it's cut with who knows what, surely it wouldn't be if controlled? The fact it makes you feel nice? Didn't know it's illegal to feel good?

My point is it's not going to go away, so why not help protect and educate the vulnerable people who are going to end up using it regardless of crap biased PSHE (Physical and Social Education) talks by a policeman who's never even done caffeine let alone experienced illegal drugs, so has no idea what he's talking about. Surely this would be better than wasting money putting petty criminals behind bars, and kicking down dealers doors for the sake of a gram? It would help stop people ever having to go through what I am now.

It just seems so irresponsible and ignorant it's untrue.

Swings and Roundabouts

I've been back to the doctor today and he has confirmed what I have been hoping against for the last two weeks.

I have the hepatitis C virus.

I knew two weeks ago after a routine check up that anti-bodies had been found, however there was a 20% / 1 in 5 chance of me clearing it on my own with my own immune system. For those who don't know, the presence of anti-bodies does not mean you definitely have the virus present in the blood it just means you have had it at some point and you will either still have it or have got rid of it. This is confirmed via a second blood test.

I have the virus.

All sorts have things have been going round my head these last two weeks. How? Who? Where? Why?

My parents said "It must be because of sharing needles."

But that's simply not the case. Although I don't doubt that this has been caught by contaminated equipment, eg; water, filters, steri-cup (Spoon), it wasn't through directly sharing needles. It doesn't work like that. Another myth. Do you really think after a drug addict has a 'hit' another addict will sit there watching and say, "Can I use that after you?" Not when fresh needles are so readily available and if desperate you can re use your own. I don't doubt this does happen, but in most cases not. It's just not the done thing.

I know what I have said does not make this right, and I know that this could have been entirely preventable, but as my doctor says it's good that I know so I can deal with it before its too late.

And he's right.

I had a blood test in July 2009 and this came back negative, and I have had liver function tests in between that, which have not shown abnormality's either, so I know I have caught it within the first fourteen months for sure. This is good, as damage is yet to be done.

Hepatitis is Latin for inflammation of the liver though the word hepatitis sounds much, much more intimidating. The 'hepatitis C' virus, is a virus that can cause 'inflammation'.

One of the dangers is that it is symptomless in most people and the body is remarkably good at masking it's presence. Symptoms don't persist in most people until it is already advanced.

The obvious danger with that, is long term, if left untreated, in 20-30 years you can end up with bad cirrhosis (scarring) of the liver, resulting in liver failure/cancer, and the need for a liver transplant. All not good. This damage if left undetected is irreparable hence the need to catch it early.

It is a blood borne virus. It can only been transmitted through blood, NOT through sex. The catch with it is like HIV (although otherwise dissimilar) its a crafty little fucker and can be hard to treat.

Even though it is curable, it is not curable in everyone. It depends on what type you have. There are 5 types, 1,2,3,4,and 5 or 6 I think. Nearly everyone in the UK has types 1,2,and 3. If you have type 1 there is around a 50% chance of curing it completely. If you have types 2 or 3 there is around a 4 in 5 chance of curing it completely. If you don't cure it, the long term effects are (well read above paragraph)...not good. However it was only discovered in 1989 and new treatments, and knowledge about the virus are advancing all the time. That is to say, I don't want to risk waiting for something\a cure to just 'pop up'.

The doctor told me that it is estimated up to 70% of IV (Intravenous/injecting) drug users are carriers? Can you believe that? That's 7 out of 10?? When he told me this I was astounded. I can't believe how ignorant I've been. I always thought I'd be ok. I'm fairly careful, look after myself, am educated, dress well, have a roof over my head, quite unlike the stereotypical 'dirty junkie' that people imagine to carry viruses. I've learnt the hard way, that viruses/diseases/illnesses don't discriminate.

It made me realise that I have caught this thing through 3 things, ignorance, stupidity, and\or laziness. If this isn't the kick up the arse I need to turn my life around I don't know what will? It's just ironic that it comes at a time where I was planning to move to London, get back into my acting, rejoin Spotlight, Equity, Actors Centre, move away from the temptations of home, and have a proper go at what I should have done on leaving drama school 6 years ago. All positive things.

