Cocaine Addiction

Mindy loved her brother so much that she didn’t know what to do. He had married an actress, against the better judgment of the family, and now he was paying the price. Six months married, and a baby born – her brother’s actress wife had fled to the other side of the world, taking the young child with her, and it seemed, her brothers soul.

Mindy’s brother was in the secondhand and antique trade, determined not to be the professional something or another that was expected of him by the family.

Rebellion. If Mindy’s brother was to be catagorized then as a rebel it must be – but against what and why Mindy often asked herself. Why could Gerald not have gone and worked in mining, a bank, insurance or even business broking – why on earth the choice of being a downmarket secondhand dealer, with some knowledge of antiques?

And to take on board an actress wife, with no known social connections was really the last straw. It seemed that Gerald’s wife had expected bounty from the family, being Gerald’s wife and bearer of the son and heir. Gerald was virtually disinherited from the family long before he met up with Lo-La. Their marriage at a registry office, attended by friends, was advised later to family and only served to make family connections with Gerald more distant, and considerably cooler.

So, it was with some alarm that Mindy, after many unanswered calls, got in through an open back window, and discovered her brother, apparently dead, lying on a couch in the unit, that adjoined the secondhand shop that he rented.

Plus there was an awful smell, like dishes moldy and unwashed, in the sink for weeks, food ground into the carpet, stains of spilt drinks on the kitchen floor, mingled with the aroma of unwashed clothes.

Wake up ! Mindy shook her brother awake, he looked around aimlessly. Mindy accused him of being drunk and hungover. Gerald said no way – do you think I am like our father? I’m  depressed about Lo-La taking the baby back home. I need to sort things out.

I’m not on anything except I do coke, to try and keep me awake, keep the business going.

Anyhow Mindy,what are you doing, coming here. Shouldn’t you be at work, at the office, at this time of the morning.

Mindy said – Gerald, I wouldn’t be here,  if I didn’t care – I want you to be happy. I don’t understand what has gone wrong, I want to try and help.

To help me, or to help our parents to keep their life in order – get me straightened out. Gerald looked at Mindy with a questioning expression.

There’s only one thing that I need right now – other than more cocaine – it’s a ticket, the airfare to my wife and child. I need to be with them. Mindy was so sad, she asked how much it would cost – told Gerald she would get the money immediately, and something extra besides. Went to the bank, withdrew the money, and took it back to Gerald.

Give me a call said Mindy, when you get over your jet lag, and tell me how you get on, She gave him a hug and hurried back to the office.

Days later, Mindy was missing Gerald and drove past the shop. Unexpectedly saw a light on. Further prowling and investigation and Mindy was inside, confronting Gerald – what did you do with my money?

Gerald said , sis, I used it, used it all on cocaine. So, now your going to run off on me. Just like the family did.

Mindy felt betrayed – this was her brother Gerald?

Mindy went to see her father to ask if he would help to get Gerald into rehab – but his rejection was firm, and final – as far as he was concerned Gerald was no longer his son, his problem or responsibility. Gerald had made his bed, he would have to lie in it, was the final word.

What to do and how to help -  Mindy could not think. Going back to Gerald she told him that he needed drug rehab, and Gerald totally agreed. Encouraged Mindy said why not sell the business, make a brand new start when you have done rehab but Gerald said the business was worth nothing at all – best thing if I take it all to auction, cash up, pay up the rent and the debts – then go into rehab.

Mindy helped to clean up the place, get the stock to auction, She came early every day to look in the mail box. When the check arrived from the auction rooms, she grabbed it. Told Gerald she would cash the check, and pay all the bills.

Gerald said no, I want the money – It’s mine. No way said Mindy, you will  spend it on cocaine – you need to pay the bills, and go into rehab – that’s what we agreed. Brimming with anger and resentment Gerald signed over the check. Knowing he was not happy Mindy said – Gerald, it’s the only way – your going to have to trust me.

And so the bills got paid, Gerald went into rehab, the best they could find after making inquiry. Mindy was happy that Gerald was in a real rehab place, that would get him off drugs completely. She made contact with Lo-La and told her all the news. Lo-La was in tears. I’m coming back. I’ll see him she said. I’ve missed him every day. The only reason I left was because of the drugs – thank you so much for what you have done.

And Gerald said the same when he came out of rehab clean – ready to start a new life with his wife and child – said thank you so much to Mindy. Thank you for being strong – I could not have done it on my own.

Henry – the IVth – known as Hank to family and friends, had always been accident prone. By the age of 2 he had almost choked on a button, been nearly strangled by a harness intended to keep him in his cot. By the age of 5 he had fallen out of an apple tree and fractured both of his wrists, to the despair of his nanny who got the blame and had to spoon feed him like a baby for weeks.

Hank survived kindy and boarding school with only a few mishaps and eventually went to uni, and to the fraternity house of his father and grandfather before him.

