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Friday, 29 July 2011

I Hate Facebook

I shouldn't have done...but I looked on his. More tears flow as I noticed he still keeps the pics of the women he describes as shallow sluts, trophy wives etc and deleted mine, and his new pic is posing in a new suit for his new sales job I guess.

There is also a pic of Stonehenge...when will I see the sunrise? When will my tears ever end? I think I may be heading for a breakdown....all the drugs do now are numbing my pain. I want to be the person I was two years ago but she is getting further away, and thinking about her makes me cry more. But then I haven't been able to cry for ages so maybe I need it.....

The more I see the more I just want to bury my head in my pillow and cry myself to sleep......why, God, why? Did the fact I liked a bit of sniff mean you had to bring that man to me only to break my heart in pieces, for no benefit but maybe for him to enjoy the ego buzz?

I can take no more. I normally talk about my problems, I have bottled them up for months. The pain I feel now is the result. He has money, he don't need me, the man who once said 'no matter what we always have each other'. I know it is a bore but never have I hurt like this, never have I broke my heart over someone before like this and I am in my late 30s not a teenager. Please God take my pain away without the endless need for drugs to do the job.

Please don't let me drive myself to an early grave mourning for someone who does not care shit for me.

The Tears

I don't know what has bee wrong with me today...I guess my tensions from all week have built up to a point of no return where I break down.

I felt ok at first when I woke up, I had a late night last night so was taking it easy. Maybe it was reading some more stuff about Amy that did it, from a biography that was written a few years back when it was hoped she would pull through and produce more albums....but to say it was just that would be untrue. It has been my brain chemistry, circumstances, all kinds of things.

I have not had a very good week, there are vultures out there who think I am ripe for the picking because of my vulnerabilities....I had a rotten experience with a guy I met earlier in the week that I don't want to write about just now.

There have been a lot of busts in this town lately which mean decent sniff is hard to find....but it is always possible to find crack cocaine. I was in tears this afternoon about eveything and anything, I don't know if it is just depression or a sign of addiction or what...but of course I knew what could make it better. One of my clients texted with bad news...his guy had been busted, I replied and said I did not feel good, he said to go round. I was hoping he would have some money, something, but he was thinking his company alone and a fatherly 'what shall we do with you?' would help. It did not.

So I had £20 spare and I spent it on crack, had it not been for a few fuck ups in the week, people taking the piss, I would have had more. But there was no sniff so I needed something, alcohol was not working. I have been missing my ex, and have been feeling troubled all round. If I could put my finger on one is probably feeling alone. Cold. Empty. When I smoked that stuff the pain went away, like a miracle. But now it is wearing off I can feel that pain I want to try and earn something so I can at least get high, and get a decent amount so as not to run round like a headless chicken. I don't really like crack, it is too short lived, sniff is more subtle and lasts longer, but when there is none I just take what there is, hell, it's still bloody cocaine.

Thursday, 28 July 2011


I wanted to write an obituary for Amy Winehouse....but it's hard to do something like that without it sounding corny. I tried to post a video the other day but it didn't work, so I just edited and reposted the 'Rehab' video to my earlier post.

Of course it was a waste of talent as she had so much more to give....but something that always touched me about her was her honesty in her lyrics, the way her music, image, everything, was honest and came from the heart. Being one who wears her heart on her sleeve herself I like to see that in a musician. She never pretended to be anything she wasn't, it was no gimmick. She lived through the songs she wrote.

I have been neglecting my music for a while now, I've made attempts to pick it up again, but there is something, some malaise that has been eating at my soul for a while now...and it isn't too much drug use, it is deeper, a pain that I haven't as yet been able to translate musically.

Not that I claim to have anywhere near her talent, though, but music is something I only picked up a few years back. Like the others I mentioned of the 27s..Jimi, Janis, Jim, Kurt....fame and sucess came to them young and early. Maybe it was too much for them.

But Amy's talent was not wasted, she touched people with her music, with being just herself and has left her mark. She will be missed, and we were looking forward to more releases, but in history she will not be forgotten, what she has left behind will always be with us.

Goodbye Amy, and may you rest in peace.

Monday, 25 July 2011

New Blog

Came across another blog called 'Cocaine addiction kinda sucks', one I confess to having avoided for some time as it is too close to home.