6 years ago? I just can't believe it, where has it gone. The drugs have taken half a decade. They're not going to take me too.

The doctor has told me I MUST stop using needles before I start treatment. The treatment is unpleasant and has nasty side effects so I need to be in a good place mentally. Even though this might seem a no brainer, it will still be hard. This new found knowledge won't make it easier, as anyone in the same boat would testify.

I hadn't told anyone in case I'd cleared it myself, and didn't want to cause upset and worry for nothing. I told my parents today. My mum got upset and cried which set me off for the first time since I got this news. It's good really, emotions have to come out somewhere. The truth is I'm scared. Petrified. It's just being typically male (stubborn), and aware of the self inflicted nature of this, am too scared and embarrassed to admit it, or ask for help.

It's all a numbers and percentages game now, and I feel like a bit of a pawn in the playing out of my own fate/destiny.The fight starts here.

This blog will be a good place to document my thoughts for the benefit of others going through the same thing, and also for myself, in order to focus my mind on something positive. So if you read this and know anyone in the same circumstance/s, put them in touch. I'm not an expert, but offer some understanding, support, and humanity to this madness.

I'm sorry this post has seemed a bit fact based, and preachy/educational. I don't mean to undermine or patronise, I just want people to understand not sympathise. I'm still trying to get my head around the situation so writing it down helps.

I will include some websites below for more information a hepatitis C, and any comments/questions on what I'm going through are most welcome.

I will document accordingly anyway. I am also very aware and conscious that this blog will not become a diary of a 'medical fight' or story of a 'fight against adversity' as this was not the purpose of it's inception. It will still be peppered with anecdotes and stories of how I stumble through my exciting mess of a life, trying to make sense of everything as I see fit as promised and intended.

On a lighter note, a letter came this week from 'Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs', thinking it was a bill I avoided it for two days. I only have a tax rebate for £460, so swings and roundabouts.....

For more information:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hepatitis_C  (Wikipedia article on Hepatitis C)
http://www.bbc.co.uk/health/physical_health/conditions/hepatitisc1.shtml (BBC Health)
http://www.hepctrust.org.uk/ (UK Hepatitis C Trust)
http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/hepatitis-c/Pages/Introduction.aspx (NHS)
http://www.hepfi.org/ (Hepatitis Foundation International)

Crunch Time

I'm an actor, and was on my way to the theatre again today. As posted yesterday this involved a one hour fifteen minute drive. All was going well. The plan was, to arrive three hours before the show so we could rehearse and make any last minute changes before curtain up. I was performing a play which we have taken to secondary schools throughout the area since October 2009, although due to recasting, I only joined in March this year. The performance today was a showcase of all the major theatre companies in the area. An opportunity to network, and also an opportunity for promoters to come and see the shows, which involved some new writing, and developed work, with the view to possibly booking the show/s for their venues or employing actors, commissioning writers etc. A really excellent initiative, and like I said, a great opportunity.

Everything was going great, I was running twenty minutes late, but due to the time we had before the show actually started this wasn't a problem.

As I travelled down the motorway with the radio blaring, all was good.

Suddenly an object loomed in the distance in the right hand carriageway (for us British, the fast lane), however more to the point, MY lane.

As I got closer, travelling at around 82mph, it was suddenly upon me, and what was a small object in the distance, became larger, and larger, until suddenly I was upon it.

It was a huge lump of metal, strewn across the carriageway.

CRUNCH!

That horrible sound of metal clattering into metal. By the time I knew what it was I couldn't swerve into the middle lane as there was traffic there, so I had to just grin and take the impact.

My initial reaction was "Few, thank fuck for that." I thought I'd got away with it.

Driving back from London just after New Year I had hit some ice when I got home and skidded at the top of my road, mounting the curb and puncturing the tyre. Even then the 100 metres or so down my own road was hazardous, the car pulled from one side to the other, as any control I had deflated as quickly as the air from the tyre.

