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  • EADD Moderators: Pissed_and_messed | Shinji Ikari

Life Suspended - the madness of UK Drug Treatment

charlie clean -- every addict can kick. i have been in jail and watched long time tweekers and junkies go through the withdrawal hell for a week and a half . then they are simply depressed - the physical symptoms well at bay.

i am older than you and have kicked heroin and methadone 3x after years abuse .

this i did under my own steam because i recon the recovery industry is a racket .

we make the decision to get addicted---we and only we make the decision to get shut of habits .

i am having a hard time understanding why someone would place themselves in the humiliating position of being under the thumb of social worker types . there is no personal integrity possible in that scenario . no integrity when using, making plans to ''taper'' or quit next day and then caving in to the infantile desire for instant gratification that the gear provides .

charlie your mind works well as evidenced by your writing style . there has to be a place in the world for you without dope jacking you around .
 
hobhead said:
charlie clean -- every addict can kick. i have been in jail and watched long time tweekers and junkies go through the withdrawal hell for a week and a half . then they are simply depressed - the physical symptoms well at bay.

i am older than you and have kicked heroin and methadone 3x after years abuse .

this i did under my own steam because i recon the recovery industry is a racket .

we make the decision to get addicted---we and only we make the decision to get shut of habits .

i am having a hard time understanding why someone would place themselves in the humiliating position of being under the thumb of social worker types . there is no personal integrity possible in that scenario . no integrity when using, making plans to ''taper'' or quit next day and then caving in to the infantile desire for instant gratification that the gear provides .

charlie your mind works well as evidenced by your writing style . there has to be a place in the world for you without dope jacking you around .
Click to expand...



Coolio, as they say, hob head. I doubt you've spent a straight quarter century on the pure heroin, tho. When I was last in the U.S. terminal cancers couln't get diamorphine lest they became addicted, or hospital nurses stole it and became addicted. Fucking nuts. Unfortunately, to get it for recreational purposes or private sub/unconsciousness investigations in Europe you do have to nvolve the 'system'. Apart from when they throw you in the gaol, that's what right thinking folk like you never do.

I was given my script by an English iconoclast called Tony Daniels, who later as Theodore Dalrymple wrote the notorious 'Romancing Opiates' ( retitled Junk Medicine in some countries). Many addicts hate the book and Tony because he says as you do about withdrawals and a lot more derogatory stuff about junkies as well. His opinions were formed largely from observations of arrivals at the large UK prison where he later worked as resident doctor-psychiatrist. There's an interesting audio that may still be knocking around you-tube of his being challenged by an old Dutch addict after a Nyjigimen lecture ( never sure how to spell those NL towns) . A very right guy but the cats he let out of the bag strayed to the wrong homes.

Until 'market forces' put my prescribing into the hands of those who think not of my welfare but of their own, I had no hassle from the kind of dumbo social worker type to which you allude. Can't help it if I'm lucky. As it broke - but aint no-one's business but mine - my inclination was toward less dope when the kind of people we both despise decided to force their will on me.

I know its a slightly flawed, arcane argument but maybe the heroin does now provide my place in the world. Too many lies, too many unchallenged liars out there with the power and legitimisation of instititutions behind them - the world of drug treatment is a nice example, possibly clearer than most.

Know worra I mean?

Where did the name Blue Light come from? I'm guessing the addict-unfriendly and now ubiquitous bar and cafe lavatories but the 'working in a house of..' verse of the old Pigpen tune would be an interesting alternative contender. Maybe you've ridden 'that getway bus outta Portland' once or twice yourself, Hobhead ;)
 
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sock... 3x that i typed was intended to convey that i have gotten the monkey off my back after three multi year addictions to heroin and opium .

from the sleazy rental rooms in Tsim Tsa Tsui to squats in american cities to hovels in Malasian back woods towns.

i have od'd several times hitting the floor with the rig still in my mainline unconscious.

i have been clean more years than charlie has been dependent and the very thought of going back to that shit depresses and revolts me.
 
