A gorgeous sunny day and the Cantab injectabiles are once again happy as songbirds. The relief is palpable. Actually, it's not much of an achievement to get yourself back to where you were a year ago. It just feels that way.
Of course, it means a lot more to us than it does to you. But the world of Drug Treatment is very small. This affair is its equivilant of Watergate. Behind the scenes, everybody's talking. Heartbreak House endeavours to halt the rumours. Other parties rather fancy spreading the news.
What's really incredible is that what our dsp tried to implement what is its national policy. Wanted to bring us into line with the rest, that's all. Introduce the usual methods, myths and lies to make this little bastion of treatment sanity as nutty as everywhere else. May even have schemed to have government return it as the new 'Drug Strategy'. The sort of sideshow you may expect when private companies move in on the NHS. An Emperor without clothes has seized control of UK Drug Treatment and the citizenry gawp at his finery.
But folk aren't mean. Human nature is not as Thatcher presumed. That's just old guard thinking, the projection of primitives. When the abstentionist policy reached its logical conclusion here and decided in its confusion and ignorance effectively to extirpate decent, law abiding citizens, the citizens rather balked. They weren't killers, not conscious destroyers. Besides, These were not rabid mutants who might leap from the gutter to mug, bite and infect you, these were normal men and women. Clean living. Only difference was they quietly injected medication. Didn't seem to be very 'harm preventionist' to mess up their lives so utterly. That wasn't the citizens' intention. How, they asked, has it happened? And what is this stuff, anyway? Why do we take it for granted it's as bad as sin? Difficult questions. Heads turn uneasily toward the Emperor.
But the Emperor is wily. Don't get power without great hutzpah. " Ungrateful wretchs," he berated the citizens, shaking his head wearily. " Do you not see all the good things we're doing? Classes in structured days, anger management, oregami. These poor, squalid users cry out to us to help them. It's a thankless task. But they need us. Our latest statistics for 64-tier rehab, counselling and stigmatisation are encouraging. Look at them, not at these troublesome criminals. Aren't they beautiful? From the finest Paris couturiers, expensive but I'm sure you agree well worth it." Knows a convincing appearance counts in the world of illusion
And the citizens went away. "Isn't the Emperor noble?" they gushed. " And such beautiful clothes" "But, haven't you noticed, there are more junkies every year? Funny, that." " What colour was his coat? Did you get a close look?" Confusing time for the citizenry. At night, they'd think of the drug "addicts", so different what they expected to see. Could it have been because they got their drugs legally and unadulterated? But then why was the Emperor taking away their 'legal' status? Was it because they rather proved a point that maintenance treatment properly applied can produce spectacular successes? That diamorphine was infinitely superior for short or long term treatment and would produce both a higher 'sustained abstinence' rate and rather better people? This wasn't what it said in the latest edition of Approved Mindset
Or, whisper it, could it be that Emperor didn't have a clue what he was doing?
Anyway, the citizens, in their wisdom, took a kindly attitude. The Emperor is tired, they said, he has an awful lot on his plate. Called in two wise women from afar to advise the Emperor. They spoke to the "drug addicts", briefly, in the Emperor's Palace. translated their words into a language the Emperor could understand. The Emperor's sage counsellors were keen to smooth the waters. They assured the citizens the pronouncements of the wise women would be followed and the "drug addicts" would be returned to their medications forthwith. Special cases. Unlike the other 299,988 UK heroin addicts.
And the citizens gave unto the "drug addicts" the glad tidings and the "drug addicts" were mightily relieved. Yea, for great was their fear over the year previous, it was for them a grievous pestilence lifted. " And the Emperor won't smite me no more?" they gasped, disbelievingly. "No, of course not." smiled the citzens, reassuringly.
"So all's well that ends well," said the citizens. " Funny old business. You'd have thought the Emperor, in all his wisdom, would have seen as the wise women saw a long time ago, tho', wouldn't you?" " I wonder what the wise
women will say when they pronounce unto the citizens?" " Perhaps they'll tell us the colour of his his jacket. Do you know, in a certain light just for a second..."
Does it end here? I don't know. The simple, indisputable conclusion is that British Drug Treatment is a bad joke. At best, a rather misguided endeavour. At worst, a sick hoax. What stunned us what how little the experts actually knew, how badly astray the non-understanding of certain aspects of addiction and pharmacology had led them. In this instance, it created a collaboration with what can only be described as naked capitalism. Naked capitalism does not usually destroy people so openly. Medically, an interesting situation. Has its psychosocial aspects, too.
Here may be a chance for an unusual minority consciousness to do a little good. I've had pms and seen some posts from sentient and savvy opiate users. They know Drug Treatment sucks, don't know what to do about it. Exactly the same as sentient and savvy health service professionals - affecting the emotion of 'caring' don't mean shit and they're a minority. Also. If I'm cynical I'd consider I've heard from all the worthwhile addicts on site. It's just truth that a lot of garbage run a habit - badasses become junkies because that's what badasses are supposed to do, one of those
'bad natures imitate bad art' things. And junkie life brings out the worst in everyone. The Emperor has his severe limitations but, Jesus, you don't want to let some of our 'peers' through the door. A tough decision for the wise women. If it were me, I'd probably appreciate all the cogent advice I could get, from wherever it came, however it was borne. Even if it meant getting metaphysical with the identity.
So there you go. It's an individual thing. You may want a script to sort out a little something in your head, something you can't quite put a finger on. You may want to improve addict lot in general. You may just love to see sanity, be it pharmacological or anyotherwhichway. You gotta serve somebody. Take the chink in drug wars armour prised out here and let the light flood in. One way or another, this darkness gotta give. If you want it. Otherwise let it be. Maybe someday, somebody will write a detective novel where every line is a song title.
Me, I've thought quite enough about drugs and treatment and seen quite enough of unfamiliar drug addicts this past year. Time to return to what I was doing 11 months ago, slightly older, slightly changed. I hope those of you who want it and whom it will help are able to get a diamorphine script. I hope none of you od or lose limbs or wind up in the can and that y'all may find your way.