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.

Nuts and drugs

I follow a blog by a guy named Gledwood. I found it when searching for info about the recent UK heroin drought, followed the updates and then started to read his posts. I'd be lying if I said I thought he was a literary genius or a great writer, but his posts are compelling. They're very raw, and are completely unpolished. When I say that, all I mean is that there is no real self-censorship, he lays himself completely open and he documents a hellish situation.

He's clearly pretty bright, learning languages off his own bat, he writes pretty well, and what he provides is a stunning insight into mental illness, crossed with addiction. This honesty is incredible and it makes his posts things that contain a certain beauty. When I read his posts I just wonder how he copes at all and I want to offer some sort of tangible help, or reassurance would be a better way to describe.. Of course, I don't know him, he's not my friend, but I find that by reading about how he's suffering, it makes me want to reach out to him in some way (I guess this is maybe the initial concept of NA).

The reason I've brought him up and mentioned him here is to just mention how common dual-diagnosis is - addicts that are also mentally ill. I'm very lucky really in that I've never suffered anything worse than mild depression. My crack addiction began as two things - an extension of my pre-existing powdered coke habit and a way to self medicate and try to make myself feel better about myself. It didn't really work, in the long term.

The rehab I went to was a dual-diagnosis centre (The Diana, in Mundesley) and catered for those that had additional problems. Almost everybody in the centre (excluding me, and a couple of others) had a damaged history; parents that were alcoholic or drug addicts, abuse through neglect, physical and sexual abuse, violent partners, all sorts. Many of them had a very obvious reason for their mental problems and their addiction, a pain that is extremely hard to externalise or discuss, with the obvious consequences.

I'm an exception to this rule; I began using drugs like weed, speed and E to fit in, and because they broke down barriers between other people and I. I just went out of control; I have an idea why and I'm sure I'll explain it at some point. What I observed though, in rehab and on the street, from gutter to crackhouse to nightclub is that, although many addicts are just shitbags, many more never had a chance, or have arrived at rock bottom through just one or two bad choices. It's frightening to realise that your life; your possessions, clothes, cars, everything, are as fragile as jade and have little more substance than the smoke that curls from the foil.

What I'm trying to say though, is that many of these people that are criminalised and pushed to the margins of society without any of the help they need. I am a bit right wing in my attitude to behaviour, but I am torn between the way my instinct sees things (be strict!) and the way my head thinks, which is to ID those that need help early, and help them towards a life in which they don't have to fill themselves with drugs, put themselves at the mercy of criminals and in general have a life full of fear and pain. Many people just need to be heard, or to be given the correct diagnosis of their illness and treated correctly.

As Gledwood and Shane have said elsewhere, Mental Health nurses seem reluctant to address the underlying mental problems of those that are dual diagnosis, and even rehabs seem keen to make sure the addict suffers for their treatment.

I think we need a rethink maybe, and a bit more compassion and understanding for troubled youths, then maybe we could avoid a lot of the pain people have to put up with.

I believe this, but I am selfish, impatient and I'm not understanding or tolerant. Like so much else in me, with almost everything I think and feel, I have two people inside me fighting for supremacy and control of my actions.

NA - Praying or preying?

I was in a residential rehab at the end of 2008, trying to clean myself up from a nasty crack habit and also get myself out of the way of gear. I'd hit rock bottom, was on the verge of being jobless, I was actually homeless and I was completely out of control.

The rehab itself was pretty good in a lot of ways, but the thing I want to address is NA, and it's success or lack thereof. I know it's a good organisation, and that it does a great deal of good for a lot of people, but I've never really taken to it. During the rehab, we had twice daily group therapy sessions in which we could argue and explore the reason's for our using and how we could break the cycle. These were augmented by single counselling sessions, and by weekly NA and AA meetings.

I felt like a bit of a fraud when I went to rehab. I didn't consider that I needed to go (my office gave me an ultimatum), I considered myself out of place and I sure as hell didn't want to quit drugs. However, I was certain that my life couldn't carry on as was. The group sessions were valuable; there were a few tense moments, but I found them broadly helpful - the details of all this can wait for another time, but the point that I'm really trying to make is that, as a result of seeing a bit of success (and enjoying) group sessions and shares, I was keen to go to NA and AA meetings. These were special meetings that included external clean addicts coming to the centre, sharing, and trying to offer encouragement.

These meetings were where I was introduced to the concept of a Higher Power, and immediately I felt uncomfortable. I was also shown that recovery seemed to be a frozen state, with no end in sight. The idea of addiction as illness is one that I wasn't comfortable with, either.  My initial feelings were that NA required you to push the responsibility for your actions onto an illness, ascribe your success in overcoming addiction to a benevolent Higher Power and then spend the rest of your life frozen in recovery, aware at all times the cancer could return; also you need to take your metaphorical meds regularly at NA. I felt like a man with a hell of an illness being told I'd have to be on meds for life, and would only ever be a step from disaster.

I just don't buy the whole thing.

My drug using is my responsibilty, and my fault. Whatever problems I have had, I chose to use drugs. Sure, my crack addiction cost me everything pretty much,  and my actions were very much out of character, random and irrational, but it was my fault. I could've signed myself into a hospital, moved, done something, if I'd have cared enough about myself to want to. Addiction isn't an excuse for anything; I kind of buy that it's an illness, but not that it excuses our actions. I also like the idea of making amends as part of the cure, but I do not believe you need to attend NA for life, or even be an addict for life.

Despite this, I persevered. I "kept coming back" but gradually became more and more estranged from the group. It was dominated by the same old faces every week. It didn't feel a safe place to share or be anonymous or to avoid judgement - it felt hugely cliquey. It wasn't just me that felt this, but several other friends who are similar in age and lifestyle. It felt phoney, judgemental and patronising. The Big Book was patronising, new age babble; the steps were unclear, the structure was poor, the sponsors didn't take things clearly or elaborate how the steps worked. I felt those that were clean seemed smug about it, and worst of all, I think that spending a lot of time hearing the same old stories from the same old people who see a successful day as being one in which they didn't have a hit/boot/pipe, whatever, is not inspiring. It's  sad. A successful day to me involves work, success, being busy, seeing my family and friends and enjoying myself. Staying in thinking about gear, but not doing it, seems a fucking waste.

I left the group.

Maybe my negativity says more about me being paranoid, tetchy, resentful, than it does about NA, but I don't think so. I think it's a way for addicts to deflect responsibility, although NA preaches otherwise, and I think it ain't for me. If I want to be preached to, I'll go to Church.

*group hug*