My mum found out I’m taking drugs (again)

The title isn’t clickbait.

She just straight up asked me, and I had no defences. I just told her the truth, not the whole truth though; I don’t want her to be hurt by how bad it’s gotten again.

Since I was 17, I have been making video diary entries of my using and drinking. In some clips I am crying, in some, I am totally fucked off my face on a plethora of illegal substances, in one I am drunk and swearing, in another, I am calling out in pain. I am going to compile all these years worth of addiction into one mega movie, and show it to my small world.

I so desperately want to stop, by my addict doesn’t. I am going to a meeting today to talk about what’s happened and keep fighting.

I won’t let it win. Not this time.

Much love,



I took drugs in a car while my boyfriend was driving.


I went to see my lovely boyfriend, and as a rabbit with a habit I was in the fortunate position in which I have a green light to use when I need. It’s not quite as great as when I use normally, because this time around it’s only permitted when I think I am about to pass out, but I still get to feel less shit for a short while which is nice, I suppose.

So, I had gotten to the point where I thought I was going to have a psychotic episode in the car because I was withdrawing so hard. So I had to get out my little box of drug paraphernalia, and do lines in a moving car while my boyfriend was driving.

He’s a total hero, by the way.

Sometimes I worry that it isn’t going to last because I need a friend, not a boyfriend. I broke up with him a couple of weeks ago for this very reason, and I stand by what I said when I broke up with him. I do still need a friend, and I am the one who has effectively had to compromise by getting back together with him because he could not be a friend to me all the while we were not together. I, of course, do not mind the compromise, because I love him dearly. But I do worry that it won’t last because I need to stay clean one day, and I still worry that I might need a friend most of all in the world.

It’s all mighty complicated, and he’s perfect for me right now in so many ways. I have a wonderful Christmas present lined up for him- he already knows what it is. Since January, I have been filling out this notebook every now and again, and by Christmas it will be full of our adventures. I can’t wait to give it to him.

But, the best present I can give to him is clean time. He was perhaps a little controlling asking me to let him know when I pick up, and how much I collect, when I use and how much I take every time- but I told him that it was weird. He got really offended, worried and upset but I stood my ground because it’s my battle to fight. I don’t want him to save me, I want him to stand by my side as I save myself.

All things being said, I don’t want it to sound like I’ve bitched about him. He is a hero and lets me get away with absolute murder. The only thing I would change about him is for him to love himself more. He goes on and on and ON about how he’s not beautiful, and how ugly he is with jokes and put-downs to himself, and always has the last word in disagreeing with me….not only is it mildly annoying, it is heartbreaking because he is so beautiful. It is infinitely sad that he can’t see it. Perhaps a part of it is when he goes on about it, I shower him with compliments which must feel good for someone who has low self-esteem. Unfortunately, he has grown up in a world where everyone is supposed to look a certain, and because he isn’t conventionally beautiful, all he sees is him not fitting into the imaginary mould of synthetic perfection.

So to conclude:

  1. I took a lot of drugs before writing this article.
  2. My boyfriend lets me get away with too much.
  3. This boyfriend is loved, and if he happens to ever stumble across this article, know that you are loved, and I’m not ever really that annoyed at you.


Rocking on,






Here is a poem about me sneaking into a poetry slam at the university I am suspended from.

Suspended in November for the year,

I Lost my place here through a fake ‘syndrome’.

I breach my contract by returning here,

And take a risk upon my coming ‘home’.

To evade expulsion, Uni has requested

I leave without a fuss and to use stealth

In order to avoid getting arrested:

I must label addiction as ‘ill health’.

But it appears I could not leave for long,

As here I am back in my ‘second dwelling’,

And driven by my love for written song,

I came tonight and chanced my own expelling.

Enchanted by the spoken word I stood

Overlooking, with my lemonade.

I’m sober, clean, but still misunderstood,

I’m severely lacking purpose: I’m afraid.

I must confess that things have not been right,

My source of joy did penetrate my skin.

It pierced my soul, my darkness and my light,

I found my only friend in heroin.

And sitting there tonight I felt that urge,

That feeling I have come to know so well,

But I will not give in to drugs: I purge.

I free myself from heaven dressed as hell.

I’ve broken from my hypodermic chains,

I’ve found a friend that seems to love me too:

Poetry is running through my veins,

I’d love to be a part of what you do!

It’s a bit of a lie- the “I’m totally clean” part- but I still think it’s a masterpiece. Though I say so myself.

I did cocaine then wrote this.


I don’t know what to write, but I thought it was important to write something. I’m typing this on my phone with trembling hands, a numb tongue and throat inside which a bitter drip is sliding down. I’m very warm. I’m listening to 21 Pilots ‘stressed out.’