But it does suck is the truth, nobody who has commented on my blog has found my life enviable in any way. I don't blame the drugs, the fact is I am a fuck up who chooses to cope with my alienation in that way. But something she said rang true....'cocaine and sex, true love and sex'...are the best things. I have never experienced the later, just the former. Easy to mistake it for love the night I felt I touched heaven, shagging when I was so high, with someone I thought I loved......will I ever get that feeling back again?

What I wish for and what I miss....I won't go on about. I just remember that one experience....when it felt I touched heaven, saw stars. The times I mourn....I can get high but nothing feels so amazing as good quality coke mixed with sex with someone you for 'true love' I don't know what kind of love is true and what isn't.

It is a concept I have never it because it is abstract or because I have never had it? I don't want to upset myself dwelling on it.

Goodbye To Love

I just looked back and saw how big the gap on this blog was...and that was the time him I and were the closest we came to being a normal couple...although we were not. He was living off me. Sometimes things would be fine, the first few months we reconciled after the break up in July there were no rows, no violence...but then he had what he wanted, he had his coke lovingly supplied by me, who obtained it by what he had previously called 'dirty money'. Never mind the fact I forgave the fact he had robbed my means of getting out of that trade....and still dared condemn me when things were ok for him. When he had nothing, nobody, nowhere to go....the motherfucker started to behave like a model boyfriend, giving me the love I wanted. The only thing he deprived me of was money and drugs as he had none...but hey, I supplied them, what was I there for?

I did all I could, I tried so hard....and still failed. My tears fall as I realise he never loved me....go forgive me for having been so stupid. That man has ruined and cost me more than any drug.

Two reasons I neglected this blog for six months....firstly, I was too tied up with other things.....i.e supporting my boyfriend, who did not like me even writing this blog. His greed made him get another prostitute to move in and pay him, not her, rent.

He got on the crack which did not agree with either of us, I got emotional and he became aggressive. I worked hard, and by January when I recovered a computer I was burnt out and depressed. But I cry when I remember the good times, the moments of fun we had, the love he chose to show me sometimes....

I have four or five letters which I have never sent him. I will condense them and do so. If he still doubts I loved him...the man is a fool. I fought tooth and nail to get him off a DV charge, I lost my flat, and when I mentioned the money I am owed...he knows the vile thing he said. I will not print it here. But may he know that I am crying now as I write this. May he know the love I felt then has not died...but I am resigned to being alone as I want nobody else.

Motherfucker. But that is the end of that sorry tale, I am alive just colder. The precious heart he loved is dead, as people kill what they love, but my cold heart reborn can weather and survive this storm. I will come out the other side.

Save for a couple of past tales, that chapter is closed. Goodbye my love, and may you find the peace of mind I know you crave. Even if I never see you again you still have a piece of my heart and you have taken something I cannot replace.

There it is readers, my heart on my sleeve.

Depths of Despair....

I do what I can to take my pain away...and where does my pain stem from? I wish I could say I was partying as I was not so long ago....but all yesterdays's parties are long over and I don't know if there will be any I am not partying right now but killing my pain.

Loneliness. I lost the only two men I ever truly loved, despite things in between, in the space of 5 years. If hell have no mercy like a woman scorned...why is it I don't feel anger but just pain? Betrayal, loneliness, a cold bed.....then I get told I should give up my only enjoyment I have left....i.e stop taking drugs. No, they are all I have left now, while I am alone and unloved.

Nobody understands, they think I should be well rid of him and get on with my life. But at times I feel my life is gone....where is the girl who lived for her parties, music, what is she doing smoking crack cocaine alone in a halfway house, turning tricks to support her habit?

I prefer good sniff, but if I can get none....I have been reduced to this. And not because I have a disease, I cannot bear the emptiness and the pain....but every line, every blast on a crack pipe I hear that little voice whisper that everything is alright........even if it is the voice of the devil I don't care.
I remember the second honeymoon with him, when there was hope. We had good times to party, but when we didn't he told me at least we had each other when I climbed in bed beside him, nobody would come between us, and he would never see me high and dry as I had saved him from begging on the street.

Where are you now, my love? Do you and did you always hate me this much? What did I ever do to you? Ok you don't actively hurt me, but you don't want to know or care what becomes of me. When I still cry over you. I wonder what you are doing now, if you ever miss me or think of me too....damn me.