Aha, Hogman..thought if I ever encountered anyone who'd come off at an age greater than mine they'd come from Oregon and had my hopes up there for a while. I've been disappointed a lot lately. I can handle it. ( that's a line from a UK 'just say no' infomational, for the out-of-islers )

Trouble is nobody thinks abouts things. Maybe you confuse The Life with the sublime narcotic you put up with The Life to pursue. Way it goes in a criminal world The Life takes on a life of its own. It's not without a seedy romanticism, can be fun. Some are even more attracted by The Life than the narcotic. Sensible folk dislike the criiminal. It leads to lies and shit and as and in Hophead's case the pen or county. I'm glad it's good for you. It's good you away from it youngish. So did I. The difference twixt us is I stayed with the narcotic. Biopsychosocial drawbacks, compensations. Same as in any other honest way of life. Life's good. Yours is good. Mine is good. It's good to lead an honest life. We each have our peace, we each have our place. No contest. We're not corporations. What's best for me is best for you. Innit?

What is best for me? Dunno whether universalism is a valid doctrine but the answer should obviously be whatever's natural. Isn't that what they used to say in Oregon?

The redwood state is where Kesey went home to work the land after the deluge. Every morning, Betts of the ex-Pranksters would raise the Stars and Stripes over the farm homestead and the famous old bus that went further passed its honorable retirement in an open barn. What became of those people? I know Ken moved on, watches from another shore if you wanna get romantic, and Cassidy's last stand beside the railroad tracks outside of Santa Fe is well documented. But one or two of the bold souls who rode out with an idea, to inspire Americans to reflect the natural eauty of their God-given country, should still be alive and are possibly still thinking. Anyone know? Sometimes a great notion and all that?

I am as I am now. Maybe I'm lucky to have escaped interference with my nature until now, should be declared an endangered species. It is as it is and will be as we make it. What do you wanna make it for your kids, Hophead? Same as me? Lot of fucking effort, innit?

I've a tape somewhere of what I'm told was Lenny Bruce's penultiate performance. He's far gone by now, no longer the wisecracking riffer of Religion Incorporated. He's losing his audience with speedfreak stream-of-consciousness observations interspersed with lengthy verbatim extracts from his court transcripts. There's the odd titter but this isn't funny. Lenny cuts in mid-sentence a staccato recitation of an appellate judegement ruling that's boring the audience to tears, says fast " Knew a guy, junkie twenty years, kicked, dropped dead, wheew! " and goes right back to where he's left off with the dry legal prose. It's all said and done in under two seconds. It doesn't raise a laugh. Nobody is quite sure of the joke. Lenny of course didn't hang around to explain it. As his widow lamented, " Poor Lenny. He shoulda stuck to his amphetamines. he wasn't meant for heroin." Honey Bruce - a fine looker and a real lady. Funny joke. Do you get it?

Thattoh, Sockpuppet thanks for two thougtful pieces. Intelligent research is the way forward. the way to convince a significant section ofthe population. Thann, brainwashed is an oft-misused word but you call it right. Stay free, work around it, don't let the bastards grind you down an the rest of the progression of cliche obliged by entropy. Brimz know what you mean but don't give up. It is supposed to be as we make it Whenyou gotaa whole lotta love it can get confusing. That's the problem, not your problem. Don't let confused people confuse you and you can walk on water.

Suppose it's a question of thinking. We're all in this together whoever we are. When you think about it. All ideas welcome.<3
 
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The sun shines brightly on this part of England for Valentines Day. I've edited and bulked out the last post and, if you forgive the bombast I'm going to say a little more. Looks like this is my life for maybe at least 2 months longer. Life is rarely as you expect it. I could use a bit of proper help here while I'm still in my rarest of heads, taking things seriously. Lighten up, Charlie, say my mates, you gotta laff. Why? What's so fucking funny? Big Joke

I'm no fucking junkie. I don't take junk, I take heroin, donchaknow? Sometimes I treat myself as an artist working in a difficult and exciting field. I'm in service to the gentle poppy. I'd never normally say or even think such things. But these are not normal times. And we're all under Morpheus.

I'm not big headed. Quite the opposite. I'm flawed, like the rest of humanity, and I know it. Usually I see the best in everyone else and the worst in myself. It's not a bad way to be if you can afford it. I've no ego but am part of what you may call a big ego trip. As I keep saying, because I'm only just appreciating what it means, we're all in this together. I behave, live by the laws of fools and nature. I keep my love well safe until the time comes I may wear it like heaven. My light is often hidden under a rather large bushel. Same as you maybe, same as lovers everywhere.

