Coming out as an addict. The first time...

By M1dnight Rambl3r 09/30/19
Coming Clean as a Cocaine Addict

Prologues of a Recovering Junky

(Taken from the 'Ramblings of a Recovering Junky')

The first Bomb Drop, where I would admit to one habit.


It had been months of being careful, earning an extra few quid on the side to support the monkey that was clinging and swinging on my back but then after a while… It had been at least a month or so where I had been completely dangerous/stupid with money in the sense that I did not care what L said (or would say, I was worried of course but it got the better of me), if rent was paid or bills in general. L had her wages, she’d feed herself and A, that’s good enough for me, I really was an asshole. I was a fiend and a pariah, I’d get through three grams of coke a day plus another gram at work so, OK, four grams. I would tick, I would sub, I would waste all my wages on cocaine, crack & Heroin (This was, at the time, a dalliance I wasn’t afraid now. I had crossed the line, I’d do anything to escape). Occasionally, Christmas came early, and expensive rocks came in, instantly paid for, Fentanyl & Oxycontin etc. – But, my deal was this:

  • · Wake up around 5:30/6am and rack a few lines with a coffee
  • · Leave the flat, piece of shit that it was and wouldn’t say goodbye
  • · On the way in to work I’d pick up some Coffee (Smack) & Sugar (Crack)

· At work, I’d meet Ben who pitied me, knew I was struggling, and would give me more than a grams worth, uncut gold. £100 a gram, I always got away without paying. I think I paid him at least two times, also swapped Benzos with him for this here and there

· On the way home, I would meet Gemma for a few grams of OK-ish Coke, £50 a G. Hers was ‘Pub Grub’. I met this dealer through a friend, Rod, we’ll get to Rod at some point.

Anyway, a month of pure fucking bullshit me, just a waste of space wandering around these two amazing peoples’ lives like some vacant ghost. Too busy in his own bubble to care or take of himself. It’s truly horrible looking back, I hate myself for it. I have made up for it since but still… Breaks my heart. I was there, but I also wasn’t. What was I escaping? Why did I want or rather, need, to escape? I always bottled shit up and I suppose it had to come out eventually. L is always there for me, always, I could have spoken to her but I, being an ‘England’ kept it in and it destroyed me.

I had eventually slowed down on coke because my nose was consistently blocked, I blamed it on a ‘Summer Cold’ which is insane considering the summer here in the U.K. lasts all about a month and I had it for Christ knows how long, so I switched to the pipe. That shit fiends you, scraping the pipe to within an inch of its life. I had a bad Heroin habit, but it wasn’t my main habit, but wasn’t aware of how the opiate had pretty much claimed me at that point because I was thinking more of the pipe and the snow. The mission, the mission was to get through work without nodding off like nodding off the roof at work and very nearly falling off, thank fuck for Ben! I think it was Ben…? Anyway, money was bad, and L had had enough. I was throwing excuse after excuse “Work hasn’t paid me, a client is still to put the money in…” “A direct debit has eaten everything up, I don’t know what to do!” I had so many excuses but sitting here typing, it feels like a lifetime ago and I cannot for the life of me remember what excuses I would throw at people. Shit, even now if I sneak buy a book for £2.80, I feel bad! (The Soft Machine 2nd Edition for £2.80? Fuck Yeah!) But I was spending and ticking hundreds a week. Mum and Dad get involved, Dad tells me we are going to the bank, find out what has been going on… “I don’t know where my card is…” before I finished the sentence, he shot me a look that could have killed someone, “Don’t fucking lie to me, Justin! You need to get your shit together and you need to be a father. You are a fucking grown up now, fucking act like it!!” (The amount of ‘fucks’ he was throwing meant I was fucked, so I complied and off we went to the bank) Shit. Shit. Shit…

On the way back from the bank, after seeing transfers that somehow did add up, but something wasn’t adding up. We stopped at his office which was on the way home (before the new offices where I now worked and type these ramblings) he needed to grab something, I go into the toilet and pull out my last baggy of coke. I know what’s coming, the end, so I’ll hide this and taper a little. I put my straw end into the bag, thumb off the coke I don’t want to snort which is just under a gram and obviously didn’t hold tight enough because after I snorted all that was left were a few dust particles. SHIT.

Dad is done and walking down the office stairs we both walk out to the car and I am coming up, we jump in the car and we talk shit for a moment, he isn’t angry anymore, but something isn’t right. I think he is scared. He asks what’s been going on “No bullshit! OK? It’s clear you need help but if you don’t tell me, how can I help?” He has me there, maybe I can convince him that I need more? I can’t just come off without anything? Nah, he won’t buy that. After a while the Heroin was just a ‘here and there’ deal so yeah, I’d feel shit being cut off but nothing to what I’d feel later. I decide to ‘open up’ to my Dad which is terrifying. He’s a bastard, the silent psycho, T-TOTAL so of course I really do expect a smack around the head, car pulled up dragging me out and kicking me to a pulp, but he surprises me… As I was a ‘bit’ high there was no emotion in my honesty, I struggle with emotion anyway and Dad too. In fact, me, dad and Gramps are all emotionally inept. I do get sad, but we mostly just bottle up and get angry and lash out at the wrong people at the wrong times. Anyway, here’s the exchange from what I remember the first time around.