You nearly killed me, you took me so for granted and I was your punchbag, you made me a shadow of myself...but had I not loved you I would never have let you hurt me so. There is more, so much more....if I ever let you down along with myself I am sorry. Did you really want me to die?

RIP my 'precious heart'. Nobody will ever hurt me like that again. You can't break a heart that is already broken. I will rely on myself and never be hurt like that again.

Goodbye to love. Hello to coldness, emptiness. Sounds like a song from somewhere.

People don't get that I don't even want another man, I don't have the capacity to feel that way again and I am just not interested. I want to be alone. His last insult was calling me a 'dried up, barren spinster', words that would sting any woman. I don't even make a good whore, so he said. Not that I want to...but if my value to him consisted of my ability to make money know what...then I am better off alone.

Sunday, 24 July 2011

My One Night Stand.

I have something to has been a while since he has been gone. I have been feeling the loneliness of being single. Despite how badly he treated me, the arguments, the violence and all of it I have been missing someone to go home to at night, someone to simply cuddle up to and be there. Nothing can compensate for that.....but in my carnality I missed real sex, the kind that is not for money, I was tired of feeling dead from the waist down, cold.

Yet I did not want a relationship then, I was not ready to open myself in that way and am still the only option seemed to be a one night stand not involving the exchange of money. So I met someone who was moderately attractive, amiable. What started with a cuddle went further. However, I found it slightly eerie the way that he was sexually dominant, into hair pulling, calling me names while he shagged me and all the rest.

Our mutual friend was daft enough to tell him what I did for a the following day came the pimp talk. But it was too unsubtle, too quick...transparent. I am not stupid. He asked me if I wanted to score some crack, I said I prefer powder. Something redeeming about my ex, at least he had the goods. This man could not even score a bit of crack, let alone powder.

He was bragging about the size of his apartment, how he longed to 'protect me' etc...I said I did not want another pimp, a one night stand did not mean I was his property.

Had he been more subtle....but no. The fact I went with him so quickly was because I wanted nothing more serious than that, was I looking for a relationship, rather than scratching an itch, an ache, it would not have happened. And in hindsight it wasn't worth the bother.

Being told he 'wanted me to be his girlfriend' like I had no say.....I pointed out to him that I did have a choice in the matter, and had stated I did not want a relationship, that I am still crying over you know who. It took him ages to take no for an answer, and his boasting was laughable. Like his size in the criminal hierarachy is as big as if. Ok, so he wasn't badly endowed, wasn't bad in that way, but I didn't want to marry him.

I wanted no boyfriend, pimp, nothing, just a bit of affection and release. It is accepted that single men feel the need for this without the complications of a relationship. But this guy couldn't see that, so he stalked me for nearly a week before getting the message. Oh well, he got it eventually. I just wonder what my fate will be, if I ever can love or be loved again.

Saturday, 23 July 2011

The Treatment Industry


I made some notes from a few weeks back to post here on the subject of 'treatment' for addiction.

I may have alienated a few addicts due to my strong views, but as I see it I am as entitled to mine as they are to theirs. Despite her song, the late Amy Winehouse did in fact go to rehab, and it had no success. I know of people who have been in and out of such places, time and time again, with no result.

I have long been of the mentality that addiction to any substance is something someone lets go of when they want to, when they have a others words, something to live for other than drink or drugs. If somebody's existence feels pointless and miserable, why ask them to give up the only enjoyment they have? To attempt to force them to do so is an experiment doomed to fail. I have given up my addictions and been able to use or drink recreationally when I feel alright, happy in myself. I have done this with no 'treatment'. One narrow minded 'support worker' said to me sarcastically 'Well, I admire you Snow Queen, as you are an exception, you are the first person I have met who has managed to do this......'. The implication was that I was lying, as the sarcasm was not lost on me, nor was the patronising tone. Maybe it is because the person in question works in the treatment industry herself, and is an ex addict/12 stepper, which means by definition she is unlikely to come accross people who have overcome addictions with no 'treatment'. But her narrow world is not the only world, and it would probably do her good stepping out of it. I have met people who have managed to quit addiction without 'treatment' involving meetings, destructive group therapy, addiction counselling, and all the rest it entails, be it residential or out patient based.