I know I can write when I put my mind to it. Compensates for the difficulty in expressing myself clearly elsewhere. Oddly enough, that's what I once did, wrote for a living. Joke jobs in the 'movies' paid incredibly well. Before it all blew out. When something changed and all the people who wanted to go further were stopped dead in their tracks. Go too fast and you go backwards. The likes of Peter Green and Brian Wilson who weren't easy with 'celebrity' turned onto a hard road. It's nice to see those two sorta back - Syd Barrett died a coupla years back in his mum's house in Cambridge. He was 60. Annonymouses like me went wherever their winds blew them. Scattered. Shattered and splattered and battered from Melbourne to Manhattan.

I got my heroin script from a literary-inclined doctor over a decade later to write some more. Way it goes, day before I was due to bring my lil scribbles to a London editor, the new doctor took my script away. Somehow, the meet with the editor from the publishing house was diverted. I took a £2K 'advance to 'go to Africa and get off'. On the way from the Gare de Nord to Orly I met an amusing whore, blew the lot in a few wild days in Paris and Amsterdam and slunk back via Harwich.

That was 17 years ago. Some wrong directions since, some right ones. It's all learning whatever the curves. Some things you don't need to know twice but often I didn't know that the first time. Time passes and you have to pass it somehow. It is as it is. When I went back for the first time since '93 to London last winter, clutching my slightly-updated but rather outdated tales, any excitement occasioned was put on ice when it was learned I still maintained my narcotic habit. My friends have been burned before; my would-be editor had retired and my sundry advances written off as a bad debt. But peops are good and they gave me a few quid more for train fares, told me to come back when I'd expanded dopesville stories to interest a wider audience.

Six weeks later, this script shit came down. A sense of deja vu. When I missed my London date, everyone shook their head and said " Poor old Charlie. Same-o same-o. Musta spent the bread on junk like he always did and is too stoned to do anything." But I managed to explain. Life suspended. An ongoing situation. And on and on and on. I can't concentrate on my witty little stories. My sense of humour has been a bit knocked about over the past year. I might be getting ahead of myself but the vanities don't seem quite enough for our times now.

That's where I'm at this Valentine's day. Cameron is saying the Big Society is not an excuse for spending cuts and two more local soldiers have died in vain in Southern Afghanistan. One side of my house, I look at a magnificent, evergreen fir tree. Its age earned it a preservation order and, unless I lie on the floor, it's too high for me to see it all. On the other side, I can watch the faces of drivers on the ringroad. They all look so anxious. Maybe the gridlock makes them late for their jobs and they're trouble with their bosses. Maybe the credit card corps have called in their loans.

I think about the Pranksters and the ahead-of-their time rest. I recall Goering made more or less the same claim for the Nazis from the dock at Nuremberg. Time passages, from new society to great society to big society. There's a feeling in the UK air right now of everything coming down soon. The money economy is on its knees - the greed of flawed souls who took advantage of Keynes' genius has seen to that. The financial elite are untouchable, you can't mess with the 'bonuses' of greedy bankers, they can bring the whole show crashing down on all our heads. Already have done, kinda. Everyone has their ideas, from eat the rich to punish the poor. Civilised values get a bit confused with how much bread you got, work with well paid jobbies, reality with pieces of paper. It's got so desperate if you've no birth certificate you can't have been born. There's what you might call a divergence of opinion. One way of thinking has all the publicity but there's oxygen on this here internet.

Who's right? Who's ahead? What happens next? How long before the bread isn't enough, all these baknotes are good for will be for wiping well-covered butts? How long before the militiamen arrive and occupy your 'private property' at gunpoint? Do you plan on shooting them first or do you think that makes you as bad as they are? Can you all carry on regardless, like your life isn't affected? I can't. Not unless I can get through to the new 'drug treatment' centurions. I don't want to spend my golden years listening to arseholes pontificate in rehab. What do I do now? What to do about it? For the best?
 
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Well, yes. Just come in from the walk I took after posting and am off out to catch the rest of the day after I'm done here now.

But you can't walk in the sunshine when night falls. You carry on your walking on sunshine in your mind, maybe. That's what's been disappointing me these last monts. People who want to interfere with my beloved mind without any clue of how they can improve it. They're curious, unaware thieves wondering what's worth stealing in here . Figure they've a right to invade, figure they may because they can, make the preposterous claim it's to help me. Like I'm fucking Iraq or Afghanistan.

