And this is what drug addicts went to in order to get money for at least a dose.
1. At the time, I was happy with being pretty and desperate for some quick money, so I went to the classifieds site Craigslist and found a guy who was a natural coprophile. For $100 I defecated on him and then he defecated on me. He was very rich, so our meetings were regularly repeated about 2 times a week, probably for almost 8 months.
2. About a year ago, my friend’s mother was diagnosed with cerebral aneurysms. She and her husband kept about $300,000 in a safe in the basement (don't know why that was so much). The woman was in a coma and was about to die, so while she was alive, her husband deferred hospital bills or paid them minimally from his bank account. Unfortunately, she died 6 months later. When the time came for the funeral, the friend's father went and opened the safe, but did not find any money in it. The daughter, a heroin addict, was climbing into the safe all the time when her mother was in a coma and spent all 300 thousand on heroin, intended to pay for hospital bills and funerals. Because of this, they could not afford to pay for the funeral and could barely save money for cremation. The girl's father was fired and is now forced to sell the house - his wife's dream - because of his drug-addicted daughter...
3. I stole from my relatives - antiques from my grandmother and money from my father and mother. I stole pills from my mother. I quarreled with my close friend (the same girl) when she didn’t pay for me. I was ready to do anything for anyone who gave me pills.
The worst thing was being a sex toy. I was dating my dealer, and even after we broke up, I would provide him with sexual favors anytime, anywhere as long as I was getting acid. After I moved in, I moved on to a new guy who also sold, but not acid. When he finished fucking me, he paid for my pills. I often had to get fucked for drugs. He allowed his friends to fuck me, and I participated in several threesomes and orgies with the promise of payment or drugs at the end of them.
I remember very clearly being sandwiched between two guys fucking me and bursting into tears because of how disgusting I was.
4. My uncle died several years ago. He was a self-made man: he founded his own fishing company and began farming oysters. He looked like a cheerful woodcutter in the middle of the ocean. He lived in the water to fish, and was one of the gayest and happiest fishermen I ever had the pleasure of meeting. The oyster business grew and he was happy. He died in a tragic accident: while his uncle was underwater, there was an interruption in the air supply.
His son had been in trouble with the law, he was a teenager and he was using heroin. By the time his father passed away, heroin had become the center of his life. Most of his relatives never knew where he was or what to expect from him. So, my uncle left his incredibly valuable oyster company to his two children (a son and a daughter who, at the time, had just gotten married, had one child, and was expecting a second). Needless to say, the daughter had the firm intention of continuing her father’s work. However, the son, who was in dire need of money, found an opportunity to sell his father's company to one of the competing oyster fishing companies by forging his sister's signature on the documents. In fact, I think he got about $30,000, which is a gross undervaluation. My sister and aunt heard about it from the people who bought the company. It is still their property.
My aunt and sister never pressed charges because they didn't want anything bad to happen to their son and they are still in deep mourning.
Now he has stopped using drugs and lives in a rehabilitation center. However, it was a huge blow to the family and they are still experiencing financial difficulties.
5. My favorite drug has always been and will always be methadone. I haven't used it for 10 years, but I still want it.
When I spent all the money I had on it, I started stealing from my friends and relatives. Pretty soon there were no people left around me. I needed new source income, so I started selling cocaine. I saw what my drug did to the people who took it, but I didn't care.
I learned how to make crack and started selling it too. I met a fellow student and gave him a sample. He returned the next day, and then again and again. I hooked him up and I ruined his life. He dropped out of college and started stealing from his parents. He continued to pay and I was able to get more methadone.
I saw him this summer, a few years ago he switched to heroin. There was nothing left in him but skin and bones, he became a repeat offender. In fact, he thanked me for introducing me to drugs. He said that without me his brain would not be as free as it is now. His parents cut off all contact with him after he stole everything that wasn't screwed on.
I destroyed an entire family. All because I wanted to reach the next heights.
6. I've been looking at comments for almost a year, and recently decided to make an account, but I've never commented on anything before. And I feel like this is the most appropriate first comment for me. I am 23 years old and have been using intravenous heroin since I turned 17. While trying to quit, I went through several rehabilitation centers, rehabilitation and correctional institutions and various social institutions. I've done some really bad things that I'm not proud of, but that's my truth, my reality that I have to remind myself of every day. I stole all the gold items and jewelry in my parents' house, most of them during my surgery. open heart at my mother's. She felt quite well until she noticed she was missing. Much of what was stolen came from her mother, who died almost 20 years ago, and that was all she had left. I lived next to my family's house and often opened a window in advance so I could then climb through it and steal something valuable. I signed many fraudulent checks that belonged to my parents and which the bank did not accept. Now, looking back, I remember that I didn’t even try to make the signatures look similar, it was so sloppy and desperate. I've been through every type of prostitution you can imagine.
