Well, SWIM realises it's been a seriously long time since she posted properly to this blog thing she’s got going, but those of you who know her can't seriously wonder why. lol.
Yes, that's right: same old, same old of course.....A lot’s happened in the last few weeks/months and at the same time nothing’s happened. SWIM’s life has continued it’s downwards spiral into heroin and crack addiction, accumulating debt and psychological damage on the way: all of her own volition and done by her own hand of course. So she asked me to update y'all....
Tuesday (she tells me) was a truly fucked up day: bizarre, like something outta the movies. SWIM went through a fucking roller coaster of emotions….....This is what happened:
11am: SWIM took the (what she thought was) brave step of reaching out for help. She had a pipe and a line of brown (her form of dutch courage I suppose) and rang a local Crisis Detox centre hoping to get a bed ASAP......only thing is…she found out no detox centres will take SWIM in because (and I quote), ‘you’ve got a roof over your head and you’re not injecting in your groin’…....oh.... so things can get worse then…...well, that’s good to know at least.
Basically whatever she said was wrong…SWIM only has a £300 a day habit - when it takes a £500 a day habit to become a suitable candidate….Shes snorting heroin when she should be injecting….shes in a stable relationship when she should be out on the streets (probably sucking cock for rocks). Sorry, that’s a bit crude but it’s really disheartening when you finally get up the courage to say ‘yes, today is the day I’m gonna stop and I’m gonna ask for help in order to do it’, only to be told to ‘fuck off and do it yourself’.
Finally, SWIM went down to an emergency drop-in centre in Islington. She rang up. SWIM was in luck....They run a drop-in service on a Tuesday and Thursday afternoon between 2pm and 5pm. SWIM got down there at 4.45pm. What was she told? Yep: too bloody late. It was more then SWIM could take. SWIM doesn’t really know what happened to her in the minutes that followed being told to ‘come back on Thursday’, but she tells me that she proper cracked up…and I mean proper. Tears, histrionics and a panic attack ensured that SWIM got seen by someone at 5.30pm. Job done.
In all fairness the team at the drop-in place were pretty goddamn brilliant. Within the hour she’d been piss-tested, blood-tested (for HIV, Hep B, Hep C and every other kind of Hep out there), then vaccinated against all those nasty sounding diseases. Next SWIM was given a care-plan, appointed a key worker, given a doctors appointment (with one of their docs the following Tuesday), before being leafleted up to the max with info on everything and anything drug-related and sent on her way.
Now shes got a week to wait before she has to get back down there (and SWIMs been told to 'make sure your on time') to get medicated. This will be the first time shes been on anything like methadone or subutex and shes still not sure shes doing the right thing.
So here comes the anxiety, fear and self-doubt…Can SWIM do this….Does SWIM want to do this………Does SWIM really need this……… And so on……SWIM just wishes she didn’t have a whole week to spend with herself trying to figure out this stuff: SWIM is definitely her own worst enemy. The only thing SWIM is sure about is that she wants this all to stop. She told me she doesn't want her life to be ruled by addiction anymore. SWIM doesn't wanna be a slave to the brown, or a slave full stop for that matter. It ends now (well.....next week hopefully).
Keep ya posted. :thumbsup:
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'you've got a roof over your head and your not injecting in your groin'