Hank had his future all mapped out. To step into his fathers shoes, when his father retired from the business that had been in the family for years. Unlike most third generation sons, Hank’s father had kept the business in tact. There was really very little for Hank to do while waiting in the wings – except to stress out his mother weekends, by getting into extreme sports.

At uni, Hank caught the eye of a young socialite, who was determined that Hank would be the man she would marry – one day when he settled down, and didn’t cause everyone so much worry.

At school it had been alcohol and marijuana and as soon as he got to uni, Hank discovered that doing a line of coke was much more to his liking. Hank needed to be with people, liked to party, Hank got into all kinds of extreme sports, it seemed to meet a need.

The better Hank got at precision sports, the less accident prone he was. At one stage he was considered for a place in the tobogganing team at the Utah winter olympics, but dashed his mother’s fond hopes by preferring to relax with a line of recreational coke.

One weekend Hank and his mates decided to go to a rave that was some way out of town, located in an old barn. Half way through the night, some electrics shorted out – the entire place burned to the ground in less than 30 minutes. Fortunately, everyone got out, although not without some damage, Hank was taken to hospital with smoke inhalation, dehydration and burns on both his legs that would need treatment for over two years. Socialite Susie seized the moment, and moved into Hank’s apartment to help him with his recovery.

It was a difficult time for Hank, he felt trapped like a bird in a cage. Being an invalid didn’t suit his nature, so he used coke, became fretful and restless, made life insufferable for Susie – but Susie was a woman on a mission and wasn’t discouraged too easily. Hank got more into using cocaine to take the edge off his problems.

There was nothing that Hank could do to get out of his feelings of gloom. He couldn’t do any extreme sport, take risks, he wasn’t expected to do any real work at the office. With his father at the helm, everything moved to a plan, Hank knew that he was expected to step one day into his father’s shoes. His father was that fit and healthy, it wouldn’t be for years.

Susie started dropping hints about engagement, eventual marriage – good grief! As if he didn’t feel like he was trapped and married already. Hospital schedules, and doctor’s appointments, being organized by Susie felt like it was crushing him down, leeching the life from his body.

Susie stopped the party-going, and tried to get Hank into drug rehab for his coke addiction, tried to motivate him to do something better with his life.

Hank was obtuse and would not comply.He would have done something about it if he had not felt so exhausted. Sometimes he would just do coke all day, felt like his life was over.

One day, a party invite, Hank insisted, Susie consented. Just don’t do coke and behave yourself, is all that I ask, said Susie.

Of course there was coke at the party, and some of the group were experimenting with Planking – that Hank had never tried.   what is planking?

Some of the lad’s were on the couches, others were testing their skill on the 3rd floor balcony at the back of the house. Hank went out back to observe, while Susie went to the bathroom – she’d been feeling a bit nauseous lately and was thinking to go in for a checkup.

Hank meanwhile saw that Planking on the balcony might be the pick me up that he needed, so he lined up in the queue.

When Susie came out of the bathroom, she saw people hanging over the balcony, with their arms outstretched, heard someone quietly saying oh, no – and no sign of Hank.

Susie gave a piercing scream, collapsed upon the floor.

Upon discovering later that Hank had got hauled back, from nearly falling off the balcony, none the worse for the experience, Susie hit the roof – not only was he irresponsible, causing fear and worry, when she’d seen the doctor – he had told her she was pregnant.

Blurting out the news this way, Susie was suddenly scared about Hank’s reaction. But to her delight, it seemed to light up a fire in his eyes, that she’d never seen before.

Yes, he said, we have to get married, better for the kid, and I’m going to get myself off coke – no kid wants a junkie for a father.

Hank went to Narconon -see video and was able to graduate, free of cocaine addiction before he and Susie were married, before the child was born.

Hank still works for the company, will one day step into his father’s shoes – but one thing that Hank has decided is that – young Jefferson is not destined to be just another Hank off the rank.

Windsor got named because his Mom and Dad were living out back of the Windsor Hotel at the time he was born. How he survived, no-one knew, with a drug dealer for a father, a mother on the game. Windsor went to school, got an education, main reason he went was he stole his Dad’s drugs and sold them to his school mates in the schoolyard. Changing schools as he often did, was no trouble to Windsor – he made new friends real easy – by reason of dealing cocaine.

Now Windsor never used the stuff. He’d used it once, and loved it. Windsor knew if he ever went back, and used again – he’d become an addict. Truth to say he was already, in that moment addicted to cocaine. Only once, you wouldn’t think, that quick, how could you know, straight away – you were and would be addicted.

So, it was like a sort of reaction formation, Windsor loved cocaine so much that he pretended he didn’t like it, or want to use it just one time again. Instead he become a dealer, and pushed it for all he was worth. You could say that Windsor got addicted to pushing cocaine.