Do I feel bad? No. I feel hot. Not that kind of hot. I mean my body is so full of heat and it’s wonderfully unbearable. I feel good. I feel very good. And at the same time I feel normal. How I should feel. I wish this feeling could last forever. But the best part of the feeling is that it isn’t locked in stasis. (Wow I sound intelligent.) The feeling ebbs and flows and peaks and dips and the lows make the highs even higher. So in a way I don’t want this feeling to last forever. I want it to fade, so that I can get my crappy substance that seems to control my every waking minute (and sleeping if we’re talking about using dreams) and crush it up. Cut it into lines. The consistency is like a kind of bitter white eyeshadow. Soft, but able to form small rocks if you mush them together. Easy to break apart. I would crush it up, cut it, chop it with the side of my driving licence making grids of soft powdered damp dust. I’d be able to once again roll up a train ticket, realise it’s too thick to use and rip up my Waterstones receipt for a book I impulse bought, roll it into a delicate straw and sniff it into my raw nostrils that are crusty with dried blood from its  previous flake abuse. I want the feeling to fade from my front teeth, my tongue and lips. I want it to fade so I can run my dry finger over the counter top, collecting bits of squishy rocks and almost moist powder and rub it back into my gums. I want it to wear off so I can then dip my now wet finger into the bag of whatever-it-is-I’m-not-calling-it, and lick up large chunks of soft snow. That feeling as my whole mouth slowly loses its feeling. The euphoria kicking in, confirmed by the numbing of the mouth.

I want all that. I feel all that. But the thing about coke is that you constantly feel like you’re on the cusp of having even more fun, if you could only do another line.

Another one, another one, another one. Will it ever stop. I feel it fading. I feel it FADING. I’m so annoyed. I’m really fucking pissed off. It’s like I’ve been watching a digital clock for a while and it gets stuck on 23:59. Never hitting midnight. Never quite seeing that weird mental satisfaction that comes with the completion or resolution of mundane events or actions. Everything is off. The world is not my own. I am the only one awake in this crazy world.



It wore off. I feel numb in all the wrong ways. I can feel my mouth…but I can’t feel anything in my head. I’m blank. Numb. Nothing. My life is devoid of feeling once more.

Praying for forgiveness, guidance and acceptance in this lonely world,


What is addiction really like?

People don’t see what goes on behind closed doors. The really scary thing about addiction, that still frightens me to this very day, is how it’s actually not scary at all. I was taking it in my room, in my flat in Spain on my gap year. I had a cuddly toy on my bed, pink sandals by my door and cocaine on my desk. It was bizarre, and went against everything I had ever been taught about drug culture.

It wasn’t like anything I had seen in films, it was just me, in my cosy little room. During my binges, I would snort a thick line of the powder on my own, then clean the flat, or call a friend, or go to the supermarket. It felt safe, and made me feel beautiful, inside and out.

I never mixed alcohol with cocaine. Despite the fact that I was taking class A drugs, I tried to remain relatively cautious, a concept which was later drilled into me in therapy: if you can’t be good, be careful. 

But you never see the reality of active addiction.

Addiction is disgusting and degrading, and people call it “using” but in reality its getting a dirty straw from McDonald’s, cutting it in half with scissors you used to cut your fingernails, leaving the house carrying drugs in a baggie that probably smells like weed and wandering aimlessly around town waiting for the previous hit to wear off so you can have another one.

Addiction is going to the Pret-à-manger customer toilets, getting the drugs out from your jacket pocket, getting two filthy cards out, one of which is your student ID, the other a SIM card voucher, mushing up the drugs on the toilet seat and inhaling them to the back of your throat through your nose as quietly as possible. It’s routine and you do it quickly, but you’re paranoid as ever.

Addiction is then running your finger over the toilet lid and rubbing it into your gums so they go numb and you feel like you can function for a little while, until you have to find another café or Starbucks toilet and do it again, with trembling fingers, shaking from a combination of relief and desperation.

Addiction is knowing how disgusting the harsh reality of taking drugs, and still going out of your way to chase the feeling of initial ecstasy that evolves into simply feeling like yourself for a short while.

And to turn your back on it, on this grubby little substance that no one else on this earth seems to understand the way you do, to turn your back on not just the lifestyle, but the habit, the ritual of cutting a white powdered line, the cutting and crushing of the powdered rocks, the blissful taste, the ecstasy, the euphoria, the feeling like everything in your life is so fucking OKAY, will forever be to this day one of the saddest, and yet most badass, cool things I will ever have to do.

One day I am going to kick this in the balls. Stay with me while I do, internet.



How much cocaine have I taken in the last 48 hours: an adventure.

So I started my iPhone timer about 48 hours ago (if this isn’t accurate I apologise), and every time I have taken cocaine, I have pressed the “lap” button on the screen to monitor the intervals in between each hit.

Here is what my phone is currently displaying.

Lap 1: 08:32 – so to explain this, I took a hit, then 8 and a half minutes later, another one.
Lap 2: 1:26:07
Lap 3: 44:29
Lap 4: 1:51:40
Lap 5: 43:26
Lap 6: 58:16
Lap 7: 1:37:41
Lap 8: 43:52
Lap 9:1:25:47
Lap 10: 2:58:14
Lap 11: 03:20
Lap 12: 3:10:45
Lap 13: 1:02:53
Lap 14: 1:40:44
Lap 15: 1:28:07
Lap 16:19:52:32 (I fell asleep for 12 hours then didn’t use for a further 7)
Lap 17: 47:53
Lap 18: 1:14:05
Lap 19: 3:56:33
Lap 20: 2:21:09
Lap 21:1:03:04
Lap 22: 38:53

So there we have it. In the last 49 hours I have used 22 times. I haven’t used in the last 38 minutes; the longest gap was 19 hours, the shortest was just 3 minutes.

Addiction is disgusting.