I was homeless and scammed on the streets, stalked and hooked sugar daddies, offered escort services on message boards, and performed stripteases for many years. I was paid anywhere from $20 to $3000, it's pretty obvious who paid me and how much. I never had any problems with sugar daddies because they were always kind and respectable or paid me enough for all their crazy fantasies. I got several thousand for three sessions with other hot girls and when guys rubbed me olive oil. The hardest blow to what was left of my self-esteem was that I began to cheat. I lived in abandoned houses with various homeless people and drug dealers, hoping and praying that they wouldn't rape me. Sometimes I was unlucky.
I experienced many other terrible things that I could literally list for several hours. Many people, before and during drug use, raped me, cut me, beat me and humiliated me, I suffered from an overdose and took part in many programs. By some miracle I have never had an STD or any other infection, last time I swore I would get HIV because of the degenerate and disgusting people I slept with. Besides, I don't have children.
I don’t blame anyone but myself for my actions and today I’m ready to take full responsibility for everything I’ve done. I am gradually trying to compensate the financial losses of the victims. Previously, I was an absolute monster, ready to accept the fate of a drug addict dying on the street and living comfortably with it. A year and a half ago I was not human. I experienced violence, a gun to my head, a knife wound and a trip to jail - all of these events happened to me within a few hours, and this was done by the drug dealer I was staying with. I had been arrested many times, but never before had I ever faced a real prison sentence. My parents reluctantly bailed me out and sent me back to Florida for rehab.
Since then I have not touched doping. Today I am becoming a decent member of society, I have good job, I am very close to my family, I have my own apartment, car and cat. I pay all my bills myself and I'm super independent, after everyone could take advantage of me for money, that makes a huge difference to me.
7. My ambitious but broke cousin from West Virginia would go to gay clubs to get some guy to pick him up, and when they got to his house, the cousin would beat him up and rob him. In the end, his picture appeared in all the city's gay bars and he was almost shot by a guy he was trying to rob. Methadone is the reason for everything.
8. I registered here as an alcoholic. I used to wait until my wife went to take a shower in the evening, and then rush along the unlit half of the street, in sweatpants and slippers in the rain, to the corner store to buy a bottle of cheap vodka, and then rush back before my wife finished . She didn't know I left the house. I understand it's not the same as selling your body, but I've done it many times and it was pretty low.
9. When I was heavily addicted to drugs and alcohol, I stole money from both of my young daughters from their piggy banks and spent it on doping. Some of the money was their “first money,” given to them as keepsakes by their grandparents. I still feel terrible thinking about it, but it was especially bad during those times when I was still using.
I still feel guilty and hurt about sneaking into each of their rooms while they were sleeping. I very slowly and carefully picked up the piggy bank and held it tightly to muffle the clink of coins as I walked out of the room step by step. Then, slowly and methodically, I walked into another room and took out the paper money. Then I would go into the room again, to the next daughter, and repeat the process. I was always afraid that my wife (now - ex-wife) will hear me. It is in moments like these that you realize how quiet it is in your home. It's a terrible feeling. But the next day(s) if I didn't take my dose, I felt even worse.
Since then I have been cured. It continues to bother me, but I have forgiven myself. I fully deserved the emotional reckoning that followed, but eventually I stopped beating myself up. I made peace with myself and, most importantly, with them. I will always compensate them for the “damage caused” and will be a better father, normal and sober, they deserve it. This is my proposal. They'll get more than just the money I stole. In return, they will receive a responsible father. And I will receive new life.
Remember, friends, any addictive thing is evil. Don't do drugs.
P.S. My name is Alexander. This is my personal, independent project. I am very glad if you liked the article. Want to help the site? Just look at the advertisement below for what you were recently looking for.
My name is Ksenia. I am 26 years old. And I'm a drug addict.
Drug addiction is a painful attraction or addiction to narcotic substances used different ways(swallowing, inhalation, intravenous injection) in order to achieve a stupefying state or relieve pain.
For many years I could not come to terms with the fact that drug addiction is a disease, the end of which is always the same: prison, hospital or death! And only after I experienced the hospital and the prison and the death of loved ones, I began to think: is there a way out? ...And I found it...But let me start from the very beginning.
Head girl, excellent student... drug addict
I was 15 years old when I first tried drugs. In my case it was heroin. A feeling of euphoria, a feeling of liberation, lightness. The feeling that there are no problems in my life, the feeling that I am happy. Here it is! I found happiness! Of course, my parents couldn’t even think that I, the head of the class, a girl who sets an example at school, in the yard, a girl who participates and wins all school competitions, an excellent student who is going to enter the law faculty... But what can you think? ... My parents didn’t see me point blank when I came home in an abnormal state. This went on for 3 years. Exactly until the moment when, with unbearable pain, I decided to go to MOPB No. 5. This was my first withdrawal, this was my first confession to my parents, this was my first vow that this would never happen again.