By last year in school, Windsor made his way up to one of the mining towns, worked days as a trades assistant, kept up his dealing of an evening. He really didn’t cut the working routine, although he did try hard. Soon he was the manager, then part owner of a night club portside, complete with girls and bouncers. Windsor didn’t use, and everybody knew that. People knew him to be reliable.

Seeing a need, Windsor sold out his interest in the club, and set up a security outfit that covered all the usual bases, and guaranteed no criminal activity in your club, no bikers driving away legitimate custom – you paid for, and got, no hassles. People trusted Windsor and Windsor in turn gave good value for money, never let anyone down.

Then Windsor got hitched to a bar girl who said that she would give up cocaine for him, and they settled into quiet domesticity, kept a low profile and raised kids. Windsor thought he’d gone respectable, cut the ties with his past, even stopped dealing in coke. The business was doing fine and Windsor wanted more than anything to be regarded as legit.

Driving home one early morning he got sideswiped by a drunk driver trying to shoot a red light, and was six months in hospital. It was the end of his business, that someone new in town took over, gave Windsor some money to get Windsor’s business into his name, told Windsor to leave town.

The only money Windsor had was in his house, that he sold. He and Debbie and kids moved further down the coast, where Windsor had no option but to start dealing again.

One evening, suffering extreme pain, Windsor drank a lot of alcohol, and did a line of cocaine.

Windsor just kept using and dealing, going slowly down the drain, until Debbie said she was leaving, taking the kids to her mother’s place, and was going to get herself a job. Windsor didn’t care – told her to get on out of his life. Without the kids and Debbie, Windsor let the apartment go, slept on the beach for a week, ended up staying in the garage of a mate, that had an old settee, and a few rats for company.

Windsor thought about his kids, missed them endlessly, but knew deep down it was for the best – just to let them go.

What was he after all, just a low life, low down dealer, the second generation of his father, dead now these past two years, Windsor didn’t know where his mother had gone, she moved on right after the funeral, hadn’t contacted him since that day, and now it seemed it would only be lucky chance that they might ever meet up again. If she wasn’t already dead and he didn’t know.

Thinking back to that day when he had first tried coke, Windsor knew then what he knew now, that the only love, the light of his life would ever be cocaine.

Slowly he took a slug of bourbon, enjoyed the burn on his throat, and then slowly and with infinite care he tipped and cut some coke. Chased it around with the blade of his knife, patted and fussed it into shape. He used a nice clean straw from the pack, never used a straw more than once.

Then quickly, but without haste snuffed a line of coke into each nostril, pinching the other one tight. He dabbled his finger into the bourbon, and rinsed around the insides of his nose. Took a deep relaxing breath, settled back to wait for the rush …and in that moment, he was happy.

When I got a scholarship to go to University, my mother was determined I would make good. She contacted a cousin with an apartment in the city, that hopefully I could share.

He called Mum back, said I was welcome. No rent if I did the cleaning. Mostly he was out of town – it should work out real fine.

I arrived, put my cases down in a guest room that looked like it had been transported direct from Indonesia – batiks, carvings, scented wood – nothing like the project bedsit where I had lived with my mother for years. I was impressed.

Bennett was well traveled, and very well educated. He said to make myself at home. I felt transported to Asia, as I sat and ate Thai curry with Bennett – felt like I had suddenly grown up.

Bennett took an early flight next day, and would not be back for three weeks. A most beautiful, impressive apartment – and all mine til Bennett returned. Being in this lavish apartment sure boosted my self confidence – no embarrassment at all about admitting to living here.

I met Luke at the first student party and it was like we were soul mates. I asked him back to the apartment and I could see that he was comfortable in surroundings that I was still getting used to. We smoked a while, on the balcony, overlooking the bay. Later we hit the hay and everything was just fine.

When Bennett returned, he said he was having a party, I was welcome to bring a friend, his friends being somewhat older. Said did I mind if he smoked some dope – I offered him some of mine. I felt so cool and in control. I asked Luke to Bennett’s party and he said yeah, great.

The party was fully catered, and halfway through the night, hands were clapped, and silence made, for the bringing in of Bennett’s birthday cake. I could not believe my eyes – the plate was carefully placed down upon the white linen tablecloth – a plateful of coke that had to be worth at least $20,000.00.

Bennett cut into his cake, and next minute all of the guests were happily cutting out lines. Help yourselves, said Bennett expansively, seeing me and Luke standing back. Plenty more where that came from – if it should run out.

I was stunned to see Luke move in and bring back a line for me and for him.

Things were moving too quick for me, but I thought I had better stay cool. It was my first line ever, and it burned right up my nose. But lucky Luke was there for me, we went back to my room.

After a while Luke said he’d go back for more. I said no, not for me, but he came back with more anyway, so what else was I to do.

