Shell’s Story: Part 2

Continued from part one

I’ll never forget my first line. Andy had tried to talk me out of it but I wanted to know what the fuss was about. And anyway, it was only once. He kneeled before me and put the tooter in my mouth. All I was to do was inhale and he’d run it for me.

The rank taste of it hit the back of my throat and I couldn’t help myself, I was violently sick. The look of it running down the foil made me nauseous and even the smell made me shudder. I can still remember every small detail from that first night and even sitting here now I shudder at the thought of it.

But the feeling of euphoria I had far outweighed the sickness I felt. So we carried on smoking the bag. I got a bucket, and after every line I had I’d be sick in the bucket – line, bucket, line and bucket. I loved the feeling it gave me. All my worries vanished and I felt on top of the world.

The next morning when I woke up it was all I could think of. I knew I wanted more but I didn’t know how or where to get it. I asked Andy, but he was dead against it. However, a few hours later he had started to withdraw and I knew if I gave him money for his charge, then he’d have to give me some of it.

Eventually he gave in and went and got us a bag..I knew what to expect this time and went and got my bucket, ready to be sick in. This bag didn’t have the same effect on me as the one on the night before. I was sick yes, but the feeling of euphoria wasn’t as intense.

From every bag after that I was always chasing that first high. At first I was only taking half a bag. Andy would halve one with me and he’d have one for himself for after. I didn’t have a clue that I was getting addicted. I thought I could stop any time I wanted, I just didn’t want to right now.

Every time it was always ‘just once more’. After a few weeks, one day we didn’t have any money for our charge. I was still working and had to start work in a few hours. I managed to borrow money and sent Andy off for our charge. But he didn’t come back in time and I had to go to work.

It was a few hours into my shift when I started to feel ill. I was drenched in sweat, my back was aching and I’d never experienced stomach cramps like the ones I was getting now. I knew this must be the withdrawal Andy had warned me about. I don’t know how I managed to get through the day but I did.

I rushed home desperate for a charge. Andy was home and had just finished cooking up his bag. He usually smoked one with me and the other one he’d cook up and split it between two needles, taking one of them and keeping the other for after.

I asked him to put some on the foil for me, but he said there was none left, all that was left was the stuff in the other needle. I’d always said I would never jag, was so sure I could say no. But that night was different. I was actually crying with the cramps and backache. My legs had started to ache and, at that moment, I would have sold my soul to get heroin. I had to take the needle.

Andy was so scared for me, he kept saying sorry and was blaming himself. I had a mind of my own though, and was desperate. I told him if he didn’t do it for me, I’d just go and find someone else to. So he gave me my first hit. It was so easy and as soon as he’d started plunging it in, I felt all my pains disappear. This was so much better than the foil.

I just lay there for what felt like hours, enjoying the initial rush, then the all over warmness. I felt it flow all through my body and never wanted that feeling to go away..From that day on I became an jagger. Never looked back. After that first hit I was able to cook a bag up myself and it wasn’t long before I was away buying bags myself and hiding it from Andy.

I started lying about money or where I’d been, who I’d been with. I lied about everything. By this time I was an absolute mess. I used to be sporty and always maintained a good healthy weight. Never going above 9 and a half stone and never going below 9. But when I weighed myself I couldn’t believe it, I was 7 and a half stone.

I was grey almost. My hair was always greasy and I stopped taking care of myself. It wasn’t long before I lost my job. I couldn’t keep it up. I was too busy making sure I always had kit or trying to keep my habit going.

My family and friends knew something was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. Until one day my mum appeared at my door. I knew straight away that she knew. Someone had seen me going into a local dealer’s house and had told her. She was devastated.

She works in social work throughcare, so she works with addicts and young people every day. But she couldn’t deal with me. She said it was too close to home. We had a long talk and we agreed between us that she would look after my daughter (who was then around one and a half) until I got myself sorted out.

I promised it would only be for a couple of months. I cried and cried when she left but knew it was for the best. Right now I couldn’t give my daughter the attention and care she needed and deserved. And if I knuckled down and just broke this habit I could have her back.

Things didn’t go the way I planned or expected though. Instead of it giving me the kick up the bum I needed, it did the opposite. Without my daughter there, I started using more and more. I had begun shoplifting and stealing off friends and family. If it wasn’t nailed down I would take it.

Jewellery from mum’s, toiletries from gran’s, DVDs and CDs from friends, Basically anything that could be sold or swapped for heroin, I would lift it. They always noticed, but I would deny it till I was blue in the face. Obviously they never believed me but I kept lying anyway.

Until one day I went to my gran’s and lifted money out my aunt’s purse. It was a substantial amount and I knew after I’d taken it that I couldn’t go back. Things spiralled downwards from there. I split up with Andy and got put in a hostel. In amongst other users things got worse and worse. I saw people overdosing on a daily basis, police coming and going every day always taking somebody with them who’d been caught shoplifting.

I was grafting everyday but hadn’t been caught. Yet. I was taking up to 10 bags a day, sometimes more if I’d had a good turn. One day, a Friday it was, I was in town getting myself ready to get a turn out of a shop. I’d done this shop loads of times before and didn’t think they had a clue that I was taking hundreds of pounds worth of stuff out of it every week.

I went in and filled my bag and it was when I was walking out I got stopped. I was terrified. They took me through the back and took all the stuff out my bag. It came to over 120 pounds. I tried all the usual tricks, crying and saying I was sorry. I wouldn’t dare do it again and I promise to pay it back. But they were having none of it, told me they’d been watching me for days.

So the police were called. I was handcuffed and taken to the police station. They charged me and held me over the weekend. I thought I was going to die. The pain I was in was indescribable. That first weekender I’d done in the police cells felt like a fortnight. And I felt like I was never going to get out.

On the Monday I was taken to court. My lawyer told me it was unlikely I would get a jail sentence as this was my first offence. I was so relieved, and all I was thinking about was getting out to get a graft to go and get my hit.

Standing in the dock was mortifying. I was so embarrassed. I was dirty and unkempt and probably smelled awful. But the thought of getting out was keeping me going. My lawyer explained everything to the sheriff and I could feel his eyes boring into me. I was so nervous and didn’t actually hear what he said, but when I looked at my lawyer his face said it all. I wasn’t to get out.

My first ever jail sentence was imposed and I was sentenced to 6 months. They took me back downstairs and I cried and cried. Couldn’t believe I was actually going to prison and was so scared. Didn’t know what to expect and you always hear horror stories about prisons. I was terrified.

It took four hours to get to HMP and YOI Corntonvale. Sitting on the bus outside I was physically shaking and wished I could just open my eyes and see that this was just a horrible dream. But it wasn’t, and I was about to get my first taste of prison life.

To be continued….