Most treatment is based on the disease model of addiction....that addiction is some kind of a disease, perhaps hereditary or genetic. This view largely derives from Bill Wilson's 12 step program which is the basis of AA and all of it's offshoots such as NA (Narcotics Anonymous), CA (Cocaine Anonymous), among many others that stick to the same script. Most 'treatment', if not directly based on the 12 steps, tends to be largely influenced by that school of thought, and the disease model tends to be taken for granted.

There is no medical evidence to support the view that addiction is a 'disease'. If one really wants to stretch the point they could perhaps classify it as a social or psychological disease, but no way can it be described as a disease such as Cancer, Aids, Parkinsons, or whatever else.

The only thing we have to go on is that it is a compulsive behavioural problem, a psychological problem no doubt, but this is a far cry from insisting it is a genetically based 'disease' akin to cystic fibrosis.

And, as far as mental illnesses go, the medical profession is diplomatic enough not to label biplolar disorder or schizophrenia as 'diseases'. Psychotherapy or other therapy given to the mentally ill is therefore described as 'therapy' rather than 'treatment', as it has not scientifically proven to be of benefit to every patient, as we are individuals. Human beings are too complex to be boxed into neat little compartments, especially when it is the human mind we are talking about. 'Treatment' is a term you would expect to be used for something that has tangible, predicted results that can more or less be relied upon. This is why even chemotherapy for cancer is not known as 'chemotreatment'.

Therefore I would like to know how so called 'treatment' for addiction gets away with calling itself such, as it is one of the least reliable therapies for any mental problem, and has a noticeably low success rate. It has no proven, tangible, results, and while you may be able to force chemotherapy on an unwilling cancer sufferer and get some results (for arguments sake, leaving aside the ethics of such a matter), 'treatment' forced upon a drug addict or alcoholic is more or less guaranteed to fail. Why? BECAUSE IT IS NOT MEDICINE!

Freud, whatever one may think of him, at least called his method 'psychotherapy' or analysis, not 'psychotreatment'. Although his views may be of value and may have been of help to some, just as 'treatment' may have been of help to some addicts, the theories of Freud cannot be proven in any laboratory, it cannot be proven that the human brain is receptive to therapy, and however interesting some may find the Oedipus complex etc it cannot be scientifically proved to exist by any experiment. So it remains a theory, not a fact. I say this as someone who finds pyschotherapy to be of interest and even has been of benefit to me in the past working through issues from my childhood.

Hence I am angered that what in my view amounts to re-education, or indoctrination of people like myself dares to call itself treatment.

For those it does help, the only thing it does have the right to call itself is therapy, as everything else dealing with the human mind does. But, due to the disease model most 'treatment' bases itself on, it becomes less surprising that it has the arrogance to label itself as treatment, as something that is not a disease will hardly need treatment, will it?

I am one drug user who will hold my head up high and say I do not want 'treatment' - I want drugs. The drug laws mean nothing to me as I do not respect them, they are laws that amount to nothing else but an invasion of my privacy.

I have seen person after person come out of 'treatment' and either fail miserably (the 12 step premise that after one drink one is doomed to go down an everlasting spiral to jails, institutions, death.... can often be self fufilling, if people are told this for long enough), or they become people I no longer recognise, picking up jargon they would never have used before, like s/he is in 'recovery'.. 'I relapsed yesterday'...and so on. As most treatment has the 12 step approach, which is religion rather than medicine, the fellowships and the religious views they hold often take the place of the drug, and become a new addiction.

I have been told I do not want treatment because I am not ready. No, I am not ready, and you know what? I never will be, as I never want that rubbish rammed down my throat. While some people may benefit in some way from it, not everyone does, many people slow down naturally themselves, because as the body ages it can take less abuse. Or perhaps some people may need help in some form, but it does not instantly follow that they need the disease model, the 12 steps, or any of that rammed down their throats. The most succesful 'treatment' for obsessive behavioural problems such as phobias, compulsive behavious such as addiction, and destructive thought patterns such as depression (which some of these other symptoms may stem from) is a method known as cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), which is in fact something a person can learn themselves, and it simply involves learning to isolate destructive or negative thought patterns that can lead to destructive behaviour, and attempting to replace them with a healthier way of thinking than depressive thoughts.

I am not a cheerleader for CBT, as like anything it will not work for everyone and is no miracle cure as some of it's fanatical adherents like to insist. However, it does appear to have a noticeably higher success rate than the 12 step disease model. Another thing in it's favour is that it is secular, while the 12 steps are openly religious. Religion is not medicine or even therapy, therefore it should not be posing as such. At least CBT does not pretend to be something it is not.