I never felt happy doing cocaine on it’s own, it made me feel nervous, on edge. But Luke used coke, so I used coke – part of being together. I started to use cannabis or alcohol with coke – gave me a really spacey feeling, so relaxed that sometimes I didn’t get around to going to Uni – didn’t worry too much about cleaning – Luke had virtually moved in. Often, with Bennett away, we stayed in bed and did lines all day.

Months later – Bennett away, Luke staying over and using Bennett’s computer. Luke suddenly appeared – Jen, he said, I’m worried – I just found a heap of child pornography, sort of hidden in Bennett’s computer.

Might be best if you moved out – perhaps move in with me. I shifted over to Luke’s the same day. Bennett didn’t mind at all – he had become Luke’s dealer.

Living in the flat with Luke I let my life spin out, and I virtually stopped going to Uni. I wasn’t sure but thought that I might be expecting a baby.

One day an unbearable headache came on. I felt sick and vomited, went to lie on the bed. I woke up later to find, I still had the headache, and felt weak all down one side. Luke was worried enough to take me to the doctor – ended up in hospital for some tests, to be told I’d had a minor stroke, but at least I wasn’t pregnant. Back home Luke said he was off to buy more coke, did I want to come along like I usually did – but now with the stroke I felt clumsy, one eyelid drooped as did the side of my mouth. The doctor said it would come good but it would take some time.

A fog of depression quickly set in, I felt almost suicidal after Luke had left the flat. I didn’t want to do drugs any more – I wanted to go to rehab and get well again.

Bennett came back with Luke to see how I was going …. was there anything I needed. I said yes, I want to go to rehab to get off the coke and get better from the stroke.

Bennett gave out a great peal of laughter – Jen, he said, you asking the biggest dealer in town to give you money for rehab? I said, I guess I am. Bennett slapped his thigh, gave another chuckle, and said Jen, my girl, I’ll do it – what’s it cost – I’ll send you money. Then he was up and gone.

I could see Luke was thoughtful, and then he suddenly said – I’ll get money from my folks – I’m going to go in with you Jen – we can do the rehab together. I never did coke before the party – it’s like it’s gotten hold of me now – and look what its done to you.

At once, my world brightened up, perhaps there was hope after all – me and Luke were soul mates, and I knew – we could beat this together.

Cocaine addiction. I always said I didn’t have an addictive personality. I had issues in my life. Depressed and bipolar. But i always had it under control. I went to school. Got accepted to great universities. I started blowing cocaine during my first and last year of university. I didn’t think about what I was doing then. I just wanted to experience everything. I always loved taking risks and when i got offered a line, i took it. It was nice. Then i forgot about it, until I met a dealer. I had money and i thought, why not?

To be honest, i don’t regret it. I feel like this numbness is all that’s getting me through at this point. Without cocaine, i can see myself going completely insane. I just don’t have control over the depression anymore. But maybe it’s the coke? I don’t know. Sometimes, I think i’ve gone too far. Especially when i blow all the money i make. But, it motivates me too go to work, and function in society because there is light at the end of my day. I can come home, send a text, and have this beautiful white lady make everything all right. But the reality is the only functioning i do with society is during my dead end serving job.

As i write all this i can see this so called addiction. I am scared but i tell myself i am not addicted. But i can see that I am. Nothing matters anymore. Friends, there just there, good for the moment, but if they disappeared, I wouldn’t care. Family. I don’t even really think about them anymore. All i think about is money and making sure i have enough to cover my rent, utilities and cocaine. Even food is at the end of my list. I buy food when i have left over money after my cocaine purchase. Relationships? Yeh, that’s not even possible at this point. I couldnt put the effort to get to know someone if i tried. And even if i did, who would want to be in a relationship with someone who will put a drug before you?

I’ve withdrawn from school. Dissapointed my family. Cut of the friends i have that tried to tell my that cocaine is become a problem. To be honest they should have known better than to try and tell my how to run my life. I don’t need people like that in my life… but i do need people. Because at this point, the only time i don’t feel lonely is when i have coke. And it sucks. I think, i really need to get out before this escalates to the point when i am pawning shit for fucking gram.

I used to be happy. I used to be that girl that’s always smiling and giggling. Always in a great mood, as if the world was just filled with sunlight and shit. But, even then I felt an emptiness. And that smile was a pretense. Now it’s just all gone, and my emptiness is become overwhelming. I want to stop, but to be honest I don’t how i can. I don’t if i can do it alone. I need help, but i just don’t really have anyone to turn to anymore. So now, as this last line fades away I will sleep, wake up in a few hours, go to work, make money, buy blow and do the same shit again. Until i can’t avoid this anymore. Until i am forced to make a change. It’s a fucked up life i am living. And the worse part is, i am aware and just dont care.

