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Kindle Convert

4 Jun

Look At the Pretty Birdies

When The Kindle first came out, i wasn’t convinced i’d like it. I was worried about how reading from a screen would effect my eyes and positioning, i was a bit confused about how it would all work, and it seemed really impersonal; there’s something nice about a book, the smell of it, the feel of it, the place you find it. I like paper, it’s familiar, almost romantic. I was also put off by the £100 price tag – what if i didn’t like or use it?

I was convinced to give it ago when i got a smart phone. If you have one (or an iphone), you can download The Kindle app for free. You can also download tons of books FOR FREE, from The Complete Works of Shakespeare, to The Bible. This is a big tick for kindle, natch.

Quick Kindle App Review

Kindle Pros:

  1. If you have the app on your phone, chances are you have it with you wherever you are. Whenever you find yourself with a spare few moments, you can read- a big plus for me, someone who is always forgetting to bring her book along.
  2. Its much easier to fit a phone than the works of Dickens in your handbag.
  3. If someone recommends a book to you at 4 o’clock in the morning, you don’t have to remember to pop into W.H Smith, and rely on them having it, when you’re in town next Thursday. You can buy it there and then.
  4. Books seem to be quite cheap on there, i guess because they don’t have production and delivery costs.
  5. You can get a sample of a book before you buy it – for free.
  6. Books don’t need a bookshelf – or any physical space at all!

Kindle Cons:

  1. You can’t take it in the bath. I love love LOVE to read in the bath.
  2. The apps and store might be a bit tricky to navigate if you are a technophobe.
  3. The screen is small. You can make the font bigger but then you have to turn the page every 2 seconds (not a problem if you have the hactual kindle machine though, rather than the phone app).
  4. You can’t read very easily in the glaring sun (the kindle machine has a special screen to stop this though, so as above, only a problem with the app).
  5. The books tend to take up a lot of phone space (again, as above, not with the device).
  6. You can’t lend a great book to your friend 😦
  7. Books don’t run out of batteries! (thanks, Renee)

All things considered, i’m a Kindle convert. But books i love, i will always make space for in good old fashioned, touchable, hold-able paper on a shelf somewhere in my home. Wouldn’t be a home without it! 😉


By Luck Of Birth

3 Jun

By luck of birth

I live in a place

Where guns are not thrust in my face.

Don’t see the homeless on the streets

They’re probably  there,

Just never meet

The neighbours are quite well-to-do,

Obliged to ask me

‘How are you?’

I’ve never even seen a fight

Or been scared to walk alone at night,

Faced the fear of violence or rape

Play dead or run? To contemplate.

Over here we don’t go hungry

Veggies, fish, meat and fungi

Adorn our plates and fill our tummies

For paper with Queens head called money.

I don’t want to paint an incomplete picture

Racism, unemployment – permanent fixtures,

We’ve been burgled twice in our house

Hood-rats, neither man nor mouse.

This place i live is far from perfect

All sorts here;

Some wasters, some worth-it.

For the most part it is safe

People worry about their clothes, their weight

Not if this day they’ll survive

Lucky enough to get home alive.

By luck of birth

I live here

Not somewhere for my life I’d fear.

By luck of birth

Think again

By luck of birth

You, not them.


On Blogging: From The Sublime To The Ridiculous

2 Jun

Don’t Buy Sprayed Weed

1 Jun

Take This Shit Back

It’s really tricky to tell if weed is sprayed or not, and it seems to be getting increasingly difficult.

For those of you who don’t know, some people spray weed plants with various things (sand/glass/sugar/etchant spray/other) to increase weight and therefore profit, or to make mediocre weed look really crystally (generally, more crystals = stronger weed).

It’s a disgusting thing to do, and it makes me really, really mad.

Firstly, because it’s very dangerous…inhaling tiny particals of burning hot glass into your lungs is not advised.

Secondly, there is no need to do it; the street value of weed has almost doubled in the last 5 years (from £20 for 3.5 grams, to £10 per gram). You can make enough money without ripping people off.

Lastly, it personally irks me because it would’ve been perfectly lovely weed before they fucked with it. Growing nice weed takes time, patience, attention, care. It truly is an art. When people spray weed, they desecrate it.

It seems like there are 2 classes of weed smokers. Type 1: the professionals, the artists, the weekend-hippies, the airy-faerie thinkers (the type to which i like to think i belong). These guys would not dream of ripping you off, and what’s more, they’ll happily lend you a spliff or two when you need it. Type 2: the chavvy, hooded-rat that can’t look you in the eye, are likely to sell their grandmothers wedding ring for a teenth,  and you’d better make sure they hand over the weed before you do the money. Those guys really piss me off. They give the rest of us a bad name, and i think it should be us (tokers) against them (government), but appaz, we also need to be suspicious of each other.