I had no time for contemporaries who reacted to Nixon and the new Goebbelses of the techno age by flirting with the Brigades or Baader Meinhoffs in the seventies. You take on the state with handguns your head's fucked. Best to watch them going down fighting from the shadows. Best to behave, learn love and peace. I've no enemies, I can't hate anyone. If I do I hate myself - we've known this since Guttenberg invented the press and brought John Donne to a wider audience. We're all in this together, arf arf.

But if not angry I'm sure pissed off. All those years at my studies and six weeks after I reappear in the light they want to snuff me? Lucky I'm not 'paranoid'. But I've had to suspend the peaceful 'changes' planned for my life a year ago. A madness I'd been lucky enough to avoid and observe from a detached point of view has come for me. I'm nobody's enemy. I want to help the people who are so fucked-up they think I must be theirs. They move on me as they move elsewhere. Stupidly, sorta greedily. Without rhyme or reason. It must be the season.

Off out again. What's above us in the food chain? Waiting for deliverance
 
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Hi Charlie, I know this is completly off topic, but it blows me away how articulate, and erudite you are.
Fucking genius, wish I knew you.
 
Why, thankya kindly. I'm shameless. Don't let me die broke in an attic like Modigliani. Thought you write well yourself, actually. Compliments flow when the quality meet or eedjits come together

Forgot Sadie in thanks post, armchair or even abed warriors may do great things with heart and determination. Stay free and active, both of you.

Love and peace
 
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mr. clean mentions kesey's people . in '65 posters got splattered all over haight street in san francisco.
the point of them was that the pranksters were throwing a huge ''happening'' south of the city in big sur national park . it was located up lime kiln creek .

fucking cost me my job as i stayed for a week . 3 lambs roasting side by side. many, many huge barrels of napa wine and something new to many of us : STP pills everywhere and of course all this was free.

that STP was crazy good. everything the senses took in was way altered.

the chicks played a game with the ''pigs'' . it was really something to watch . they were on the beach fucking about in the surf and in plain view of south bound motorists on highway 101. of course they were wearing fuck all . there were, at times, as many as 6 cop cars parked and a bunch of the goofs would try and collar these stoned, merry women . the girls, when close to capture, would simply run back into the pacific .

we slashed several tires on the parked squad cars, tossed rocks at them from up on the bridge . almost as much fun as tossing beer bottles at cops in the park during the riots of the democratic convention in '68 chicago.

back to the ''celebration of the vernal equinox'' that i was relating. there was a band, resplendent with gasoline powered generators and full stack amps . the one name i remembered was ''black shit puppy farm''

the communes that i visited during that era were absolutely hygienic hiroshimas . clap, crabs, children with loaded diapers wandering unchecked everywhere . kids with food mashed into their hair . not for me . better back to the grindstone and work my ass off to get ahead .

mr. clean likes that old time shit and my memories of the summer of love certainly will still be with me when this fucked up ancient carcass ceases to function . that said it all really amounted to fuck all with the exception of the successful resistance to the viet nam war .

free love was a thing of beauty until ya got a dose of one of the rampant STDs .

the drug counter culture was dandy until (in my case) one got hooked on really hard stuff.

well fuck flower power for now.
 
hobhead said:
it all really amounted to fuck all with the exception of the successful resistance to the viet nam war .

free love was a thing of beauty until ya got a dose of one of the rampant STDs .

the drug counter culture was dandy until (in my case) one got hooked on really hard stuff.

well fuck flower power for now.
Click to expand...

Enjoyed your nicely-recounted memories of time and place, Mr H. But you're not being real logical. You're halfway there - you don't talk about the 'anti-war' movement, for example, but your conclusions seem a little anti something. If it's not your younger self, maybe its conclusions you assume I make.

Obviously fuck flower power. You didn't have to hang around hippies too long to see the doomed shallowness of it all. Kids from the burbs buying into a fantasy of free living. Wasn't one in twenty of the free food handout beneficiaries in Golden Gate Park wondered where the food came from - they were used to daddy providing. It drove the Diggers to despair at times; they were the ones facing the shoplifting charges. Anyone can have a good time when the going is easy. If there's only a few of you, the thief is easily detected- read the history of the Greek City States. The Mansons of the world can't wire home for money and the whole enterprise was headed for inevitable disaster as soon the Haight got crowded.