Hello, I’m Ryan and I’m gay. Use a lot of coke, it gets me through the day. What I’m here for is to try and talk – get things sorted out. Michael, he’s my partner, we don’t believe in marriage. He keeps talking  about adopting a kid, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

I’ve never been with anyone but Michael, and that’s another thing – I’ve known him since forever – there’s never been anyone else – except of course my mother who I’m close to – call her every day. Haven’t told her yet about Michael and my life – Michael wants to meet her. I’ve met his Mom, she’s great – but I can’t see things working out between Michael and my mother.

An absolute saint is my mother – I’m her only child, I was her “little man” – I dutifully looked after her, protected her from my father – an absolute pig of a man. He worked in the city came home late of an evening, smelling of alcohol and demanding his tea at table – he would always look at me with a baleful stare – I knew I didn’t measure up.

My fathers name was Bill and I’d hear people say that as Bill had done the right thing by my mother you would think she would be more grateful – but I couldn’t see that she had anything to be grateful for – if I had been bigger and stronger I would have taken her away from him. He treated her like a servant, more like a slave. Nothing she ever did was good enough for him.

He never spoke to me direct except to complain about my mother – or to my mother except to bark instructions and to complain about me.” I see Ryan is not yet in bed ” he would say to my mother, and then turn to me and say ” I do believe that your mother hasn’t dusted this house for a week.” So my mother would flick the duster around while he ate up his tea, and I wouldn’t go to bed until my mother pleaded with me – it was like being relieved of a duty.

My father was a self made man, never given any help. He told my mother in front of me that he expected I would leave school as soon as I could and make my own way in the world just like he’d had to do.

I got laboring work in summer, and wintered in hotels, cleaning or laundry, kitchen or parking, it didn’t matter too much to me – I only wanted to feel warm and have the energy of other people around me – it made me feel alive, like the laboring did in summer.

Someone stopped me one day on the street and said he’d like to take some photos, I went back to his, and so it was that I met Michael, a studio photographer of some talent.

We got into going on the town together. One night we went into a gay bar, just to check out the scene and soon we were making it a regular habit. It wasn’t that I didn’t like chicks but none of them really turned me on.

One afternoon in summer Michael and I were listening to some music and doing a few lines, became lovers and have been together ever since, I don’t have many friends, Michael is all that I need. And yet there is a doubt, that’s what I’ve come here to talk about.

Some days I get so deep down depressed I even keep away from Michael – I feel that I should be back home taking care of mother – that I should never have left her in the first place, and taken up with Michael – and Michael, I love him dearly, he is a caring person but truth is when we go out for a drink I see other people standing around and sometimes I get curious and start to think what if I wasn’t with Michael.

It’s all too much for me, that’s why I’m into the coke – it keeps these big waves of depression from getting a hold over me. On coke I’ve got the world sewed up, couldn’t be happier and then it all comes crashing down around me.

Sometimes I start thinking about my father – gone to his grave un-mourned by me – good riddence I thought on the day.

My mother stood by without a tear, her lips tight pressed together – what debt of gratitude did she owe my father – why wasn’t she happy, or even sad on the day that he passed away.

Perhaps there are things that I need to talk through with my mother before I move on with my life.

This adopting a kid makes me feel uptight and anxious. I feel real sad about this kid that’s out there, alone in the world, and waiting to be adopted. And then I think it’s for me that I’m sad, and not for the kid at all. By then, when I get like that, all I want to do is hit the coke and hit it again and again.

kid inside you that still needs a chance to speak

couldn’t be happier

were listening to some music and doing a few lines.

Ah, so out of all I just said, that is all you wrote down – and yes, it makes me think – I’ve got to go back and sort out my past before I can move on with my life. First thing, I’m going back to my martyred mother to find out more – about this debt of gratitude. Oh yes –  thank you for your help.

Miranda was one of those people that you would think the sun has always shined on. The only daughter of a doting mother and rich banker father, it followed on from a lifetime of nannies and boarding that Miranda would attend the best of finishing schools. Admiring her distant father Miranda studied, to do well – perhaps be a banker one day. However her girlfriends’ scorned academic pursuit – their only ambition to party – and experiment with drugs.

So it was that in a casual way, Miranda got introduced to cocaine.  Cocaine was great – it meant that she could party all night – keep going to her tutorials. She graduated summa cum laude, and had many friends.

Miranda wriggled out of her mother’s push to enter the marriage market, and became the personal secretary to a manager that her father considered sound. Miranda was happy with her business life but would occasionally break out uncontrollably- take time off, call up her friends and party hard using alcohol and cocaine.

Miranda never thought about the why of her double life – she needed to be the perfect secretary – or else the most abandoned penthouse playgirl.

At a business conference Miranda met the man who would be her husband. Straight and reliable,  she instinctively knew that her party ways would not impress. During their courtship, engagement and honeymoon, Miranda never once thought of disgracing her image by going out on the town – this man, this marriage was important – the urge to party wasn’t there.

