GingerG
Greenlighter
It’s been a Cunt of a week, but yet again I found comfort in the arms of a loved one, or two..
Heroin, crack, fentanyl, clonazspam, temazepam, diazepam, special brew and pregablin.
The darkest of depressions rose in my soul, my brain burned like pyre and my heart had sunk like a lead box in water. I had given up again. I escaped, ran to Irish knowing that no matter what I’d always be welcomed with the love I so desperately craved.
That’s when it went a bit wrong.
While having a dig my gear started to change, I was struggling to get it in a vein, then “POP”
Claret exploded like a cut jugular all over the flat, it was everywhere. Everywhere. The force of the exploding pin catapulted the end of the 44mm needle into my groin hitting a nerve , leaving me screaming and my leg twitching out of control. Irish ran in, passed out. The amount of junkies afraid of blood and needles is damn right stupid.
Irish went to his girl friends for the night, leaving me 3 and 3, a few valium and a couple of fentanyl patches for the pain. After a quick google search I found if you suck them you get high a lot quicker, it’s basically a slow relief morphine patch. Sucking them hits you quick.
I got on the decks , pumping the tunes out, suckingmy patches, swallowed 15 diazes (Valium) clomazes and temazes, handful of pregablin, two special brews, 60ml of methadone then hit up the 3 White 3 brown. I took the patch out, I felt woozy, not a good woozy though. Bad. I fell, vinyl crashing down on me. I knew I was going under I kept trying to keep myself awake, looking at the posters on the wall reciting who they were, Kurt Cobain, Joe Strummer, Pete Doherty, Any Winehouse, Janis Joplin, Richey Edwards, oh fuck most of these lot are dead….
I woke up bolt right, covered in my own mess, in hospital. Irish had argued with the Mrs, the Dr had given me something to bring me around and straight into a rattle.
“If you were my mate you’d score for me Irish, Im clucking like a Cunt” Ibegged, pleaded, he gave in. We go back. I met him my first night on the streets, he showed me the ropes and I shared my cash when he had a slow day. Plus he’s a lovely man, very intelligent, we share our musical passions. Our drug passion. Two hours later and Irish is pushing a snowball into the canular in my hand, all junkies should get one, save a lot of fucking grief I can tell you!
I never tried to kill myself but I never tried to stop, so today in Rotherhithe 4th April I was saved again. A lot of other shits happend in the last week but I’m very weak and can barely type. I’m going to neck a few valies and stick a patch in my gob, or I’ll never sleep cos whatever they gave me in hospital sucked all the opiates out of me completely.
Always thankful to Irish though. Firstly for teaching me that you shouldn’t let the fuckers who try and damage and change you ruin you for yourself and others, better to be naive and trusting and be burned than bitter. And for the whole life saving stuff too.
Heroin, crack, fentanyl, clonazspam, temazepam, diazepam, special brew and pregablin.
The darkest of depressions rose in my soul, my brain burned like pyre and my heart had sunk like a lead box in water. I had given up again. I escaped, ran to Irish knowing that no matter what I’d always be welcomed with the love I so desperately craved.
That’s when it went a bit wrong.
While having a dig my gear started to change, I was struggling to get it in a vein, then “POP”
Claret exploded like a cut jugular all over the flat, it was everywhere. Everywhere. The force of the exploding pin catapulted the end of the 44mm needle into my groin hitting a nerve , leaving me screaming and my leg twitching out of control. Irish ran in, passed out. The amount of junkies afraid of blood and needles is damn right stupid.
Irish went to his girl friends for the night, leaving me 3 and 3, a few valium and a couple of fentanyl patches for the pain. After a quick google search I found if you suck them you get high a lot quicker, it’s basically a slow relief morphine patch. Sucking them hits you quick.
I got on the decks , pumping the tunes out, suckingmy patches, swallowed 15 diazes (Valium) clomazes and temazes, handful of pregablin, two special brews, 60ml of methadone then hit up the 3 White 3 brown. I took the patch out, I felt woozy, not a good woozy though. Bad. I fell, vinyl crashing down on me. I knew I was going under I kept trying to keep myself awake, looking at the posters on the wall reciting who they were, Kurt Cobain, Joe Strummer, Pete Doherty, Any Winehouse, Janis Joplin, Richey Edwards, oh fuck most of these lot are dead….
I woke up bolt right, covered in my own mess, in hospital. Irish had argued with the Mrs, the Dr had given me something to bring me around and straight into a rattle.
“If you were my mate you’d score for me Irish, Im clucking like a Cunt” Ibegged, pleaded, he gave in. We go back. I met him my first night on the streets, he showed me the ropes and I shared my cash when he had a slow day. Plus he’s a lovely man, very intelligent, we share our musical passions. Our drug passion. Two hours later and Irish is pushing a snowball into the canular in my hand, all junkies should get one, save a lot of fucking grief I can tell you!
I never tried to kill myself but I never tried to stop, so today in Rotherhithe 4th April I was saved again. A lot of other shits happend in the last week but I’m very weak and can barely type. I’m going to neck a few valies and stick a patch in my gob, or I’ll never sleep cos whatever they gave me in hospital sucked all the opiates out of me completely.
Always thankful to Irish though. Firstly for teaching me that you shouldn’t let the fuckers who try and damage and change you ruin you for yourself and others, better to be naive and trusting and be burned than bitter. And for the whole life saving stuff too.