My vow lasted exactly 2 weeks. I left the hospital and started using again. I liked this lifestyle and I didn’t want to stop it.
And now I’m an adult... And now I’m going to steal... And here’s my first suspended sentence. Stop using? No! I like it! Parents' gold began to disappear from the house, Appliances, began wandering around so-called friends in search of the next dose. But even such circumstances did not stop me. This continued day after day, year after year.
"I deceived everyone"
My state of “happiness” from drug use developed into black hole inside of me. Of course, I didn’t graduate from any institute (although I entered one). I easily took the money that my grandmother paid for training, just as I took the documents from the dean’s office. I didn't study, I didn't work. My job was to search for drugs. I left home at 9 am and came back at night. Hungry, tired, with hatred for her family, with contempt for others. In order to somehow scrape together a certain amount of money, I deceived my parents, I deceived my friends, my parents’ friends and everyone, everyone, everyone. Along with all this, I also visited the hospital several times.
And now I'm 20 years old. The suspended sentence was replaced with a real one. To say how much pain I caused my parents is an understatement. And I still hated everyone around me. And yourself first. After the first imprisonment, I held on for some time. But the feeling of inner emptiness depressed me more and more.
And suddenly I realized that I don’t know how to be happy. I don't know how to rejoice, laugh, joke. I don’t know how to communicate with people, I don’t know how to experience sincere feelings and emotions. I have no real friends, my relationship with my parents is broken. I suddenly realized that I would never be able to experience motherhood, I would not be able to show myself as a wife. Why? Who needs a drug addict? From these terrible thoughts, from the realization that I was no one, I WENT TO CONSUMPTION AGAIN. What else could I do when only with drugs I could somehow feel like a human being?
Without drugs, but with a feeling of worthlessness
Another year passed, and I was sent to a general regime colony for 2 years. 2 years without drugs. For 2 years I learned to live again. And you know, it worked (it seemed so to me at the time). I came to a clear understanding that I would never take this rubbish in my hands. I want children, I want a family, I want to live happy life. And I was very mistaken when I said that I like to use it. No! I just couldn't stop.
In 2013 I was released. And life seemed to start getting better. Some kind of work, my parents seem to like me. Even a man appeared who pays attention to me. I won’t say that life has sparkled with new colors, it’s just entered a new direction. With the same hatred, with the same selfishness and with the same irritation, with the same feeling of worthlessness and emptiness. But no drugs.
In 2014, we got married to the same man who courted me. His name is D. We flew away to relax at sea. Soon, I will find out that I will become a mother. This is happiness, this is the family I wanted. Life, I love you! All. Happy end! And in these happiest moments of my life, I completely forgot that I was a drug addict. And drug addiction is a disease. I still don't know how to cope with difficulties, drugs helped me with that. I don’t know how to tell the truth, for this I also need drugs. And again a breakdown... On last date pregnancy... How did this happen? I didn't want to!
Yes, I haven't used it for more than 2 years. Yes, I got rid of physical cravings. And for some time I got rid of the psychological one. But drug addiction is a very insidious disease. She lurks everywhere. As soon as a sober drug addict feels discomfort or, on the contrary, he is overwhelmed with feelings, he goes to use. This happened to me too. At this point, I thought: since I was able to not use for 2 years, it means that I can still control my use. I was sure that once would not hurt me. But as we know: ONE TIME IS TOO MUCH, BUT A THOUSAND IS ALWAYS NOT ENOUGH! And everything is new. Only with a small child in his arms. I became a mother. I am a mother. But only I am a mother - a drug addict who used during pregnancy, who used during the first days of the child’s life. It was a nightmare. I didn't want to live. I was unhappy. My child, my husband and my parents were unhappy.
“I always thought it was nonsense”
For the first time, I promised myself that I wouldn’t do it again. How long can you hurt people? How long can you endure this pain? I realized that I DON'T WANT TO USING, I WANTED TO STOP! But how? How to achieve this? How to become happy? And you know, I was very surprised when I found out that there was a way out. I've heard the concept of Narcotics Anonymous before. But I always thought that this was nonsense, that it was a sect, that if I didn’t help myself, then no one would help me there. If only you knew how wrong I was then. If only you knew how grateful I am to this community.
When I first came to the meetings of this group of people, I was dumbfounded. I saw drug addicts like me. Only these drug addicts do not use drugs. I saw happiness in their eyes, I saw joy, I saw sincerity. And the most important thing is that these people are happy to see me and really want to help me. They don’t care what drugs I used, they don’t care where I live. It's important for them to help me stay clean.