This time, apart from the sound, nothing happened. I still had full control.

"I was lucky there." I thought cockily.

However I looked horrified into the rear view mirror as the person behind me hit it, and the car after that.

"That's going to cause an accident." I thought to myself, as I drove along blissfully unaware of the drama about to unfold.

I carried on a further 4 miles, taking a junction further down and joining a different motorway, all part of my journey. As I reached the new motorway, there was an unusual sound starting to appear from the rear of the car. Eventually becoming so loud it drowned out the radio.

"This doesn't sound good." I thought.

Which reading now is the understatement of the year.

I pulled over on the hard shoulder, promptly activated my hazard lights, and jumped out.

I checked the front two tyres. Fine. Looking good.

I checked the rear passenger side, stopping to give it a good kick as I passed, to check the inflation level.

Also good.

I walked to the rear drivers side.

Disaster!

The entire tyre shredded. Smoke billowing off the rims, and the stench of rubber pungent in the air. Bollocks! By now it was 10.30am, leaving two and a half hours until I was meant to be on stage, in what could be a very important showcase.

I set about trying to change the wheel, but due to the wheel being the rear drivers side, I had lorries and cars whizzing past at 70 mph just one-two metres from my back. Precarious to say the least. I loosened the nuts, removed the cap off the 'special nut' and inserted the locking nut into the wrench to remove the 'special nut'. Every time I tried to pull down on the wrench the nut kept coming away at an angle from the car, almost as if the locking nut wasn't sitting on it properly. I rang the one person who can get you out of a crisis involving a car, on the side of a motorway...

My dad.

I could hear the mocking tone in his voice almost instantly. "Ha, you can't even change a fucking wheel properly." he was thinking.

 "No honestly the nut won't fit." I pleaded.

"Great, I'll have to come to help" he insisted.

Who was I to argue? I had no other option and time was ticking fast. For him to get there would be a good hour drive, but what ever I tried, nothing seemed to work, the nut wouldn't budge.

I had been there a good forty minutes by now, and not ONE person stopped to offer help or assistance. At this point I only felt I needed someone to hold the locking nut in place.

"Of course they won't stop." my dad said.

But why not? I'm not being hypercritical either. If I see anyone so much as walking up the verge with a petrol can in their hand, I stop, offer a lift to the garage, take them back to their car and then wait until its sorted. Why do people feel they can't help thy neighbour any more?

"It's just the way things are now, people are scared." people say.

"Bull-shit." I say.

I sat back in the car trying to regain some warmth. British winters are not the nicest even in the daytime. Fortunately it wasn't raining though.

Just as I got off the phone to my dad, and he had probably just got his coat and shoes on in readiness to come and help I imagined, I turned to my left and a man in a florescent jacket was peering in through the front passenger side window...

'Highway Patrol'.  "Thank you Lord." I thought, "At least you haven't let me down."

Unfortunately the news wasn't as good as I'd hoped.

Thanks for trying anyway big-G.

I quickly cancelled my dads imminent arrival. Luckily he hadn't left yet.

"The locking nut on cars are made out of cheap, soft metal." The patrol men explained.

"The grip on the inside of yours has worn away." He continued, after several unsuccessful attempts to remove the nut themselves. The highway patrol men didn't have a generic/universal one either. They are not allowed to interfere with break downs. Health and safety apparently??

"Fuck health and safety. I need to get to the theatre, and quick." I thought.

"Can't I just buy one, or my dad buy it and bring it down?" I asked. "Shortly that would be cheaper?" I insisted.

But things are never that easy.

"You can only get them from the car manufacturer as they are made for specific cars." They assured me.

Because I had no recovery or RAC/AA membership (Road side assistance for non-Brits), my dad quickly added it to my insurance premiums, with the idea of playing dumb and not mentioning the accident. However one of the highway patrol men, (Although faultless otherwise), opened his mouth telling them the accident happened 'before' we added the recovery. So they refused to send the recovery.

Or rather they would, but it would cost £80.