On marriage Miranda gave up working, and three children were soon born. Not much there for a mother to do – what with cook, the nanny and the daily home help. Miranda saw less of her husband who got a promotion that meant several weeks at time he was away in Europe.

And so it was that within a couple of years, Miranda had got into meeting up with old school friends who still had the party habit and it was easy with husband away to forget the kid’s, the responsibilities of home management, kick back and party on.

When the youngest of the children was started at boarding school it left the house very quiet and empty for many weeks of the year. Tired of the endless round of parties, and lonely, Miranda decided to go back to work, and made an application, wanting to do it all by herself, and not use Daddy’s connections.

The interview went well, and she was more or less told that she had the job, to come back again for a further discussion. At the briefing the recruitment manager was impressed. Looked at his watch and said – that’s an end to the briefing – time for a spot of lunch.

To complete the formalities – we have booked your medical for 2 this after noon. It won’t take long – get your knees tapped with a hammer, a urine test, then you can go home. We will call you back in a day or two with the details of your placement.

Miranda felt the ants of fear crawling all over her skin – thinking how foolish she had been – a medical! Why only this morning she had done a line to be on top of the interview, but she put the thought right out of her head. Miranda decided very firmly that they wouldn’t do drug testing on management and their personal assistants – drug testing would only be for the people who had to work on site. They were probably only going to test the urine for things such as diabetes she thought, as she sat waiting for the doctor.

Three days later Miranda had taken an early morning line for courage, called up the company to see how things were going. She was unable to speak to anyone senior but was told to expect a letter.

And the letter came expressing regret that her application had been rejected and another, more qualified applicant had been awarded the job. Miranda was enraged, her first experience of life not going exactly as she had planned it. High on coke and ignited by rage, Miranda strode into the recruitment office and demanded to speak with the manager.

A short while later, a subdued Miranda was escorted to the lift, and farewelled by the manager.

Later at home Miranda remembered most of what the manager had said – it was a public company and their zero tolerance drugs policy extended from the top CEO right down to the tea lady. A safe environment for all he said, it was the modern style – the world right now might be awash with drugs – but they can be kept out of the office. He had told her how teachers now are subject to drug testing.

He had given her a card for the only rehab that they regarded as effective – that got people clean. Miranda stared at it a while and then stuffed it into her bureau. Called her father on the phone and said, Daddy I need a job, is there something you can do.

It was four years later that Miranda was furiously packing saw the rehab card in the drawer, and slipped it into her overnight bag. Her head was pounding like a hammer. She had by then been divorced,  lost her job and custody of her children, and now it was time to leave the house. A  taxi was waiting to take her direct to the Oasis watering hole to meet her dealer, her only friend in the world.

It would be another two years, living around seedy hotels, before Miranda would again pick up that card – call the helpline number and say – I’ve been doing cocaine – can you help me?

Cracks in the plaster, dingy paint

cracked pipes

Dirty crack pipe – my pipe.

Dead weeds, rocks in the yard,

Broken clock, on the table.

Curtains in tatters hung from wire

across the window, held with paper clips.

And cold – I’m shivering to the bone,

pale – like the morning sun. Cold sunlight

floods in at daybreak.

I’m shivering – so cold.

Waiting for Harry to get back -

with crack

for him and me.

Cracks in the plaster, gas cut off

me, huddled, cramped in the corner

sitting on the floor – since dark early morning

I’ve been shivering can’t stop.

Then suddenly – the shivering stopped, I felt relaxed,

no more thumping of my heart,

I felt warm inside and was on a tropical beach

I decided to lie down, I remember that,

threw off the scratchy dirty blanket,

that I had pulled around myself

I could smell the frangipani,

heard the crashing waves.

I heard my friends calling out to me

to join them in the ocean.

I would have done, but I was so deathly tired.

I wrote this poem as I was told that writing things down is a good way to help with my drug recovery – I never realized until I have started to write down poetry how it helps you to say things that are sometimes bottled up inside you, things that you need to say.

It was not til the evening that Harry got back and found me cold, blue and not breathing in the corner of the room. Harry panicked – thought I had overdosed. At the hospital I was diagnosed with hypothermia – not that I knew anything about it by then – I was out for the count and had double pneumonia – was in hospital for a month.

Five years of smoking crack in the inner city – living with guys like Harry til they threw me out. Harry was coming back to hospital to collect me when it was discharge time. Harry was going to bring me a jacket, said he would have crack back at the house. But Harry never came. The social worker made enquiries, but Harry had moved on – new people lived in the house now that had never heard of Harry and now the hospital needed to know where to discharge me to.