I was asked to take the 12 steps of Narcotics Anonymous. It is a program that is based on the principles of honesty, openness, open-mindedness, willingness and acceptance. I doubted that I would be able to find peace, happiness, joy and freedom through this program. But I believed them, and I succeeded. Each of them succeeded.
Today my age is 7 months. Why am I writing this way? Because exactly 7 months ago I was born again. I saw life from a completely different perspective. 7 months ago I started going to Narcotics Anonymous meetings.
Narcotics Anonymous is a non-profit community of people for whom drugs have become main problem in life. We recovering addicts get together regularly to help each other stay clean. The only requirement for NA membership is a desire to stop using drugs. NA is a community where people share the experience of their new lives, the experience of their stories, the experience of strength, hope and love.
7 months clean
7 months of pure time... “What a trifle,” you say. But you know, living for 7 months absolutely sober, absolutely happily, with new foundations, with new skills, with new concepts, with a new worldview - that’s a true thrill!
What do I have now? The most beloved and wonderful husband. The most adorable and healthy son, whom I love very much. My dear parents who believe in me and love me, despite what I was like. After all, in fact, it doesn’t matter what I was. What matters is who I am now, who I am today. For the first time, I had friends who love me for who I am, and I love them unconditionally. I can easily say that I am the happiest wife and mother, daughter and granddaughter. Inside me there lives an incredible love for the people around me.
Thanks to Narcotics Anonymous, I have become different. Completely different. I learned to value my life and the lives of people close to me. I learned to tell the truth. I learned to admit my mistakes and my shortcomings. I learned to admit when I was wrong. I learned to ask for forgiveness. I learned to ask for help. I learned to love and trust. And it's all thanks to the Narcotics Anonymous community. Now I can say with confidence that my life has sparkled with new colors. And this is just the beginning. The most important and interesting things are yet to come.
P. S. AN - thank you for being
Ksenia
Addresses and schedules of groups that you can visit in Sergiev Posad:
Group "All Ours"
G.Sergiev Posad, Red Army Avenue, 103
Monday - 19:00
Wednesday-19:00
Friday-19:00
Group "Balance"
G. Sergiev Posad, Valovaya St., no. 21/5, 4th entrance (basement room)
Thursday-17:30
Saturday-19:00
Sunday-13:00
You can also contact Narcotics Anonymous by phone 8-916-076-14-00.
You will be welcome here.
From the editor
I am familiar with both Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous, which works according to the same 12-step system. This is not a scam or a totalitarian sect. The activities of these groups bless Orthodox Church and is approved by professional narcologists. I hope that Ksenia’s confession and the above contacts will help Sergiev Posad residents who have fallen into a deadly addiction.
Sergey Shilyaev
If you think that drug addiction is an exclusively severe dependence on heroin or cocaine, we hasten to disappoint you. Our heroine talked about how her loved one’s “innocent” passion for marijuana almost ruined the lives of both of them.
My name is Dasha, I am 27 years old, and for four of them I lived with a drug addict. I agreed to tell my story only because I hope it will help other girls look at something similar. life situation from the outside and accept correct solution. I kindly ask you to avoid judging and insulting me, especially if you are a “theorist” who has not and has not had experience of living with a drug addict.
Now it’s easy for me to talk about this and even give advice, because I’m not writing from a “burning tank.” I have a normal relationship, a loving man who supports me in everything, but two years ago everything was completely different. Then I had in my arms little son, several loans from different banks and an insane husband.
And it all started very romantic: I saw Yura in my friend’s photographs and asked to introduce us. I already fell in love with him in absentia. We started dating the day we met, and that same evening I stayed overnight with him. He was five years older and had constantly changed girls before me, but, apparently, I also hooked him, and he settled down.
Everyone in his company smoked weed. I tried it a couple of times, but didn't understand what was cool about it. I just got a little carried away, and that’s all, that’s where my experiments ended. In general, I was always against such things and spoke with Yura more than once about his “hobby,” but he got irritated and convinced me that these were not drugs, but an ordinary way to relax with friends, like smoking a hookah. “Do we look like drug addicts?” - he asked. And I answered honestly: “No, they are not similar.” Normal guys, purposeful, play sports, hardly drink. Their girls and wives are also normal, some even have children. There is only one doctor, finishing his residency. No drunken showdowns or scenes, smart conversations, nice people. In addition, drug addicts in my head were associated with syringes, withdrawal symptoms and life beyond the border. I didn’t notice anything like that about Yura and his friends. In short, I resigned myself and stopped picking on his brains.