"£80 f***** quid! To change a wheel?" I exclaimed, shocked. But I had no choice.

This whole process took four hours. Yeah that's right FOUR hours. "Four hours to change a wheel? Are you serious?" I hear you ask.

I know, but with phoning my dad , the insurance company, and my boss about twenty times, not to mention the times it went to voice-mail or they didn't answer...I mean how can someone phone you, you miss the call, then call them literally straight back, and they still don't answer the phone? A matter of seconds in it? I never understand that. But all this messing around, waiting for people to confirm things, ring people, make payments, give instructions and directions, all added time. Not to mention my phone battery going flat.

Having an in car charger would be way too simple for me, as you might have guessed.

In all honesty the highway patrol men were incredible though. I'd still be sat there now if it wasn't for them. It's a pity the same can't be said about the great British public.

The play had to be postponed until 5pm leaving me another four hours to do nothing but twiddle my thumbs.

Brilliant! So much for an easy day.

This could all be classed as bad luck. However, having time to reflect on it now, I realise I'm very lucky it didn't take out any of the front wheels as the story could have been very different. The front wheels operate the steering so this would have definitely compromised the control of the car, especially at 82mph on one of Britain's busiest motorways. This blog could so easily have been an obituary. Everything came good in the end so it was good luck really, no one was hurt, and my car is still in one piece, minus one tyre, but the spare wheels on, so never mind. The tyre was only three weeks old though. £40 down the drain. Typical.

One of my directors great suggestions to try to get me there on time was... "Couldn't you just leave your car on the side of the motorway and pick it up later?"  (Cue stunned silence...)

As you guessed, I'm trying not to be sexist here, but yes she's female. Only a woman could say something as stupid as that. Leave your car on the hard shoulder unattended? It's not a fucking car park. I ask you? Honestly?

After all this I needed a cigarette so I found a garage 5 miles out of my way.

After this I've earned it you would think.

As you can guess from the title of this blog, I'm twenty eight. I know that I do look young for my age, but none the less I'm nearly thirty. So I pulled up to the garage in the car. Walked inside and went up to the counter and asked the guy for ten fags.

"Do you have any ID?" the assistant asked smugly.

Anger surged as blood pumped through my nicotine-less veins. I could have killed him. Because guess what?... I didn't.

In this country you have to BE 18 to buy cigarettes, but so shops don't sell to under age kids by mistakes, you have to LOOK 25. Just to er on the side of caution. Ok? So you have to defy the natural laws of ageing just to buy some fags? How can you BE 18, but LOOK 25? Surely if YOU ARE 18, you LOOK 18! NOT 30 or 32 or 46 but 18!

Note: Soapbox over. Pedestal de-mounted.

I actually said to a woman once, who had asked me for ID, "I know I look young, but can you honestly say at the age of 28, I look 17?"

She paused, thought about it, then replied, "No."

"So give me the cigarettes." I said.

"Yes, but you've got to LOOK 25." she said.

"Unbelievable." I said.

So I'm old enough to buy and drive a car? Old and responsible enough to stand on the dangerous hard shoulder of the motorway for 4 hours? Old enough to pay someone £80 to sort my car out? But I can't buy a pack of fags? I ask you? What is this country coming to?

Sod 28, I sound 82 now, with my moaning. It's not the age I look that bothers me, its the inconvenience when you have to travel miles out of your way to find a shop to serve you, just because I won't carry my passport with me 100% of the time. It wasn't a problem until I lost my plastic driving licence, which had my photo and date of birth. It costs £20 for a replacement though, and I just don't ever have that spare. It's just frustrating that's all.

Anyway I digress....

I finally got to the theatre at 2.30pm, another theatre company had offered to perform in our original slot of 1pm, and so we could take their slot of 4.40pm so we could still perform, which was very kind of them.

And just as I pulled into the car park, a bird did a huge, runny shit right on my windscreen.

"That just sums up my day...." I thought.

Traffic Jam

It would seem 'what goes around comes around'. After finishing work at 12.30pm, (bonus), I started off on the journey home.

