Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Some people are misunderstood if they think that this lifestyle has disappeared into the wavering distance of the long lost land of rock gods, pop queens or hip-hop g’s. Instead, a snowy white delight has blown out of proportion and into the graceful nostrils of the everyday normal guy, girl, hippie, hipster and homeless. A girl delves into the depths of her dependency on this crystal clear cause of corruption.
Drugs were always a part of my life when I was growing up. I first got involved in taking
drugs at school, when I was 14 years old. I went to a derelict school. School life
consisted of constant fights, bullying and expulsions. I was always the quiet weird kid who
nobody spoke to. I wasn’t necessarily overly attractive, or having huge boobs or even a
sizable ass that any boy at school might show some interest in me. I was alone, easily
manipulated by the wrong crowd, a lonely sheep in a pack of wolves. Life at home was
troublesome. My dad was continuously disrupting family life by drinking and coming home
late at night drugged up. High on cocaine, he beat my mother to a pulp. I remember waking
up in the middle of the night to sounds of my mother begging for mercy whilst being
thrashed against the walls of our tiny apartment. The heated arguments always ended in
my father drunkenly leaving and my mother in tears, covered in blood and bruises asking
him to stay.
He would be away for weeks on end. She never knew when he would be coming back.
Every time he would return sober, which was hardly ever, she would dress up in her
prettiest outfit looking like a million dollars. In the first few days of this repeatedly failed method of survival, if someone would have taken a glimpse through the window into our family life, everything seemed regular. Until my dad wouldn’t be unable to stand his addiction and full of hatred he would leave again, only to drown himself in his drug induced sorrows. He was constantly resorting to unfaithful encounters with other women, mostly prostitutes. He would spend away his government earned money on hookers and coke. This is how it all started for me.
I could never fully understand why my parents had so many problems.They had consented to marriage after falling in love when they were in their early twenties. They moved away from their families to start one on their own. I don’t know how one day things could have gotten so bad that it ended in drug abuse and violence. Sometimes I blame myself. Being the only child, maybe I had arrived into their vulnerably young lives at an unwanted point in their relationship. I felt guilty. I still do. I left the neglected, deprived, and humble surroundings of my childhood and uprooted myself to live with one of the many boyfriends I had at the time, in a shady flat somewhere in East London. I was falling in and out of one relationship after another. Every partner I had would either be abusive, threatening or unfaithful. I fell into an endless stream of depression. The only thing that would help me escape my reality was cocaine. When I snorted a line I could not feel any emotion, I could not even get myself to think, to smile or to talk. I was in a world where everything was white. It was the greatest feeling, knowing I could withdraw from the very essence of my being and run away into ultimate nothingness. No mans land.
I wasn’t doing anything with my life. I had no goals. No aspirations. If I was lucky enough
to receive any attention from the opposite sex, it wouldn’t last. I was using all the money I received from the Job Center on cocaine. By this point I had become severely addicted.
The free money was no longer enough to keep me going through the dark, dreary days
and the long, lonely nights. I had no qualifications and failed all my exams at high school.
Even my menial effort to apply for work came to nothing. Nobody wanted to employ me. I
felt worthless.
There was a girl I met partying one day. We started talking and snorted some cocaine
together. She paid for my drinks and gave me cocaine for free. I was having a lot of fun. I
couldn’t understand how a girl so young at her age could have that much money to just
blow away on a complete stranger. I felt inclined to ask her. I didn’t have the slightest idea what she could be doing with herself. The answer was obvious. She was an escort. I had
never thought about this option. I don’t think I would have had the guts to do it if she hadn’t been the one who had helped me apply. To get accepted and to start working took hardly any time at all. I was working within one week. The first time I earned money from
something I had actually worked for felt phenomenal.
I used the money to buy more cocaine and the rest was spent on partying with my new
escort friends. I felt like I had a family, who actually cared about me. Life was truly
wonderful. I needed bigger doses of cocaine to deal with the dirty things I had to do.
However, I knew it would be over after a few hours and I could return to my cocaine
solitude. I have been doing this for around 2 years now and I am absolutely content with
my life. A lot of my friends tell me that it is the destructive past I have experienced which has led me to make irrational and daring decisions about my life. I have become unable to hold down a relationship or a regular job. I feel like I want to keep destruction and pain in my life because otherwise I may not be able to survive without it, together with having to take cocaine to live with myself. A vicious circle of greed and fulfillment. I have become accustomed to this lifestyle, to cocaine, and I will never make any changes to it. This is the happiest I have ever been. I don’t need any help or therapy, maybe this is who I am suppose to be. Who I want to be. A fucked up junkie.
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