I got sent to a refuge for a night or two until the social worker decided what could be done – I had nothing in the world except the clothes I was wearing that the social worker had got for me. Suddenly depression hit me like a log, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I got panic attacks

The doctor that discharged me said there was only one end if I kept living my life this way – that this time I had been lucky. But his words didn’t mean anything to me then – I was waiting for Harry to come and keep me from the cold. But now Harry wasn’t there.

I’d not spoken to my parents in all the five years that I’d been out on the street. They had got divorced. Mum got a new fella who hated me – and Dad moved to the country. He never made any contact.

Sometimes I thought that me taking drugs was the cause of their divorce. Towards the end, when they finally split, they were both ignoring me and I felt really bad. I always felt guilty deep inside that I was the cause of my parents breakup.

Then the social worker had good news, she had found my Dad who said he would pay for rehab and I decided to go for it – that was eight months ago.

Now I am ready to leave this place, start again with my life – off the crack for good – never doing drugs again. I wrote to my father thanking him for giving me this chance and he said he would come to my graduation – as long as Mum wasn’t there with her live in lover as well.

I was scared on the day that he wouldn’t turn up like Harry – but he was so pleased with how I’d turned out – he said that I could come and stay with him – take my time until I could think what to do with my life. Best of all, Dad explained me that me using drugs hadn’t helped, but that no way was my drug taking the cause of my parents splitting up.

I have not talked to my mother yet, but I hope that in time she will say that she wants to meet up with me so we can be mother and daughter again. I feel like I lost five years of my life completely down the drain -but because of this program I feel like I have got a second chance with my life.

Self Respect, Honesty, Family & Drugs !

This my list of life priorities that used be completely the other way round – with drugs at the top, – my self respect at the bottom.  Self respect is now first on the list – and that means me! My own ideas, my own decisions – my own life.

And drugs at the end – where they should be – nowhere in my life. No, I will never use drugs again to try and get even. A big mistake  - to think that you can use drugs to hurt someone real bad – to make you feel strong and separate from them – teach them a lesson that they are not the boss of you. However rebellious you get to feeling about your parents – doing drugs to express your rage never is the answer because the only one gets hurt, in the end is you.

I hated doing drugs, it was kind of scary. If you can see – what I got off on was not doing the drugs themselves – but my parents knowing that I was out there, using drugs and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it. God, my parents had such power over me, didn’t let me breathe. It was like they were into my head, knew what I was thinking and doing, told me how to think and behave. They virtually led my life for me – led their life through me. Made me become a model student – but it was all about them not me – bragging about my academic success to their friends like I was their possession.

It was exciting to make plans to meet up with friends and do drugs. Cannabis was easy and available so that’s what we used – at least in the beginning. High as kite, I could at last feel free – but really I wasn’t because all of the time I was thinking about  how angry my parents would be to smell marijuana on me.

They never said a word – didn’t give me a chance to speak  - perhaps get around to telling them how I was really feeling. That hurt me too, that they didn’t care enough to ask me about it. I found out later that it is denial – that they pretended not to notice. If they didn’t “know”, then they didn’t have to confront it.

So it went on – me flaunting I was using marijuana – them looking at me tight lipped, resentful and bitter – speaking to me at all only when they had to. I knew that I was supposed to  beg their forgiveness for being such a horrible, ungrateful child, swear I would never do drugs again – and then life could have gone on, the same as before – with them still in control of me, like I was somehow their puppet.

I hated them truly they were so oppressive, they wouldn’t talk about the weed. I didn’t know any other way to deal with it then, so I kept on messing with drugs. One day I got introduced to cocaine – and it hit me all at once – marijuana was just for kids – this was the real stuff. And, yes, I was hooked, not meaning to be, not wanting to be. I felt like cocaine’s   bride.

It took me a couple of years to see that I had exchanged one kind of bondage for another – and I couldn’t face my life any more. I still lived at home, but I’d failed my school exams. With true grit and determination my parents had told me that they would support me, at their financial expense, to repeat the school year, to get the exam results.  I just wanted to feel free, to have some life of my own. And truth to tell just lately the coke the drugs weren’t doing it like they used to  - I never seemed to get high any more – just more and more depressed.

I decided one day, that suicide was the only way out of my tormented feelings, my self esteem at rock bottom. I didn’t want use cocaine – that wouldn’t feel right – I took a bottle of sleeping pills instead. Was found by my parents and was saved by doctors at the local hospital.

At least my parents were now in territory that they could handle – sleeping pills meant that I had to go into drug rehabilitation – and I couldn’t have been more fortunate that I got sent to a comprehensive center – anywhere else and truly I would have been at that bottle again.

Because these guys immediately saw that I had a problem with my parents, and that underneath it all there was a communication problem. I wasn’t victimized as a bad drug using person, and my parents – they came to counseling too. And it helped them to open up, for the first time in their lives, to me, about things that troubled them. My iron fist parents had feelings, they really did care about me.