I really just wanted to get home as my methadone from the previous day was starting to wear off, and having to leave so early in the morning, I hadn't had time to sort anything before work.

That's the nature of the beast. Even if your up early, and want to score it's usually impossible to rouse anyone into action before midday. Nightmare if you need to go anywhere, your invited off on a day trip or such. Even the chemist doesn't open till 9.30am so this makes it even more difficult if your trying to hold down a job.

Even more complicated and awkward is the fact I am on 'daily supervised' pick up. Which for those who don't know means going into a packed pharmacy every day, standing in full view of all the other customers, and having to drink your methadone supervised by the pharmacist like a child at school with their milk. Which in a small town such as mine can be really exposing, not to mention degrading. It's so obvious that people then know what your business is, which can be made even more difficult by the stigma in which heroin is held.

I'm not feeling sorry for myself, or even knocking the service. My pharmacy and pharmacists are wonderful and we are lucky to live in a society where health care and treatment such as this is free, accessible and open to all. I just wish doctors and key workers would realise sometimes that not all 'smack heads' are unemployed and spend their days with nothing to do other than sit outside a pharmacy or a doctors surgery all day, waiting to pick up or sort out their script (prescription for the uninitiated.)

Another problem I have with this, 'supervised daily', is that doctors swear blind that methadone lasts in your system for twenty-four hours, but I know this not to be true. Their response to this is it must be psychological, in your head.

This is not true either.

I'm now well accustomed to knowing the signs of withdrawal that my body gives out, and methadone has NEVER held me for the full twenty-four hours.

A trick I used to use, before being put on 'supervised daily', is take half before I go to bed and half when I get up. This seemed to have a 'topping up' effect, and worked really well, carrying me through the day with ease. This is now impossible due to the present situation. So now, if I take it at five pm and have work the next day, by three in the afternoon the next day I'm sweating buckets, getting restless and wanting to go home. This can make working uncomfortable and often unproductive. Another bi-product of the controlling nature of heroin addiction.

This is what was happening today.

So I got in the car and put the air con on.

Too cold.

I switched it off.

Too fucking hot.

Heroin withdrawals make you so damn temperature sensitive. This went on for the duration of the journey.

I had a choice of two ways to get home. Both of equal distance/time. I chose the more direct route of 20 miles straight up the motorway. Then A roads all the way back. However when I got off the motorway...

Nightmare.

Roads closed. Grid locked traffic.

The sweat just got pricklier and pricklier. My patience got shorter and shorter. In the end rather than sit their with a pounding headache, gradually getting worse, I decided to do something about it. I swung the car round, drove 20 miles back and went my original way home.

The way I should have gone in the first fucking place. (Excuse my language)

Even then though I got stuck behind lorries and fucking tractors, all the way back. (My pet hate)

I eventually arrived back after a journey that should have took one hour ended up taking two and a half.

What should have been an 80 mile round trip was now 130, using a massive chunk of the petrol I'd skanked earlier in the day, and leaving me in the same situation as earlier, for tomorrow, with even less options...After all I couldn't do the petrol station twice.

I'll just put this down to karma.

Petrol Station

Went to work this morning and had to get up in order to leave at 7.15am to arrive at 8.15am.

How come any other day of the week I would happily sleep for England? But not today. 'Ping' eyes shoot open at 5am and refuse to close again.

I had something on my mind though.

I had no petrol to get to work.

I don't get paid till Friday, yet need money to get to work, it's a catch 22. I could have asked my parents but hate having to go through the row and suspicion that a known addict asking for money naturally brings.

I suffer frequently from the ostrich syndrome. I knew all yesterday I couldn't afford to get to work, yet buried my head in the sand hoping that something would invariably turn up to sort it out. As if £30 would just drop from the sky. In reality I was just buying time.

No matter, this still weighed on my conscience, making for a very restless night.

"I have to get to work" I kept thinking, over and over.