About a year later, we rented an apartment and started living together, and then a little more truth was revealed to me: Yura smoked every day, several times, right on the balcony. I was afraid that the neighbors would call the police sooner or later, but he didn’t care. He still continued to insist on his own: “This is not an addiction, I just like it. If I want, I’ll give it up.” I believed and didn’t believe at the same time. For the first time, my eyes were truly opened to his real condition when my parents came to us for a couple of days. Before that, we had a serious conversation and he promised that in front of them - no, no. And what do I see? Saturday morning, dad is watching TV, mom is making pancakes, and Yura puts on a jacket and goes out to the balcony. He returns with a meaningless look and an idiotic, ear-to-ear smile and, as if nothing had happened, sits down at the table.
Thank God, my parents didn’t notice anything that time. After that, Yura and I had a big fight, and he allegedly stopped smoking in the evenings. Although in fact he continued, only not at home.
When I unexpectedly became pregnant, he was very happy about the prospect of becoming a father, he got a job new job, said that we need to think about the future, save for an apartment. We got married. Everything seemed to be going well, but there was always not enough money: I quit my job because I was pregnant, and he received a maximum of 30 thousand a month. And then he decided to start his own business. Teamed up with a friend, and together they opened a sales and repair point mobile phones. My mother agreed to take out a loan for herself to help us at first.
Throughout my entire pregnancy, I never saw him high on cigarettes; he threw himself into his work. The first weeks after Gleb’s birth were so difficult that I didn’t even notice how Yura slipped into depression. This coincided with his friend leaving the business. At three months, Gleb was diagnosed with minor neurological problems, and I no longer had time for Yura, I was rushing around to specialists with the child. Yura, meanwhile, sank more and more into a gloomy state of mind.
At first I didn’t attach any significance to his behavior: well, he doesn’t sleep well, probably due to constant stress. He coughs often - he hasn't recovered yet. He returns home late - he works. He locks himself in the toilet for a long time - well, where else can he sit in silence? Then his hands began to swell in the morning, which I attributed to poor nutrition and suggested that he give up beer and salty foods at night.
And soon other calls appeared: he stopped giving my mother money for the loan, and she had to take out another one to pay off the previous one. He began to say that business was going very badly because a competitor had opened up opposite. I noticed that he no longer wears wedding ring, asked him where it was, and he said that he had lost it. Just like the cross and chain and my gold earrings.
The picture became clearer after a conversation with that friend who left their common business. According to him, Yura “smoked out the last of his brains.” It was from this same friend that I first heard the word “spice,” which my husband spent all his money on.
If you don't know what spice is, consider yourself lucky to be around. These are smoking mixtures, the effect of which is stronger than that of marijuana, only they, unlike it, are synthetic. The consequences of using spice have not been fully studied, people quickly become addicted to it, and various unpleasant things happen from an overdose: from hallucinations and manifestations of aggression to acute psychosis and a state of insanity. It has not been proven for sure, but they say that under the influence of spice, people commit suicide, and sometimes throw an ax at their family and children.
The puzzle was complete: this bestial expression on his face, glassy eyes, lethargy and all his soreness meant that Yura was hooked on drugs again. And, not only that, he began stealing money and jewelry to pay for his “hobby.”
When I started talking about this, he, as always, began to get out of it: “Everyone smokes, you just don’t know about it,” “These are not drugs, but natural mixtures, they are sold abroad in pharmacies,” “I’m having a hard year, I This is how I calm my nerves,” “Do you want me to drink vodka?” - and stuff like that.
I begged him to see a narcologist - for my sake, for the sake of the child. He said that I was screwing myself up and that he had everything under control. On my son’s first birthday, he promised that he would quit, but I periodically noticed familiar symptoms. My sleep problems worsened and my blood pressure began to rise. One morning I woke up from his screams. He lay on the kitchen floor with his eyes rolled back, covered in sweat. This is how Gleb saw him, who had already grown up and understood that something was wrong with dad.
Then they started phone calls with threats from people he owed. For some time I put up with them and at the same time helped my mother pay off her husband’s loans. I was going crazy with fear and despair and gradually realized: I don’t want to live like this anymore. And in the end I decided to break up. My parents supported me and completely took over Gleb. I got a job and filed for divorce. Many of Yura’s friends, on the contrary, reacted with condemnation, especially when they saw how quickly I found myself another man. I was accused of leaving my husband in trouble, that without me he would be lost.
I know I did the right thing. It is impossible to save a person against his will. If I had not left, Yura would have dragged me and my son down with him. I saved myself and the child. Now I am trying to deprive him of parental rights, I want Gleb not to have anything to do with this person. I think it’s better for a child not to know his father at all than to see something like this. I don’t believe that Yura can change, and I don’t believe that there are former drug addicts. My opinion is that you need to run away from such people without looking back as quickly as possible, otherwise they will take your life with them.
