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
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