In the end I decided that rather than dent pride by asking for help, I'd go to the petrol station, fill up with enough for today and tomorrow, go to pay (fully aware there was insufficient funds to cover it) then play ignorant, pretending the card doesn't work. Give them my details, and promptly avoid for two days until Friday. This may not be the morally correct thing to do but I was backed into a corner.

I was going to pay eventually, I would never just drive off.

However, the anxiety and thought of the embarrassment of having to do this, in a petrol station full of people made me feel sick. How stupid that out of all my options this seemed to be the most rational?

That's lack of sleep, and desperation for you. After all, "What is the worst that could honestly happen?" I thought, nervously.

In the end, after delaying the inevitable with two bowls of Sugar Puffs and three cigarettes, I just built up the courage and went for it. Get it out the way, I reasoned.

Its funny how situations are never as bad as you envisage them to be. The guy behind the counter was really kind and forgiving, took my details no with no hassle, and as a bonus the petrol station was empty.

Result.

I get to work to earn some money for two days, and they get their money. Eventually.

Everyone's a winner. They are a massive cooperation anyway, it won't hurt them too much, I'm sure.

Next problem, getting enough money to score....It never seems to stop.

The amount of money I have managed to accumulate out of thin air when I have had to is incredible. We're talking tens of thousands of pounds. My doctor often says "Think of all that money you could of had, if you hadn't used.".

Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

But Would I really have 'had' that money if it wasn't for the craving and incessant desperation to self medicate?

I don't think so.

What I do know however, is that if every heroin addict was able to use this same cunning, and business acumen to more positive value, they would be very successful, and rich, with a pedigree that most huge businesses would want to utilise. If only it were that easy, eh?

Lazy Bones

Woke up today as I do most days feeling awful. The first pangs of withdrawal hijacking my sleep. It makes you drowsy and causes you to sleep longer, but at the same time makes your dreams lucid, interrupted and uncomfortable.

I roused myself into action. Rather than wallowing in self pity, I'm the kind of person who needs to do something to sort the situation, even if this seems unattainable.

I had a shower and brushed my teeth, this always seems to make you feel better when your rattling even if its only temporarily.

I turned on my mobile and saw I had a missed call from one of my suppliers.

'Strange' I thought.  There are seven or eight regular dealers where I live, all with varying quality of stuff, its a minefield these days to obtain anything decent. Even so we're not short of choices.

 The one who had rang was someone I regularly go to, and due to this has become a friend. Even so they never normally call. Unless they want something of course. If they are trying to get hold of me, at least they will answer their phone and I won''t have to chase them, which is tedious when every one has ran out and your trying to get someone, anyone, to reply to your phone call.

I rang them back. 'Do you want anything?', the voice on the other end replied.

'Yeah, just the one' I said.

'Well, when you come can you get me 10 fags and some bread out of the money?'.

'No problem'.

At least if they need me for something, they are unlikely to keep me waiting, I reasoned, another bug bear of scoring, especially when your ill.

So here began an hour of running round, going to the cash machine, then to the shops, then off to score, then back home. While coming out of the shops my friend Dave rang.

'I feel fucking terrible, not just rattling, think I've got the flu and the shits, can you pick me up and take me to score and then take me to put my Dads horses on'

'Fucks sake, I just want to get home. And you better not pass that shit on to me you twat.'

So off I went to get him, ordered another one. More waiting while this was made up. Up to his Dads to get the betting slip, then down to the bookies. Then back home.

People say we're lazy. It may be mundane but its a hectic life this addiction lark.

It controls you.

If I had work, all this would have to be completed beforehand just to get me to work feeling ok. To allow me to function or work at an acceptable level. Sometimes it can take longer depending who your meeting, whether you have money or not etc. Its a necessity at the moment, and can take hours out of your day, just fucking around, waiting to score.

This is why people can't function, don't get anything done. The events I described are mild by comparison. An hour is nothing. I have a car, if I was on foot this would have involved at least a 4 mile walk. This can happen 2 maybe 3 times a day.

We're not lazy, we just put our energy's into the wrong things. Of course it's our own choice. Or at least it was. If you had the flu you'd go to the pharmacy. This is exactly the same. Although self inflicted, it still causes illness. No one when getting a habit knew it would be this hard, went in with their eyes wide open.