Turned out both had come from families where no one acknowledged feelings – grandparents deceased before I was born.  So my parents didn’t mean any harm at all – were not trying to torment me – my parents just didn’t have the words, a way to express their love for me except in this pride and over involvement in everything I did. We cried a bit and talked some more, and I knew even before I left the program that things would only get better. It was like the ice was broken – my parents could talk to me about their feelings, and I could talk to them.

When I went back home, we had things to talk about that were not all about me and my schoolwork. They had a life of their own, had become more outgoing.

I now look forward to starting a course in graphic design, I don’t need to repeat the year I wasted at school. I am really happy now and making a brand new start with my parents – a life turned around.

The East end of London has produced some characters, few as notorious as the twin brothers Kray, but in my opinion who takes the cake for twin brothers, both with criminal minds, is a twin that I was was in service with, as a professional butler, and his twin brother who lived in the North – that were both into dealing cocaine.

Now, I was not a part of it, that needs to be understood. I am a traditional, professional butler, although with four employers over the past 10 years, I am in touch with modern trends. No lifetime service for me, on some impoverished farming estate, I go after temporary positions, go where the money is. Saw Archie’s ad in The Times and applied for the position – looked me up and down just once, and offered me the job.

I became the domestic manager, resident in the home of Archie the younger twin, who I knew to be a successful used car dealer – indeed a sign of the times. What impressed me most of all was that Archie was not tight with his money -most millionaires I’ve been in service with are downright parsimonious – like Archie’s older twin brother, Nev – who never once paid me or the hired staff a cent by way of gratuity, that we expected as our due.

Archie drove the latest Porsche. Not one to be tied down with a wife, Archie had a string of very expensive girlfriends, and enjoyed a flutter on the ponies once or twice a week. It wasn’t long before I realized the car dealership was a front – Archie had moved on and upward, and was into dealing drugs, in particular cocaine that he and his brother imported.

Nev was a different character altogether – was into martial arts – used his heavily guarded property in the North to store and distribute cocaine. I never went with Archie when he visited his brother – his brother never entertained. I noticed that Nev didn’t smoke or drink, gamble or use women, as a butler you learn to observe. What still amazes me in this job is how people will keep on talking and using as if a domestic servant in the room has neither eyes nor ears. Within six months there was nothing I did not know about Archie and Nev’s drug ops, the complications, the pressure, the constant need to retain control.

I heard from his driver that Nev had a gun collection that filled up several rooms, kept several guns in the car and that occasional trap shooting was Nevin’s only recreation – not that he had much spare time with a million dollar a week cocaine drug op to control with help from Archie and his connections. The driver was buying several apartments for his retirement on the strength of the money Nev paid him – and that was just for driving. Nev was making a couple of thousand a kilo – he was cutting the coke real fine. As for me, well yes, I was banking wages, living off the tips that I got for being discrete and making sure that Archie’s guests were provided with whatever they wanted.

At the height of their empire, Archie had houses in Ireland, France and Majorca – if he hadn’t got busted most likely he would have gotten his own plane. It was a challenge for me to be sent to a house a few days ahead to get it ready for a party – Archie and friends would fly in and expect everything to be perfect. With money no problem, I never had any trouble getting exactly what I needed from the locals. Archie’s house parties were legend – lasted for over a week at a time- fueled by cocaine and alcohol, the best parties that money could buy. I was addicted to the personal power that working for Archie gave me – but otherwise kept my nose clean.

It’s the little things that trip you up, and in all of the multi-million dollar operation between Archie and Nev they only made one mistake. Gordon, the usual courier that brought in the coke from ships sea anchored in international waters, had the misfortune one day to get shot. Nev needing to get a consignment ashore in a hurry, decided to do it himself, using Gordon’s boat and a couple of trusted locals.

Gordon would normally have brought in the coke using two or three trips – but Nev didn’t have Gordon’s cool. He told the boys he wanted it all brought in as a single load – Gordon’s boat was gunnel’s under and looked likely to capsize by the time Nev had loaded up. And he might have got away with it, got the load to the waiting vehicles if only a little breeze had not sprung up and someone had not made the mistake of fueling up the boat’s petrol engine with diesel.

Dead in the water and ready to sink Gordon’s pride and joy capsized, throwing Nev and his mates overboard and into the sea. Treading water and surrounded by over a hundred sealed packages of coke, bobbing around in the waves, Nev heard the unmistakable sound of the local air sea rescue service, coming in over head.

The end of my dream job and employment. Now I’m sitting here with you, polishing waterford crystal for Commander and  Mrs Leighton whose only involvement in the drug scene is an occasional glass of dry sherry. Nothing like the glamor and excitement of party life with Archie, but perhaps it is for the best. Thanks to Archie I’ve already got more than enough to retire on whenever I like. Any more and who knows but I might have started to feel the dull pangs of a guilty conscience about the way I was earning my money.