A big day (part two)

I never made it to the police station. Just didn't happen. I felt too rough to go. I'd shaved, or rather plucked my face with a horribly blunt razor before vomiting and going back to my duvet. I didn't feel as though I was in any condition to surrender myself to the police; I was barely there mentally, and my focus was on getting through each two minute task. I was preoccupied with my meeting with my boss, and really, I just wanted a bit of time unconscious, and warm, so I slept.

The only reason I went to see my boss was because he owed me two thousand pounds, in bonuses and salary. I knew I was going to be fired. Two thousand pounds is a decent sum of money; it's a flat, for months, plus food while I find  a new job. I'd be lying thoug, if I said I was thinking of that. I was thinking of leaving with a load of money, getting warm, and getting smashed out of my brains. It would not have lasted long, and then I'd have been worse off than before and I'd have been on the rob and scrounging, ticking gear and hustling, a tightrope slip from real trouble.

I have a phrase for this sort of behaviour, borne out by friends who get their giro (state benefit), splurge, then eke a living/habit from nothing thereafter - I call it "King for a day, Cunt for a week syndrome."

Things didn't pan out like I thought., My boss said he wasn't going to pay me, and there was no job for me, unless I cleaned up my act. I love what I do. It's a niche field, but I'm in the top 5 or 10, worldwide in my sector. I am very very good at it, and I thoroughly enjoy it. My job gives me self-respect, identity and purpose (and because I determine my own income, and I am always cash hungry), it focuses me like nothing else. I was shocked - I expected to be fired, which was bad, but I thought I'd be paid off, which was good (for a little while). This was bad news. I then got told that my company would front me the grand a week needed for a residential rehab, on condition I repaid it. No-one expected me to complete rehab; they expected tonot get the money back, I expected to mess it up, and wasn't convinced I needed help (or couldn't admit it to myself, being proud [but not too proud to hustle and rob - I took pride in being able to survive doing it]).

It was fixed that the next day, I'd answer bail and then check into rehab.

That night, I went out on the beer, met a mentally ill (paranoid schizophrenic) man who was also an addict, and frightened of demons. He'd just got a £160 giro; I, with the help of a friend, convinced him I was a devil, and dead behind the eyes (I've had several people tell me that there is nothing behind my eyes, that I'm soul-less and potentially a monster. I disagree, all the girls I've loved, and been loved by, tell me my eyes are bright, lively and mischevious - maybe both groups are right, or maybe people just project their thoughts onto what they see). Anyway, I took his money, and his phone, and got high.

The next day, my bail was answered, I was officially charged with fraud, and I began rehab. After telling porkies and getting an excessive methadone script, free of charge (which was ace!)

Three months later, I was 100% clean. For a bit, anyway.

Caught by the fuzz (it's better than being swung round by the tits)

I so regularly have something illegal about my person that I regularly forget that I'm doing something that is not only prohibited, but is also regarded with contempt by many. I see nothing wrong or unusual about my use of or possession of heroin and, strange as it sounds, I just forget that I shouldn't mention it, should hide the marks and keep it on the low.

My habit, and the tools it requires, is entirely normal to me and doesn't interfere with my career or family life, so I forget what stigma it carries in the broader world.

I raise the point because over the weekend I got pulled over. When I first started to use I was very very careful about hiding gear up, stashing syringes or foil beneath carpets, all the usual paranoid precautions that keep you safe if you get stopped. I've been pulled many times, but this time I had works all over the place (I'd spilt the bag when I exchanged), I had bits of foil on the floor, lighters aplenty, and a few bags in my ashtray (I'm a non-smoker, I think it's a dirty habit). When I saw the blues go on behind me, I just thought "Shit. Here we go."

It was fine, in the end. I'd been on the phone, but my astonishingly lucky run with the police continued. Four times I've been pulled recently; once doing 90 on a 50 stretch of dual carriageway on my way to work at 4 am, twice on the phone, once as a result of cutting through a road at a prohibited time. Every time I've been carrying drugs. Twice the car has had a decent search, and they've missed it. Twice I haven't hidden my bits, I've been there for the taking, and they've not looked.