Recorded it Yulia Garmashova
Everyone starts the same way, in several variations, I have nothing new, just one of them.... No one expected trouble, good family, mom, dad, I am one child in the family... It all started in 11th grade, in some club I smoked this hat... Once, I liked it... two.....ten, at first it didn’t happen systematically, like that, somewhere at the next party, nothing more... I treated this, of course, playfully: this is all nonsense, if I want, I will, if I don’t want, I won’t. There was a classmate, we were friends, when I found out that he was injecting himself, I was SHOCKED, I decided to help him get out =)), hahaha how I didn’t understand then that he DON’T NEED THIS...
In general, it stuck on its own. but even then I still didn’t understand HOW stuck I was, I realized later when I fell in love with drugs. We met at a dealer's, I was a student, he was 10 years older. I only realized that this crap was stronger than me when we decided to break, it didn’t work out. I don’t remember how many times we tried, but in the end he took me to Togliatti (he is from there). There we were sober for half a year, then he broke down and AD began. He didn’t want to slow down, and I didn’t want to start, I couldn’t live next to a drug addict, all my attempts to reason with him ended in my complete collapse. the person didn’t want to quit, he said that he was like that, that he would never change, that he would be glad, but no way.... On the other hand, his parents spread rot on me, I understand that they were worried about their son, he lives with a DRUG ADDICATOR, how can this be?!
She left him, rented an apartment there, got a job, and waited for him to come to his senses. He found me through friends, came to his senses, HA, if only... He said that he wouldn’t let me leave, and that he would live as he lived: IRA, NOTHING WILL CHANGE ME ANYMORE!! I decided to leave, I understood that I would stay and be stuck. He found me at the station, threw a scandal and brought me home by the collar... A few days later I ran away and bought bus ticket to Syzran (3 or 4 hours drive from Tolyatti), I waited there for a day for the St. Petersburg train, cried, and didn’t want to leave and understood that I needed to leave, so I left. While I was traveling for two days, the realization came to me that there was no love, neither on my part nor on his, it was only HEROIN... and then, on the train, I decided for myself that there is NO WAY for two drug addicts IT WILL NOT BE ABLE TO BE TOGETHER, AND GOD FORbid I CAN INVENT SUCH LOVE FOR MYSELF AGAIN.
I came to St. Petersburg, caught DP and broke down.... and again the same carousel, I don’t want anything, I have no strength, burn it all.... The system.... I left my mother, she was pregnant and I decided not to experience God forbid he understands fate... I lived with my grandmother and met a man. He fell in love. At first I kicked him, he was stubborn!! Sometimes I met with Him and went somewhere, everything was great, BUT HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT ME!!! told Him...what did it take for me to say it... He is in shock with a FALL!! I didn’t believe it, looked at my hands, freaked out... I realized that she wouldn’t leave anyway, and I turned out to be right. I clung to Him like Lifebuoy, broke down, He helped me, took me out of the area, didn’t leave a single step. For two years everything was fine, we lived together, worked, bought a car for Him, then for me, everything was all right, but... He loved me, I didn’t. No, He was very pleasant to me, I was grateful to Him, but nothing more, and He knew about it... well, or guessed... But He was happy with everything, and so was I.... Until I met Dima. It was my friend’s birthday, actually we were supposed to go together, but He had some business to do and I went alone. And that’s it, I saw it and disappeared!!! I lost my head COMPLETELY! She returned home on the third day, silently packed her things and left. He was silent...
I completely lost my mind with Dima. I knew very roughly what he was doing, office, building materials... Damn, I wish I knew where you would stumble. In short, I fell in love, in the process I told him about myself, he was not afraid, he reacted surprisingly calmly. He was not a drug addict, nor was he an alcoholic. Then discoveries began, he hovered somewhere overnight, no one could find him and his friend came to me to pick up “something”, this “something” turned out to be half a kilo.. HOLY SHIT!!! Everything turned upside down in me, one question rang in my head: why is this haunting me??
The situation was complicated by the fact that Dima could easily go “to friends” for a day or two, but in reality it turned out to be to his girlfriends. I needed to escape from there even then, running, without looking back, but I couldn’t, and he most likely understood this. It seems to me that I then found a reason for myself to hang out again. And again - SYSTEM... It was unbearably painful, I wanted to howl, scream, beat my head against the wall, but the worst thing was that I wanted to go back to Dima... This is already absurd, but I couldn’t help myself... He came for me (I must say that I didn’t resist for long, just to show off), saw what was happening to me, swearing, fights, humiliation, shut me out, dumped me, I dumped, and again, like a vicious circle, everything started from the beginning - pain, hysterics, made up, quarreled, and so on ad infinitum. Some kind of nonsense... He’s trying to fight me, but I don’t want anything myself. This of course doesn’t suit him.