I once taught four kids who'd been commune-raised. Troubled teens indeed. One committed suicide at 20, two went on to be corporate executives and the other's a Major in the Army. Rebels, hated the way they were raised. Sure there're well-adjusted commune bambinos but gimmee loving parents with all the bourgeous comforts any day. On a slightly different note, once you've got enough, you don't get much out of loveless, almost obligatory jiggy-jiggy. People obssessed with getting laid got a lot to answer for. Squelching with a STD victim, eyuk!

There were good things around in the 60's, as you, hops, clearly know. But instead of thinking, sifting wheat from chaff, upping the positive and applying it to what came later, we fell into the media trap of accentuating the negative. Even Ringolevio himself is best remembered for the 24hours his heroin od-ed corpse went undetected round and round the circle line on the NY subway. Strangely, (most) cops grew more liberal as the years passed. Like hophead or the commune kids, guess it's what they call a natural reaction.

I'm on no fucking hard stuff. If anything, the heroin makes me soft. Soft enough to give a fuck -let me say it again, there's no comparison between your junk times and my life on a legal heroin script. Not the same dope, not the same lifestyle. The difference is comparable to the forgotten 'I's behind the ideas of the 60's and the pale imitations who seized the publicity; now we've all forgotten how to think, it's only the folly we remember. " We stopped Vietnam" -maybe Ho Chi Minh helped a little but let it go. What about the equally-innocent victims of Iraq or Afghanisatan? What's the difference, what's changed except you?
 
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Finally got around to reading through the nicely-paragraphed thread in sober state. Great thread, shitty situation, echo the plaudits on being a very good and highly entertaining writer.

Has been some years since I was caught up in standard maintenance treatment - and even more years since I quit the scag - and was never even close to a diamorph script so can't really say owt constructive on that.

But, in the very distant cousin world of not-quite-but-sort-of-but-not-really maintenance I have been in these last few years, I'm now wondering if a similar attitude is filtering down. I've had a long-standing tacit agreement with my doctor that he scripts me certain things (nowt too exciting but at fairly high dose) for daily use and as my side of the deal I put in the effort to avoid getting re-addicted to anything more vicious. This has worked fine for the last few years and just last week - out of the blue - he's decided it's time to taper and stop cos he doesn't think maintenance treatment of any kind is a valid treatment anymore. This is a complete 180 U-turn for him. Have been sent back to the Drug Counsellors for assessment again but unless I can wangle a bupe script out of them I'll not be a happy bunny in the fairly near future. Addiction treatment is a fuckin' sick joke in this country (and most others) and seems like NHS management types have lost even the shitty punchline there has been up till now :\
 
charlie,
nothing has changed in so far as my anti-war stance . the slaughter in irag and afganistan is now being done by mercenary soldiers .
i was drafted and was in an army infantry battalion my military occupational specialty was automatic rifle man .
there was no fucking way that i was going to kill paddy farmers . I had no quarrel with Ho Chi Min or anybody but some cockwallopers back on the block .
i simply refused every order that i was given in basic training . i got and gave some hard shit to the military police but i wrote and wrote my state senators and house members relating the fucking beatings and so forth . i must say that it rattled cages right down to the judge advocate general on base .
the beatings stopped and no one would fuck with me in the stockade . i refused ''hard duty'' and they no longer went at me after one incident that needs relating .
when pressed to go on work detail with other enlisted and drafted prisoners there was one last task that made them leave me the fuck alone .
we were escorted by shotgun guards on a lawn mowing detail . i said that i had to refuel . i dumped gas all over the mower and tossed a burning book of matches on it . i shoved it down the hill that descended into the base cemetery . spectacular - no other word describes the shot gun toting MP's chasing the blazing thing into the tomb stones .

anti war protests against these current killing fields are practically non existent . i can only speculate as to why .

two reasons come to mind . no draftees and only wiki leaks is turning up dirt . in the 60's there was the Mai Lai massacre to galvanize outrage . there were constant photographs of body bags returning from 'Nam. there was indignation in both the house and senate that boiled over into the press . there was the two faced kennedy telling the press that he was winding down the shit while he pressed for more inductees .
now it's ''out of sight/out of mind'' in a manner of speaking .