My current feelings are that I don't want to suffer old age, with the agony and loneliness, facing the prospect of dying in a white room wired up with tubes, I would like to go quickly with as little much pain as possible, as most of us would. I have no children and the way my prospects are looking (bear in mind I have been cursed with fertility problems along with my other crosses I bear) I am unlikely to have any. I have long accepted the fact I can never be totally what this society classifies as 'normal', and I am willing to live with that. Therefore the last thing I want is for the State to force feed me what I know to be snake oil in the hope of making me the model citizen I can never be nor am willing to be. While my life on this planet continues, I am determined to enjoy it and overcome my setbacks in my own way, not a way that is forced on me from without.

The CJS are the worst offenders for stealing people's right to privacy, their right to be who they are, by offering desperate people 'treatment' as an alternative to prison. I know of one man who was put in jail for breaching part of a community sentence, and this community sentence was ....attending 12 step meetings! If so called 'treatment' is to have any success the patient must at least be willing, choosing it of their own free will. Else what remote hope does it have of working?

Would forced psychotherapy be likely to work? Anyone with even half a brain cell to rub together will reply in the negative. So why the hell do the State imagine forced drug 'treatment' to work on convicted 'criminals'? (I use the term criminals in inverted commas as the chances are the people I speak of would not be criminals if the society we lived in did not make them into criminals due to the law of prohibition). An alcoholic is not by definition a criminal, yet even a recreational user of cocaine is such in the eyes of the law. A wine merchant is acting within the law, yet a small time heroin dealer, putting out small amounts at a time to feed his habit, is deemed by the same laws to be equivalent to a child molester or murderer.

Drug 'pushers' do not hang around outside schools offering them powder, that is a tabloid invention designed to whip up hysteria among the general population and thus gain increased support for the prohibition laws. In fact, it is not very easy to get in touch with a 'pusher' directly if you are new in town. The way one usually is introduced to a dealer is through their friends, peer group, whatever. Every drug dealer I have ever encountered had said he would not sell his product to someone who has not tasted it before.

But getting back to the point, as I was sidetracking....the 12 step model is not medicine but religion.Yet it still is funded by the State in some way or other, posing as treatment for a 'disease' that is not proved to even exist. The elite, by and large, have little idea of the way that their prohibition laws affect the life of the addict on the street, and their own prejudices make them care little about his or her plight. This makes them too readily lap up the unrealistic and often downright untrue claims that 'treatment' makes for itself. If any member of the establishment questions it's advocates about it's noticable lack of success in dealing with this social problem, they simply reply that people are not following the program correctly, hence the enormous rate of relapsing....but what does following the program entail?

Mind control. 12 step programs expect would be devotees to attend '90 meetings in 90 days'. During which time a 'higher power', or 'God' is rammed down their throats incessantly while they are forced to listen to other people's sob stories, and then how much better they feel since being in so called 'recovery'. There is no room for atheists here as the first three steps explicitly state that one is powerless over their addiction, that their only hope of returning to 'sanity' is trusting in a 'higher power', and that they must learn to trust in God as they understand 'Him'. Note the 'Him'. When I was trying to come off heroin over a decade ago, which I eventually did with nothing but my own willpower, a reducing methadone script and some diazepam to calm my anxiety....this was after 3 years wasted of my life with doctors who should have known better trying to insist I tried the 12 step model. Doctors should not be prescribing religion. I attended my Catholic Church and was quite content there, religion was of help to me at the time as well but my faith did not sit comfortably with the 12 step program, which asks God to perform miracles. As I believed the Bible, which states 'Do not put God to the test', I was not prepared to do that.

Most addiction counsellors are ill qualified, often have the 12 step approach and very often their only qualification is being a former addict. It can help having someone to talk to who understands, but if this is a 'disease' we are talking about, that according to the 12 step zealots is 'fatal', then what good is this? If someone is suffering from cancer, a former sufferer may be able to give them comfort, and might even have some anecdotes on how they managed to beat the disease, but no doctor would class that as 'treatment' or medicine. According to 12 step theory, addiction is a disease that can be 'arrested but never cured', a bit like HIV, so to speak. Yet HIV is a virus that is proven to exist, and the ways of arresting the disease are in the form of medication, not snake oil and psychobabble. Therefore it seems addiction is a very odd 'disease'.....probably because it isn't one.