I don’t know how long this would last, but he is accepted at a normal weight, I give the car away, the case is closed before it can be opened, they release him, the next day he leaves to visit his “friends.” I still CAN’T, FINAL, I’m leaving. What happened to me then, words can’t describe, this fucking system, this fucking Dima, whom I love, for what it’s not clear, was trampled, FINALLY DEAF, I didn’t want to live, I no longer had the strength to fight myself, and to be honest, I didn’t even have the desire ...
And after a couple of months they accepted me, 120 g, 228h2. I couldn’t pay for myself at that moment, I didn’t call my mom, and so did he... So I didn’t care about everything anymore... Mom found out that I was in jail, when Dima started looking for me, he thought that I was with her or with grandmothers, and they thought that he had... ha.. it was too late to do anything, 4 years 6 months are already mine, I will never forget my mother’s eyes when she rushed to prison, inflamed, tear-stained, she walks around, looks around, horror... And just one question: Ira, I don’t understand how you ended up here?? Dad still doesn’t know that I was in prison, we stupidly lied to him, otherwise he would have dismembered me... I served 2 years and 4 months. Probably this saved me, I myself would not have stopped at that moment....
For the first year and a half, Dima went around asking for forgiveness, telling me that he loved me, that he realized how dear I was to him only when I was no longer around, that he felt very bad without me, and so on. And sitting there, I couldn’t believe a single word he said, wild jealousy and resentment wouldn’t let me go, I didn’t believe him anymore, and I still cried at night... It was very hard and very painful. In the end, I turned him away, asked him not to come again, he came, he didn’t get a date, I didn’t sign him, he screamed all day under the windows, then I saw him for the last time, through the window....
When I arrived home, I found out from my friends that he began to drink, heavily... He found out that I was at home, started calling, looking, I stupidly did not answer the phone... A few months later, our mutual friend called me and said that he had been killed. I probably could have helped him, maybe he would be alive and well now, I don’t know, but I didn’t do anything. After the funeral, for several months I ate myself up from the inside so much that... I broke down again. True, this time consciousness returned to me quickly, 2-3 months and I was packed into the hospital and stitched up. I can’t go back there anymore, each time it’s more addictive than the previous one, I don’t want to look for a fucking reason anymore, I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it, I can’t lie to my parents anymore that I’m fine, I don’t want to hurt my loved ones anymore, I understand that THIS will still haunt me, but I can handle it, since this is how things have turned out, I need to learn to live with this, I WANT TO LIVE, but I still don’t understand how to live after all this...
They have their own life. They claim to be able to fly and travel in amazing worlds; that they have very vulnerable souls and a refined perception of beauty. And all this is a lie. Because they are drug addicts. So what is it really: a vice or a disease? And why do two people out of a hundred choose exactly this path - dangerous, cruel and often a dead end? There are as many reasons as there are people who made such a choice.
“I wanted to experience everything!”
For more than two years, Tonya has been in remission, that is, she does not take drugs. And yet she is not sure that she is done with drugs forever.
"It's like a black hole," says 25-year-old Antonina, - like an abyss whose breath you constantly feel behind your back, even if you stop injecting. It all started eight years ago, when I lived in a small town.
It is believed that children from disadvantaged families become drug addicts. We had a normal, wealthy family. My mother worked as a pharmacist in a pharmacy, my father was the chief engineer of a plant. We lived in a large apartment in the city center, I had a funny red spaniel and two budgies. My most cherished desire is to return to those times and cross out everything that happened after. But this is impossible.
As a child, I loved to read, played the piano, and even tried to compose songs. In high school, Hemingway became my idol. I wrote down to myself his statement that in life you need to try everything: you can’t help but love wine without knowing what it tastes like. Among my friends there were those who tried both wine and drugs.
Once, at a party, my neighbor (he was older, studied at a mining school and was known as a real drug addict) invited me to chew poppy seeds. A spoonful of poppy straws was not cheap - about twenty rubles. And he offered me two! And completely free! I honestly chewed this nasty thing under his curious gaze, and... nothing happened to me. Only my stomach hurt. Then I proudly thought that I have a very strong body and no drugs can take me down. And to prove this to her friends, she agreed to smoke a hemp cigarette - a “joint”. And again I felt nothing but nausea. "You need to inject yourself!" - my neighbor convinced me. But I was afraid. Sometimes I went to see him and watched how he brewed the potion, how he strained it, how he drew it into the syringe. But I didn’t dare try. By that time, my best friend Olga was already hooked.