If they did they're mental.

This is just us going to the pharmacy, its just society with its laws and regulations makes it much more difficult.

Was it worth it?

 Of course it was, we wouldn't do it otherwise.

Too young

I feel I need to make one last post today in tribute to a friend or rather acquaintance who for the purposes of this blog shall be called Paul.

Paul was only 32 years old, but died last Thursday, the 14th October 2010, of a Heroin overdose. It was his funeral today.

I decided not to go.

Not because of the connection we had 'through drugs and addiction' as I truly believe that on the day of a funeral whether you are good,evil,thief, or Samaritan the day is about the deceased and no one else. We are all human beings in our humblest forms what ever our wrongs on a day like this. However I didn't feel I knew him well enough outside of our illicit vocation to warrant me going. Instead my tribute will be here.

Times like this remind us of our fragile mortality. It makes me shudder to think of the way he died. It's not so much the 'way' he died as I should imagine dying from a strong pain killer would be painless and peaceful. Like falling into a deep sleep. It's the way your last act on this earth will always be remembered that bothers me. The lad who was a junkie, the lad who's promiscuity caught up with him. No matter what other good things he did in his short life, there will always be the moral astronauts high up on their pedestals wagging the 'I told you so' finger.

I'm sure there will be people thinking people like Paul deserve their death, you live by the sword you die by the sword. He was, after all, an adult and you make decisions perfectly concious of the possible outcomes. No one forces you. No one ever forced me.

The image of 'dealers' peddling to school kids is an urban myth, this would never happen. The myth of drugs being cut with glass or arsenic is also an urban myth fabricated by the tabloids to add dramatic effect. Most dealers deal to fund their habits, they wouldn't last long in business if this was the case. 90% of their clientèle are known to them personally, this wouldn't bode well for repeat custom.

Paul's mum found him. I feel for her. She's not to blame. He wasn't a bad person. Drug taking isn't always a terrible thing. It's dangerous and can make people do reckless things but like most things that are 'bad' for us, is harmless in moderation. Moderation is the key. Rest in peace Paul. God Bless.

£200 for the snip anyone?

I've been interested to read, and see some of the reactions surrounding 'Barbara Harris' (pictured) from the US's campaign to pay people suffering with addiction £200 cash to under go 'long term birth control'.
The story goes that after adopting children from parents with addiction, and seeing the scars left behind, she thought to herself 'why are we letting this happen?', 'why are we letting parents not fit to raise children have children?'.
So off she trotted on a one woman mission funded by a 'secret benefactor' offering cash for sterilisation.

Project Prevention has now reached the UK.

I do agree that in some cases children do suffer due to parents recklessness, and have witnessed first hand a fundamental lack of care given by some parents suffering with addiction. Addiction is a selfish past time and has no time for others even, it would seem, ones children. Even so, this is a vast generalisation, and how dare someone have the right to decide who is fit to have children or not, regardless of the parents afflictions.

Children suffer at the hands of bad parenting for differing reasons, drink, violence, cruelty, mental health etc. I know one addict who has bought up her seventeen year old daughter all on her own, the child has never suffered or gone with out and is now doing well at college and plans to go to university, I know for a fact she would not have been better off with the father who is not an addict of any kind, but lacks the fundamental ingredients of love and selflessness needed to bring up a child. The child wouldn't change her upbringing for the world.

Who says that people can't reform? This woman's view seems to be once an addict always an addict.
I've always found the lack of use of contraception between casual partners is nothing short of unforgivable, and this goes mainly for drunk one night stands than with other illegal drugs, yet this seems to be alright? If the child is born by mistake as the result of a fumble between two consenting fourteen year old's, fine. Bring drugs into the equation? NO WAY!

Offering money to the vulnerable, desperate and needy to stop them producing and passing on their genes? They may consent now, but what happens when in five years time they are clean and in a stable relationship and want to start a family? They may not be so forgiving then. Will this be their own fault? The result of there own addiction fuelled greed for money? I suppose so. Fuck them. One less future junkie to ignore.