I don't have the time on this blog to go into the origins, beliefs etc of the 12 step movement, and how it's assumptions have infiltrated the establishment, how the treatment industry thrives off prohibition, but go and google 'The Orange Papers'. That will be a good place to start. But to start with, the AA 12 step cult was founded in the 1930s by an alcoholic named Bill Wilson, who was a devout US protestant and associated with a cult run by a Frank Buchanan, known as the 'Oxford Groups' as they gained recruits largely from Oxford University (not to be confused with the Oxford Movement, otherwise known as Anglo Catholicism). Alcoholics Anonymous grew in the time of the depression, not long after prohibition on the sale of liquor....

Contrary to its claims the 12 step approach is not the only way to get better. Personally speaking, my drug use or drinking has reduced itself when my life circumstances have improved, and as I have stated it has been managed with no 'treatment' of that kind.

I am talking about this now due to my recent experiences, of which I said something, but the experience of being threatened with homelessness unless I accepted some modified version of the 12 step approach (which is what most 'treatment' amounts to) was no joke. I was close to a breakdown, thank God I am not there, but I truly was thinking the hell I had with my ex was preferable to what was on offer from the steppers....

To be continued.

RIP Amy Winehouse

I was saddened to hear today about the untimely death of Amy Winehouse, whose voice was a source of joy to myself as to many others. We will miss her. Jimi, Janis, Jim, Kurt, another rock legend dies at the age of 27. Amy, God rest her soul, may no longer be with us, but her music and her voice will never die.

Rock On!

Skip the ad before the vid...

Friday, 22 July 2011


Sometime soon I shall remember and fill in the gaps in this blog.....the time of the second honeymoon with my mad ex, the descent into crack, and all else that happened while I was computerless. In the meantime I will carry on tomorrow from where I left today....

I'll be back on tomorrow, filling in my details of a disastrous one night stand (recent) and my feelings about 'treatment'.

Til then, and to those who got this far thanks for reading xxx

Halfway to...

The council, despite the fact they had robbed me of the option of returning to my old apartment, classed me as being 'intentionally homeless'. So they would provide me with nothing. Social Services gave me no option but to go and live in a halfway house for women with alcohol or substance abuse problems who wished to attain a state of 'abstinence', which was to be achieved by attending a minimum of eight hours a week of 'structured activity' based around 'treatment' and 'recovery'. This was like a red rag to a bull as far as I was concerned. Firstly, I did not consider my drug use to be problematic for me but rather my drinking by that stage, excessive drinking that I had turned to during my stay at that refuge in all it's isolation, and the fear of what would happen did he go to jail. No 'treatment' would change those circumstances. So I refused and was preparing to couch surf, until I met the people themselves and they prettied it up somewhat. At first they said whoever I had spoke to before referral must have heard from me that I wanted abstinence else I would never have been referred there in the first place. I maintained that I had said no such thing to anyone, that what I was in fact told was that all the other supported houses were full. I made it clear that I did not believe in total abstinence, at least not for myself, what others choose to do with their bodies and lives is their choice.

So ok, I was told the first four weeks were for 'contemplation', to decide what I wanted. To avoid homelessness, I agreed to that. But I was not allowed that contemplation. For the first week or so it felt like a luxury having my own front door key again, being able to come and go as I pleased once more. My drinking level in fact decreased. But it wasn't to last, as I was bullied by an inexperienced support worker, who tried to force me to take part in groups etc, and spoke to me like a retard. I was offered no support with my real problems, and any issues I did have with drink or drugs were made worse by her attitude.

I was given lectures about cocaine use by someone who had likely never tried it. I was also told I should not use drugs as they are illegal....if that fact has not stopped me by now, when I am nearly forty, it is unlikely ever to, is it?

The fact that I did not mention a few alcoholic beverages I had during a couple of mornings automatically meant that I must be lying about other things...the logical thing meaning I must be using heroin, seeing as I must have been addicted to heroin to be prescribed methadone. That was in fact not the case, it was mainly illicit methadone I was using to come down with in the absence of tranqs when I had a heavy cocaine habit. But that was not good enough for the bitch, she then asked me what the paraphenailia was that they found at that refuge. I told her that it was an empty coke wrap, why the hell was she asking. She replied that she 'was curious, thought maybe it was cans'. For god's sake, cans are not paraphenalia, she knew that as well as I did. After being spoken to like dirt for the second time, I had a panic attack, phoned their office and said I could take no more of it. The person on the end of the phone agreed I would be better off elsewhere when a space came up as my drinking was 'unmanageable'.