My parents, of course, did not know about my experiments. A year later I entered the capital’s institute and left. In my second year, love came. Seryozha was two years older, and after graduation we were going to get married. It seemed that thoughts about drugs were over forever.
But an irreparable disaster happened: Seryozha died. He died in an absurd and painfully offensive way. I then left for a couple of days to visit my parents, and he and the company went to the river and tried to swim across it as a bet... When I returned, I was informed that Sergei was no longer there.
My faithful friend Olka rushed to console me. I don’t remember how I lived the first days, what I did, what I talked about. But I came to my senses only when Olya gave me a life-saving injection. All the pain and hopelessness immediately disappeared. I was even able to clean the room, folded Serezha’s books and some clothes. The next day, in the evening, when the grief that fell again became unbearable, I myself asked my friend to repeat the injection. They say time heals. It wasn't just time that healed me. And by the beginning of the next semester, I had already come to my senses. I persuaded Olga to stay with me. Thus began the second half of my life.
In the morning I ran to the institute and sat through all the classes with one thought - to come home as soon as possible, put on Seryozhka’s old shirt, roll up my sleeve and extend my hand to faithful Olka for the next injection. “I have suffered great grief,” I justified myself, “I need time to get over it, and then I will, without a doubt, give up! After all, I have a strong body, and no amount of shirking can break it if I don’t want it!”
Olga brought a lot of raw materials from our province to prepare homemade opium. But soon the supplies ran out. In addition, Olga said that here, in the capital, it is stupid to use “old-fashioned” methods and brew a potion when there are many other ready-made drugs. But I was in a different mood: the supplies ran out - and thank God, it’s time to call it a day! “Well, you “knock it off” for now, and I’ll go on reconnaissance!” – the friend said with a smile. She obviously knew where to go, because experienced drug addicts can always recognize “one of their own” and help each other. She was gone for several days. But during these days I realized that I had become a real drug addict. I only thought about injecting myself; I was tormented by unbearable pain. It seemed as if my bones were being ground into millstones, and each nerve was individually wound around a huge hot shaft. When my friend appeared on the threshold, I rushed to her like a wounded tigress.
It hurts me to remember what happened next. I dropped out of school. To find a regular supplier, I visited many brothels. I used everything I could get my hands on: “wheels”, hashish, amphitamines, heroin... I tried to “jump”. Once Olga and I even went to the hospital. We were registered - that's all, we were treated like the scum of society.
Every day I had to have at least a hundred dollars for heroin. In search of them, I scoured the city like an animal. When her parents didn’t send money, she sold her gold jewelry and dealt in stolen goods. I plunged into a completely different world. We gathered at the apartment of a married couple - completely degraded people gathered there. Guys, as a rule, were engaged in theft; women, those who are younger, through prostitution. One day I woke up in the arms of unknown man. I didn't care who he was. During the period of withdrawal, all moral boundaries are erased. I caught myself thinking that with one injection I could go to group sex, betray, kill. There were no limits for me! What have I ever had to do, a girl from a good family, brought up on highly artistic literature!..
In order for me to have a regular dealer, I had to bring at least two newcomers to him once a month. And I carried others along with me. Once I sat down with two kids who were bored in the park. Word by word, I persuaded them to experience the “high”. They agreed almost immediately. Then I met them several times “on raspberries”. Finding willing participants was not that difficult. In moments of enlightenment, I repented and hated myself. But I didn’t see any other way out. Everyone did that.
Several times I went to my parents, I thought that at least I could stay with them. Mom put me in good clinic, where they treated me a little. And after working with a psychologist, I decided that I could still start my life again. With great difficulty, I reinstated myself at the institute, changed my address (after all, old apartment Former friends could find me). My death made a great impression on me. best friend. What Olya did to herself is incomprehensible! She was always the leader in all our affairs. More than once she participated in “gangbangs” and in thefts. She was attracted by danger, she considered herself a complete person. IN Lately I was scared to spend the night with her: she would have attacks of uncontrollable rage or, conversely, she would go into a “stupor” and sit, swaying from side to side. I am sure that she deliberately injected herself with the lethal dose. At her grave, I mentally said: “I can still quit!”
Now I have met a guy and want to marry him. But the thought is tormenting: What kind of baby am I having? Will he be healthy?
To be completely honest, I want to say: I don’t know how my life will turn out next. At the clinic, I heard a cruel thought: drug addicts are a population of people that is doomed to extinction. We voluntarily cleanse ourselves from society. Now I think that this is really so... I still want to inject myself, and then - everything will burn with a blue flame! My body is broken, I feel constant weakness and fatigue, and I often suffer from insomnia at night. And if I manage to fall asleep, I see the same dream - my friend Olya, who comes up to me with a syringe, and I immediately feel light and good..."
Food for thought