*I have to note that I was still UP from the baggy but, reality was bringing me back down and I felt shame like never before, I just... I still hate this. I hate that I did this more than once, hate that I am not as 'in control' of my impulses as much as my dad. I am his son, why can I not just be... normal !?

ME: I’ve really fucked up, It’s just… I don’t know how to just say it?

DAD: It’s fine, but you know L and your mother will want to know, we are worried.

ME: I’ve been doing a lot of coke.

DAD: How much is ‘a lot of coke’

ME: A gram a day… well, three a day plus… Shit, I’m so sorry. I’ve been smoking crack too, dad.

Now this is where he got me. I was expecting a fucking kicking but, he was 100% supportive and there for me. But…

DAD: and…

ME: Heroin, snorting or smoking. But that’s not all the time!

DAD: Right, you know there is going to be a hell of a storm when we pull up so come clean about the coke, not the other shit. Just the coke. Own it, face it and admit that you need help. Is it from anyone I know?!

ME: No, no way. One of the guys at work sells to me… (Ben worked for a friend of my dad so, he called them the minute he had the chance.)

We pull into the drive at my parents’ house and my heart drops through my asshole. L…

I get out of the car and as I do, Dad and I look to each other, it’s nice. In a weird fucking way, we are connecting through my addiction. He doesn’t understand addiction, he tries but, he just doesn’t get it. But I couldn’t have asked for better parents. Mum and dad are polar-opposites, but we can talk about that later! So, I walk into the house, deadly silent, mum and L are in the lounge and its go time…

(I’ll skip that long silence before I open-up to L and Mum, and get right to it…) “That’s the one thing I told you NEVER to do! You know what it did to us growing up and you fucking did it!” L walks out, followed by mum. I look to dad who looks back then to the T.V. – He really is taking this a bit too cool. He looks back over “You’re going to have to stay in the guest room a while.” He sips on his tea and watches Only Fools… Fitting. (I mention ‘Only Fools...’ quite often because it is always on at my parents place. It is a great show after all.)

This is the worst feeling I have ever felt, letting L and A down, letting my parents down. I fucking hated it. But clearly not, give it a few months and we’d be doing this dance again. My addiction would hide away for a while, from them a least, I would stop with the coke but the H, that gets insane.

I owed money, my phone was ringing non-stop, so I answered it “Where’s my fucking money? You owe me £400!” (Which let’s be honest, isn’t a lot, I also owed elsewhere!) Gemma tries her hardest to be ‘scary’, but it just flies over my head. Then from the background comes a voice, some dude, who tries to sound threatening but, again, it flies. Shut the fuck up, you’re a couple of ‘pub grub’ dealers. (I’d later find out that the guy is a real mean fucker. Phew, right?!) I get call after a while from Rod “You have to talk to Gemma. In fact, delete and block her number, sort the money out and I will give it to her. Why did you get in so much!? I told you to stay away, remember? ‘You have nothing to gain and EVERYTHING to lose’ where are you now? I’ll tell Gemma it’ll be a few days, you don’t want some gorillas jumping at you, Justin. For fuck sake!” I was answering here and there, and Mum caught the gist of the conversation, owing money, people coming… She obviously told L or told L it’d be sorted because L was too scared to stay at ‘home’ that night, she stayed with her sister.

A couple of days pass and L and I are talking, taking it slow and she understands it wasn’t about ‘getting high’ it was a means of escapism. I wasn’t happy. I loved the girls, but we lived in a shit hole of a flat, riddled with debt and I was just a waste of existence. I couldn’t provide what I wanted to provide, I wanted to give them a house, pay bills, be that person who is ‘high on life’ but I just wasn’t, and I never will be. I truly fucking hated myself except now I faced that feeling sober. L comes up with the money but is, rightly so, worried about me seeing these assholes so I tell her that Rod will be taking it to them. “Will he give them the money, though? He won’t take it?” This is just worry, which again, is rightly assumed because I wasn’t to be trusted and nor were my friends. That is what Rod was, a really great friend. He was a massive asshole sometimes, always giving me shit! ‘Shouldn’t be doing this, you should be at home!’ ‘Silence is the most deafening sound to come home to, remember that!’ ‘When you think you need something instead of ‘line, line, line’ think ‘L & A, L & A’… He would always talk to me about how great I was, how I should be avoiding people like him, but he knew what I was and that I would do what I wanted either way so… I manipulated that. Anyway, I gave Rod the money drove him up to town and he met with them. I was curious, I wanted to see this fucking prick who gave me shit down the phone. “You Justin?” this guy says, he isn’t massive but looks like he could go ‘Edward Norton Curb Stomp’ on you at any given moment, but I kinda dig the idea of a kicking I deserve it and the possibility of that gives me a rush. Jesus I’m fucking weird. “Yeah, that’s me.” “Well I have some gear 98% pure, really fucking good shit!” Yeah, OK then. Before I can answer sarcastically... “No. He isn’t touching anything and he’s going back to the car. Say goodbye, Justin. I’ll be two minutes.” Rod interrupts. I do as he says.

Work sucks, the guys and I are nothing alike. They were born to be builders but me? I was born to work behind a computer or anything other than this shit. I’m also back on the pipe and doing more and more Heroin. Jesus, this never fucking ends! Eventually things go south, as they always do, you can’t have a functional habit. The whole ‘I’m a functioning addict’ is fucking bullshit and everyone knows it. I’d pick up before work meaning I was always late, and I’d always pick up on the way home. But we'll read those misadventures later...


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