This is generalisation in the extreme, what next? sterilising smokers? Muslims? homosexuals? poor people?

I can not believe reading comments on the web that people are behind and encourage this, she has sterilised 3000 people in the US, but fuck it they are only junkies who cares. That is someone's sister, brother, son, daughter.  I wonder who's behind this....the good old Christians? She says not, but if in doubt blame the Christians that's my motto...x

http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2010/jun/12/barbara-harris-sterilise-drug-addicts-alcoholics

(As always your thoughts welcome)

The Story so Far....

It began with a 'normal' progression through teenage pharmaceutical experimentation, Cider - Weed - Speed - Ecstacy - Cocaine, all on a purely recreational basis, that continued through college and into University.

This experimentation and search for self destruction gradually and 'stereotypically' progressed onto the most taboo and least understood of illegal highs.

Heroin.

At first it became a secret act between a couple of friends who would obtain some from a friend of a friend and sneak off, excited in the knowledge we were trying something so hated, revered and mystical that the intrigue in doing so was unbearable. The use was purely recreational and the anticipation and excitement that went with this, bought the few of us who 'experimented' with this Queen of the highs together into a secret 'club' and/or pact. It's ability to isolate had already begun.

All was well and the use was very sparse.

Once, maybe twice a year.

When I finished my degree high in student debt, things didn't go quite as I had anticipated. I didn't have the funds to follow my fellow students to the bright lights of the big city, so I moved home to my small little market town here in the UK. The idea was to earn some money and follow on in the Autumn.

After three years of companionship and ambition, I was suddenly alone and depressed. I turned to the one thing that reminded me of friendship and togetherness.

Heroin.

It started as it had before, recreationally.

Then I began to push my luck.

I pushed my luck, bit by bit, using day after day. Every day that I woke up without withdrawal symptoms the more I tried my luck. Unlike how some would have you believe this process of addiction  took several weeks, in order to develop any habit or routine the act has to be repeated, at least twice.

Eventually reality began to creep in. I began to think what I'd do if I felt ill and began to withdraw. 'I'm a big boy, I can handle it' I thought. 'I'm not a junkie, When I begin to feel ill I'll stop'. 'It can't be that bad, can it?'. As if the illness that came with the craving would somehow warn me, start off slowly, go easy, so as to welcome me into it's exclusive club gently.

I was after all a newcomer.

Eventually and inevitably it hit and I was not prepared. Naivety became my foe.

In the beginning it had only just began it's grip. I still had money so the self medication was no problem. Gradually though, as it sapped my resources, smoking turned to injecting. For purely 'economic' reasons of course.

I had to contact a treatment centre, gain a key worker in order to get treatment. Get a prescription to fill in the gaps when money was a problem, so I didn't have to go down the route of thieving or crime.

Addiction bred deception and a web of deceit was spun on a regular basis to protect the people I loved, and to allow me to get what I want.

Six years have passed and my morals have been knocked down like dominoes, although I know my conscience is clear, partly due to a good family, I haven't had to resort to 'career' crime or the usual unpleasant practices to pay for my addiction. However I understand why people do.

I am writing this blog because although my ultimate aim is to become clean and I will share this accordingly, that is not the blogs focus.

During the last six years I have had the opportunity to meet some of the most interesting, and colourful characters that have opened my mind and perceptions in a way I would not swap for the world. These experiences I would love to share.

Little is known about this seedy underworld apart from the generalisation created by the media and society of, tramps, shop lifting, and benefit scroungers. This is painted by people scared of the truth. Much in the same way mental health was misunderstood 100 years ago.

I plan to show you that, yes, there are bad people, but they are bad 'in-spite', not always 'because' of the drug, and there are a lot of good people too who are just trying to find there way, products of there upbringing, or unpleasant past. What ever happens, this will be a diary/blog covering many topics however they come about, not just about drugs but about life, I hope you enjoy the ride....

Chucky