listen charlie, i am drug dependent . glaucoma eye drops several times per day, high blood pressure meds . gabapentin for the constant neuropatic pain that a crushed ulnar nerve generates . i have turned down oxycodone based pills for tramadol (which i resist taking) because i would rather have break through pain than taking a chance of resurrecting an addiction .

i have no place questioning a man's choice to remain addicted . i am just glad that i kicked . coincidently junk addiction got passed on to my son . this is a man that had never been around either of his parents while they were using . we both cleaned up our acts when we were trying for a baby . after 6 years of fucking combat she got the courts to step on joint custody and after 11 years she made me an offer that i could not refuse and my son was good with it-thus ending any input in his life from me . he was back in my life as soon as he turned 18 .
i knew something was off but didn't know that he had violent encounters with the step father and was tossed into juvie for years . the fucking kid went straight to the smack . when he was around me he was jonesing but i thought his nerves were bad or something .
i had forgotten, pushed aside, any memory of an addict's life .
he's been clean for a long time now but he is around addicts too much in my opinion .

so you take care mr. clean and maybe we will meet in the panhandle or in golden gate park someday . spare change ????
 
Wow,

What an interesting read. I knew the bare bones of this story but to hear the details, 'first hand' so to speak is a trip. Sounds like a bad trip at the moment, a solid harm reduction plan destroyed by ignorance, ego and politics amongst other things.

It is great that you are speaking out and sharing your experience. Fight the power!!

My GP was going on about the price of opiates being so high at the moment but that argument is stupid - the only reason there is a medicinal shortage is bad planning all around. Methadone is cheap obviously so they love to throw that muck at people, I wouldn't let an animal on that long term let alone humans. Dr told me the only way I can get what I really need is to have a heart attack LOL, cheers but no cheers Dr ;)

I dunno I read a few but not all replies. Personally poppy pods wouldn't work for me for long. Great, long lasting and variable buzz but you wouldn't wanna get reliant in them then loose your source. You'd have a terrible cluck and a bit of dodgy bash wouldn't get you out of trouble either. Tough times sir. I hope common sense prevails. Foreign policy and medical procurement policy need to change bigtime, together with the whole treatment setup in the UK. Everyone knows that though don't they! 8o

All the best

Peace
 
As this seems to be the place for literary contemplation and expansion, here's my two pence, for what it's worth.

I find myself at quite a crossroads in my life. The future seems to hold many uncertainties. Is my methadone maintenance programme going to be turned into a methadone reduction programme? Where do things go from here?

My recent suspension from work (and inevitable subsequent dismissal) has forced me into considering what I will do with myself. What will I do for money? The necessary evil that pervades all of our lives and fuels the drug trade. Sure, I have skills but the application of them into cold hard cash - well that's something entirely different. Not that I'm adverse to hard work. The very fact that I've managed to stay in employment for the best part of seven years is testament to that and somewhat of a miracle in itself considering the drug problem that I've been quietly pursuing on the side...

I've tried working for others and I've come to the conclusion that I just can't do it. Pandering to my supervisor's every whim whilst simultaneously obeying a string of (sometimes extremely petty) rules just for the sake of earning the employer lots of money. Only to see the monthly joke of a payslip detailing just how little you've earned for yourself. All for what? To repeat ad finitum until you retire or die? To look back at your empty shell of a life and wish that you'd not wasted thousands of hours in the pursuit someone else's bank balance? Not for me, I've worked my last day employed for someone else, I'm off that particular treadmill (ironic when you consider the seemingly eternal treadmill that is opiate addiction). In a way I'm annoyed that I bought into the whole idea for the last seven years, what a waste!

So what now? We all need money I'm afraid, the generation of which will only come to me in one of two ways. Legally or otherwise. If I'm going to work then it's going to be for myself, the success or failure of which will be down to me and nobody else. No more excuses for being late or not turning up, no more disciplinary hearings and written warnings.

Now my coffee grows cold and my armpits start to sweat and so I know it's time to go and collect my methadone. Take it easy folks.
 
Respect to you hophead. Them's credentials. I wish you well with your son. f you're ever in the UK there's a beer on me.

A small point. It's beter to be pro-peace than anti-war. Once you defined it on 'their' terms, you're an anti, on the defensive. You have to embrace your own belief system, not the one handed down to you from kindergarden to gold watch. I know this because an anti-psychiatrist told me. Bit like the fella who didn't follow leaders cos his guru told him not to.