Yet it had not been when I moved in there, it had decreased, it only increased when I was being bullied by someone who was supposed to be helping me. I said I had been thinking, it was not the right place for me, but it took something extreme to make them hear me.

So I was put in a halfway house for vulnerable adults, homeless people deemed to fucked up to be in the night shelter. Of course I could couch surf, but being me I need my own room, something I can put my mark on to resemble home. So here I am.

Here We Go....

So readers, the last thing you heard was of me being thrown out of that women's refuge for the possession of paraphenalia found in my belongings. They looked at me like to say 'I know what that means'.....I said I knew what it meant and I had been asking for weeks to be moved on, insisting my ex was of no threat to me, hence it was pointless me being kept there, it was of no benefit to me, and was costing the State more money rather than less. Why did it have to come to that, and why was I not listened to? The place was driving me to drink and despair, I could not bear the isolation, the dreams when I would think I was back home, with him, and all the arguments etc had find myself waking up there again.

I was happy to leave....but the council were far from sympathetic as it was drug related. I was refused emergency accomodation as I had made myself 'intentionally homeless'. This was despite the fact that the refuge is in theory supposed to be a temporary place of safety, and that they were supposed to continue paying benefit for my pevious apartment for a limited time, and were they to cut it off they were supposed to tell me. But they did not. So they cut it off, and I returned there for some belongings to find the door bolted up. I called the number to find the landlord's agent, telling me that the water company had gone there to find the door insecure with a lot of personal possessions. The landlord checked, to find that not only had the incident been recorded but the housing cheque had been stopped. Yet a week later the clowns from the council called me to ask if I intended to return to the property!! I answered how the hell could I when the benefit had been stopped and the door had been bolted.

As they had effectively made me homeless, I asked the refuge management was it not therefore the council's duty to rehouse me? I was told not at that point, as they wished for me to remain at the refuge until I became 'stronger'. Yet being in that place, where I had less independence and freedom than I had with the man, in the relationship where I was there to allegedly 'protect myself from', was making me feel weaker, not stronger.

I am in no way implying there is not a place for those type of houses, but they are meant as a stop gap for one to escape from violence. And it should be a choice. I was given no real choice, I was pushed into one, due to charges that were not of my own making. The police use these places in the hope that women will feel safer to press charges, not out of any real care about our lives, health or happiness. Their cares are about convictions, statistics. Had I not contacted the CPS by means of my ex's solicitor and persuaded them to drop the case, I would have been summoned to court to give evidence against my will, or risked being charged with contempt of court or obstructing the course of justice. While I can understand how and why these laws came about, it still makes it harder for many victims, myself included, who would rather simply leave the matter behind, for whatever reasons, as I had mine. I don't regret it as I wanted to simply live like a normal person. Knowing what my man had been capable of I was not willing to dismiss his threats as idle, besides the fact I still loved him. No refuge, no pep talks by DV 'experts' could have changed the way I felt. I was not willing to uproot and leave town either in order that they make an example of him either.

He was on tag for just under two months, why I was essentially kept in what felt like an open prison for three. But they could not let me go...they had to throw me out. And I was then pushed from the frying pan into the fire.....

To Be Continued

Space to Whinge...

I am still alive…..I know people must wonder when I don’t write for a while what is up, as my lifestyle is risky, but I have always been a survivor and I will continue, regardless of my moments of despair.

I know a lot of it is self inflicted, but I don’t think I deserve the hell and the shit I have been through for the past six months. Ok so I might like my drugs, I may have let the wrong man into my life, but the authorities have stitched me up good and proper.

I pray things get better soon…but as soon as a silver lining appears there is a fly in the fucking ointment. The housing association that have given me a temporary room won’t forgive or forget that I made a formal complaint about the place where they formerly put me….and are demanding off me ludicrous rent arrears, which I now must go out and earn.