I've not even got a ticket. Nor have I been breathalysed. I think that this may be down to the way I dress and speak. I'm always tidy, and I also speak respectfully to the police. I see them as doing a job, and there is no cause to give them a hard time. When I've been nicked before (aggravated TWOC, fraud, theft, drink driving, assault), I've always been as helpful as possible, without dropping myself in the shit. I find it makes your life a lot easier, and ensures your tea isn't spat in.

It's taught me a valuable lesson though; I will always plot my bits up in future. Nor will I conspicuously break the law while driving. For a little while, anyway.

When I have been pulled, my life hangs by a thread - my family, home, job are all at risk of being destroyed. And for what?

Am I not a more useful person as I am, than as a prisoner or a homeless, jobless hustler, anxious to scrape by? I pay my bills, pay my taxes (51% of my income, inc N.I.), look after my family, maintain a job, do all the things a good citizen does, why should I be criminalised?

Why should anyone? Even those whose lives are chaotic, those who don't look after themselves, losing teeth and limbs, replacing them with abcesses and disease, sprinting from department store to crackhouse, stolen designer labels trailing in their wake - drug use is normally an effect of this sort of life, not a cause of it. What benefits does prohibition bring?

I guess we all know the arguments, but I absolutely fail to see any positives in the way things are right now.

Dropping in at teatime

Last night I went to meet my friends, my closest pal Ricky, and another friend, his girl Kelly. We'd scored at lunchtime, did so again after I left work and then we made our way to Kelly's. We were in a huge hurry as I had other commitments, Ricky did also, and Kelly wanted to get to her Mum's house. It's always the way though, isn't it, that when things have to be done quickly, and on a tight schedule, something happens to throw everything off kilter.

We pulled into Kelly's driveway, got out of the car and went to the door. There was major damage to the door and to the frame, a new lock had been fitted and a note was taped to the door in an evidence bag explaining that the new front door key was available at the local police station.

The drive to the police station was pretty dispiriting; we were trying to work out why the door had gone through, why a new lock was fitted and what the hell was going on. The most likely thing,  after all had been considered, we thought, was that the Electric Board had forced their way in to disconnect the supply and to fit a pre-pay meter. But in that case, why was there no Electric Board tag on the door?

Clearly, Kelly was a little apprehensive at the possibility of being arrested and spending a night in the cells, so we fixed up and she went to face the music and collect her keys. The police gave them to her and said nothing about why the door had been put through. She asked if there was any record of what had happened and why, but no reason was forthcoming.

The drive back to Kelly's was much more relaxed. Having not been arrested, having been told the police had no information on what had happened, the assumption was that the power had been cut. We got back, opened the new front door and were shocked to see the house had been spun that afternoon. Things were all over the place, and there on the table were papers explaining a warrant had been carried out pursuant to the Misuse of Drugs act; the police had been looking for controlled drugs. They found none, but Kelly's home was a mess. They had found a Cash Converters receipt though, which was seized as evidence (clearly they're desperate for some sort of result). Naturally, Kelly was greatly upset, and we tried to reason why the raid had happened.

There are a number of factors, none of which we feel are directed at Kelly. She is a well known user, and is seen everywhere. Her phone was seized recently and some texts from people were on there. The police tried to push this as her being knowingly concerned in the supply of drugs, but searches found nothing and there is no real evidence.

Her neighbours have called the police explaining that some black men from London stayed at hers (she lives in the country and black men are a real rarity) . The local paper is full of stuff about how blacks from London control our heroin and crack supply, so as well as having racial prejudice about a white girl and black men, the locals feel they are doing their civil duty.

Ricky is a black man from London. He's her boyfriend, but has a long criminal record. He was released from jail only recently and the local police believe that he is a major, active criminal. He is not, but the police are trying to pin something on him; there have been regular searches and so on.

The upshot is that we believe the police are trying to get something on Kelly to use as leverage against more important people.

Of course, we could be wrong. We could be paranoid and attaching to much importance to ourselves; we're little guys who use, nothing more. Not even Ricky (who has tried very hard to leave his past behind).

This whole thing was a visceral reminder on why this life is unsustainable for me. I like gear. I cannot afford to be busted though, and as much as I feel sympathy for Kelly, part of me is annoyed at being exposed to this. Not annoyed with her you understand, but a much more impotent sense of frustration at my life being at the mercy of others.