My point was that the UK in 1968 had uniquely civilised addiction treatment. It allowed the legal prescribing of heroin. There were about 1,000 addicts in the whole country. They kept to themsleves and there were no drug gangs.

To see the consequence of the 40 years since heroin on script was 'banned' in 99% of cases, look around. Communities devastated, addicts the backbone of the privatised prison system, violent criminals control the estates. Fear breeds fear. There's over 250,000 in the poor life. Drug Treatment not only doesn't help but screws you up. The clean 1% are now woken from a long nod to sort out the mess - not the1% on legal heroin but the !% who can see how it goes. You Charlies.

It's of course a symptom of a madness that's everywhere. Hooks touches neatly on another aspect of the Big Lie. But this elephant is getting hard to miss. It might be possible to identify the symptoms, find a cure. I'm researching and that's why I'm here.

Government throws cash at 'drug service providers' who do nothing except conspire in a their own fanatsy. Fear breeds fear. Addicts get too frightened they'll lose their methadone to wonder why they're not treated right. They stay quiet, accept their place. Here, Drug Treatment reduced itself to its own absurdity. It asked the impossible. We knew this; they didn't. Other addicts declined to join the 'protest' - you'll never beat 'the system' and they didn't want to annoy it. They lost their scripts; we haven't, yet, and too late they see their 'fear'.

Ironically, other EEC countries introduce heroin-prescription schemes. Once its envy, British Drug Treatment is now the sick man of Europe. It's a con, a folly, a racket. A joke in dreadful taste. Moreover, and here's the rub, pointed right any outsider now sees it. You don't even handle handle the multi-layered points of pointlessness, it's obvious in everyday terms too.

What went wrong? When you think of how things really work - the realities of the men and women who sit on committees and study groups - it's not hard to figure it. What's missing is this knowledge, the expertise. Addicts hold that but they're too weighted down to believe in themselves. They get confused and even confuse themselves with the garbage.

The missing link of their input gives a clear run to fear. Not useful animal instinct fear, confused manipulative mind game human fear. Fearmongers triumph by default. Anti - triumph. Heroin. Smackheds. Junkies.

I come on sites like this and find dozens who know what's going on. This is an information age. Why have they no voice and, complementarily, why don't they use it?

That's what I want to know. C'mon! Forty years of things getting worse and getting worser like some runaway snowball? Naked emperors strut their stuff and we pledge even passive compliance to their absolute authority? None of us apparently with Brain One here.

There's the rub. Outsiders look at what happened here and say, hold on, this is crazy. Point them straight and they see it straightaway - no need to get lost in points of pointlessness. But it takes peops like those on this site to do the pointing. Properly. Honestly.

Dope makes you high, have we forgotten? Drug treatment provides the first open exemplar of what's 'all in the mind'. Think about it and it would, wouldn't it? With everybody wanting to help and all, the honest mind has a chance. Hooks fired. Hops beaten. Bahrainis shot dead. It's different here - just as deadly but there's no-one actually wants to kill you.

Removing addicts from criminal justice and repairing them out of the squalor would improve the quality of UK life and of many an individual. Virgins cannot dictate sexual habits. A few determined individuals dictate 'drug policy' and contrary determined individuals may now turn it all around

But where are they? When everybody's blinded by the darkness, what should be 2+2=4 becomes I must be on drugs.

Again I ask - is everyone laying down to be shafted some more or are there any good ideas out there?
 
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I 've just had my fortnightly dose of "Drug treatment" . Which in fact entails no more than having a chat with a diillusioned overworked "councillor" who i have known as a mate for years before anyway!
He has been in the job for about 10 years and is one of te better people in the area (he does actually care). Anyway his employees have had the tender 4 the local service for about six months and in my councillors words have "fucked up bigtime and wasted loads of money". One of their greatest ideas was to change the name , rebranding is an expensive thing and now they have the lost the tender the name is gonna change again. You couldn't make up the ineptitude.
Being as this was my half an hour of treatment you might think that we would actually acheive something , but before i even left the house i knew this wasn't going 2 be the case.
This is sad and i wish i could say something positive but i know and my councillor knows i was only there to pick up my medication and to strive for anything futher would be impossible .
When i say half an hour really i mean about 15 minutes once my script has been located , the computer turned on and my notes found.
I ' m not moaning just telling it strictly as it is.
 
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