I can take this no more, at times I wish he had finished the job that night and just killed me, got it over with. Every day I look back and think the hell I had with him in that trashed apartment was preferable to the hell I have now…..emptiness, loneliness, tears and despair. Something in me is still fighting it but sometimes I want to give up….something is my only friend and when I don’t have that my world is dark indeed.

My problems are not all down to drugs at all…..I can look back two years ago to when I was enjoying my life. Things did get out of hand, I know my behaviour has not been exemplary, but can God forgive and spare me? I am sick of this. I have court fines, bills, overdraft etc, any drug money I get does not come from the State. In fact I long for the day when I need not ask them for anything…and that day will come.

If anyone knows what it is like to feel insecure and afraid of the future….that is where I am at. I cannot turn back the clock, I can’t undo all that has gone wrong, all that I have let happen to me over one man, how one man can do so much damage to the extent of nearly destroying me.

I hate to say this….but please any women who have a violent partner who is inclined to criminal behaviour and threatens your life….don’t believe the police will look after you. Avoid like hell those ‘refuges’ that are more like open prisons….especially if you are an outsider like me who will be ostracised by the other inmates. You will lose your freedom, your home, you won’t have your own front door key. Every time you go to the shop for a beer you will be questioned by the screws, with their saccharine smiles as to where you are going. You will give up all in the question of your alleged safety…..but if they cared so much about my damned safety they should have let him be, let me be. If the landlord and the residents in that building wanted him out, wanted us out, so be it….what they did not have to do was to drag me out, with my hair sopping wet, to a place of ‘safety’ that was more like a jail. All he had was two months on tag, a bit of poverty and trouble with his mate, but trust me he is doing fine…..I’d have heard by now from the sponger if he wasn’t. Now it is me who is homeless, me with nothing, him who is back on his feet….where is he? And the State who fucked me over…..where has their concern gone now I failed to press charges against him? Not that they would have been any different had I done so, had they put him behind bars I would be no better off. But to drag me into that hell with the promise of rehousing, support I never had….a place I was begging to leave but nobody took a damned bit of notice til I got thrown out…

The State….they can shove their feigned concern for my well being where the sun will never shine….which could be anywhere in the kind of world they want to create anyway. I have so much pent up anger….but unlike other people I know I have nowhere outside to release it, no punchbag….so I slip into self destruct mode. They can ram as many useless anti depressants down my throat as they want, but it won’t change these sorry conditions. I have never been homeless before, and it is not a nice place to be. Ok, so I have temporary accommodation but they seem to be going out of their way to make it hard for me, seemingly because I have objected to having ‘treatment’ for a non existent ‘disease’….here we go again…

I will sort myself out so I can live my life on my own terms, and I need not beg those fuckers for anything ever again. I know I am probably sounding juvenile, but if anyone has been done over and stitched up like I have by those clowns they will know what I mean.

I have been neglecting my writing, music, etc, cos of this malaise, and god knows I will fight it…..prove that I have no social or mind ‘disease’. They hate me as I don’t fit into one of their boxes….i.e I am not illiterate, stupid, or any other thing they ascribe to people like me. I will not be bullied by trainee social workers who believe they are superior to me as they possess sociology degrees….as if you can learn about real life from the pages of a textbook! The truth is I am probably better read than they are, and could probably quote some of their textbooks, but I don’t claim that means I understand everyone whose shoes I have not walked in. I could well make my own assumptions about university educated, middle class white people, but individuals are more complex than that. Having read a lot of psychology I could come to my own theories about why some such people have a tendency to want to control others. You hear about care workers abusing elderly or vulnerable people under their care…it has taken me two weeks after it ending to begin to write about it, my move from one hell to another….and the insecurity I face now.

I long for the day I have some good news to report here. I thought I did have, as the room I am in now is preferable to where I was, the bullying and slander have gone, but there was a fly in the ointment as usual…as it was run by the same people as run the previous place, and I am being charged extortionate rent by them and the council, and they are now hassling me for arrears I don’t agree I owe.

The fact I am mentally fucked enough to receive a higher rate of sickness benefit, yet have no social worker, no c.p.n or anything, has come as a shock to some people. But no doubt it is not personal, it just shows how useless they are in this district. I did have a social worker who I met once!!, yes, and she closed my file as I am in supported housing and my needs can be addressed through the agents here. Oh. And she wished me luck on my ‘treatment journey’. I did not ask for any treatment, as I was not told I have a disease?
Which will bring me on to the next part……..

To be continued……