Burn One Down

Here are some tell-tell signs that your weed might be sprayed. It may display some or all of this characteristics, as i stated previously, they are getting better at spraying and so it is getting harder to tell. The presence of some of these signs does not automatically mean it is sprayed:

  • It is normally really dry, dense, compacted, often it is ‘bitty’.
  • It normally has a strange artificial greeny/grey colour
  • It looks like it should be really pokey, but it doesn’t smell like strong weed, or it has this strange musty smell.
  • Sometimes, when you burn it, it doesn’t burn properly. The ash goes hard and doesn’t tap off, so you end up with a spliff that’s 2 inches ash o_O
  • Sometimes, you can see the ‘grit’, or feel it in the grinder, kinda like sand.
  • It doesn’t get you very high. It tends to give me a headache.

Just don’t buy it. They won’t stop spraying it until they can’t sell it.

Love and Marriage (go together like a rabid-rottweiler drawn hell-carriage?)

15 May

Everyone’s getting married, or engaged. I have more married/engaged friends at the moment than i do single/coupled off ones.

I don’t mean to be a cynical old witch, but it seems unnatural to me.

I love the idea of Love, and i believe in it; i believe it exists in many glorious forms for people all over the globe. I even believe it’s possible for Love to last a lifetime, to change and grow with time, to be nurturing and to bring out the best potential, if two people are committed to working at it by being patient and understanding and willing to compromise. I reckon what specifically works within a relationship is different for every couple, and i think you’re incredibly lucky if you find something that does endure the trials and tribulations of this life; but i think it can and does happen.

But marriage? A legal contract to define something that is abstract and fluid and experienced differently by everyone? You’re just asking for trouble.

Love is for celebrating, and i get the public declaration bit, and the party, and even the big puffy dress, if you’re that way inclined.

But a legal contract? Nah.

I can only think of a couple of people i know who have or had (seemingly) happy marriages, and they are either relatively ‘new’ marriages (first 5 years) so the jury’s out,  or the are of my grandparents generation, and things were different then.

Why was it different? Why did marriages last back then? Was it simply because divorce was more expensive or socially unacceptable? Was it because male/female roles were more clearly (if unfairly) defined, and therefore marriages were ‘easier’, because you knew what to expect and what was expected? Was it because people were more religious and so they took marriage vows (in front of The Big G, no less) much more seriously?

It feels like no one really thinks about marriage as that important now. They want the wedding day, the dress, the flowers, the rings, the attention. But they don’t think about the lifetime of Love, support, compromise, tolerance, happiness, sadness, excitement, tedium that follows.

Marriage these days isn’t for life. It’s until you get bored, or stressed, or lonely, or your attention is caught elsewhere. People get married 2, 3, 4 times or more, a marriage seems to be a long-term relationship.

I’ve never been married or even come close, so I’m hardly an authority on the subject. When i was younger, i really wanted to get married, or at least i thought i did, maybe because the world expects it. Honestly, there is still a small part of me that hopes I’ll meet someone who’ll change my mind, and it’ll turn out i was wrong…the hopeless romantic in me. But i doubt it. I was engaged a couple of times when i was younger, but it wasn’t as if marriage was a real option, and so really it was just a nice ring and an even nicer promise (that turned out to be worth less than the cost of the ring, which was very cheap).

Statistics can be manipulated to support pretty much any point of view, but if you’re into em, you can see how divorce rates  already high and on the rise.

All my friends are getting married. I’m retreating further into myself.

Dear Leaders…

15 May

 “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results” – Albert Einstein

Dear Leaders,

Please decriminalize weed for these reasons:

  1. Marijuana ain’t just for hippies you know. A fair proportion of the population smoke it these days: about 2 million in the UK. That’s students, teachers, lawyers, doctors, judges, nurses, firemen, policemen, interior designers, musicians, architects, vets, dustmen, care workers, social workers; people from all walks of like smoke weed these days (i can vouch for this, ; i know quite a few of them). Are you seriously suggesting putting us all in your over-crowded, under-funded prisons? Really? With all the rapists and murderers? Lil old me? Am i the warped one for struggling to see how I’d deserve that? How it is constructive? How it benefits society?
  2. Monies. You’re not charging us a nice chunk of tax for the privilege. Imagine the extra revenue if it was somehow taxed; we could have the best schools in Europe with that cash. Plus, less money would be going to organized criminal gangs, as presently those of us that are not brave enough to grow our own, or lucky enough to know a grower, basically have to get it where we can (and God knows where it comes from). This is a situation borne entirely from the prohibition laws.
  3. It’s completely detrimental to your cause. Even if  cannabis was a bad thing, criminalizing it doesn’t stop people smoking. Addicts should be patients, not criminals, if you ever want to make any progress. I’m a smoker that wants to quit, I’ve been to various health professionals who all seem to be of the opinion ‘…it’s not crack!’ There’s no support for people like me (/end whine). It’s a lot cheaper to provide a bit of medical support to quit than it is to lock people up.
  4. There has NEVER been even one recorded fatality due to smoking weed.
  5. It is a plant. A herb. It exists naturally in our environment. Until it was outlawed (thanks, Nixon), it was actually a weed in the true sense, a wild plant that grew around and was worthless, except people used to use it in soup appetisers cos it ensured people really enjoyed their main course and dessert (munchies!). Only when it was banned, did it become cultivated, especially in developing countries where a valuable crop can be the difference betwen death and survival.
  6. Our brains have receptors designed specifically to respond to the active ingredient, as opposed to say, if you smoked actal grass (like, the lawn), which doesn’t have a chemical that our brains react to that i am aware of. This leads me to the conclusion that it is a human right to CHOOSE to smoke it, assuming no harm is caused to a person, animal or environment.
  7. Lying and appearing hypocritical (alcohol vs weed laws), especially to the younger generation, makes people  far less likely to trust you when you do have something worthwhile to teach us.

Have i missed anything?

Just to clarify my own position, i don’t necessarily think weed should be legalized. I don’t wanna be able to buy it at Tesco.

It won’t kill you and 90% of people will be occasional users. They’ll have a good time here and there, harm no one, and get up for work the next day. That’s not to say there are not people who will develop an addiction (or apparently in this case a ‘dependence’, but i struggle to see a real difference), and who will suffer negative consequences due to their drug use.

Weed can make you unmotivated, despondent, paranoid, depressed, poor and other bad stuff, if you abuse it. It can also ‘activate’ or aggravate mental health problems, if you have a predisposition.  But that’s the same as any drug, including alcohol, which can make you aggressive, irresponsible, unable to judge situations, paranoid, promiscuous, offensive and which CAN kill you. As with anything, it comes down to the individual and their choices, not the drug itself. The majority of people have a drink or 2 at the weekend and are absolutely fine, but some people will lose their job, house, money, friends and family because of their relationship with alcohol. It’s part genetics, part nurture, part socio-enviromental factors that make an addict.

Personally, I’d rather live in a world where most people got cained at the weekend, rather than obliterated drunk. I’d be a lot less scared to walk down our local high street on a Friday night. But I’d probably be in my PJ’s on the sofa with some ice cream, a good book and a spliff 😉

Rearview Mirror – Part 1

13 May

I was born in the south of England in the 1980’s. My dad was 27, born and raised locally, his dad Irish, his mum an local. He has 2 brothers, 2 sisters. Although their family was relatively poor and (I think) my granddad struggled with alcohol abuse at sometime in his life, there was, by all accounts and certainly my own experiences of my nan and granddad, a lot of Love in their family. My mum was born in Ireland under the British flag, because my granddad served in the army there. She comes from a poor, uneducated family with a history of abuse (every kind you can imagine, and to extremes), neglect and alcoholism, and although I have reason to doubt everything she says, I think alot of what she has said about how she was raised is true, mostly because I’ve seen history repeating in her brothers and sisters, and because it goes some way to explaining why she is the way she is.

She was 17 when I was born, I imagine she met my dad, 10 years her senior, and thought he could be the escape she needed from the miserable home life she knew. He was freshly divorced from his first wife (who I don’t really know much about, except that she had mental health and drug abuse problems and was unfaithful to him) and dealing with the heartbreak of little contact with my older (half, technically) brother. From what I understand, dad fought for him in court, but paternal rights are insufficient now, so 30 years ago, I think they were pretty non-existent. So I guess both of my parents were a bit lost in the world when they met, had me, and married. In that order.

My memories pre 13 are pretty sporadic and hazy, to say the least. I dunno if that’s just how I am, a result of the amount of weed I’ve smoked, or that I don’t want to remember, or a combination of those things. It certainly wasn’t all bad, and in many respects, we were very fortunate and there were happy times. One of my earliest memories is dad letting me paint anything I wanted on the outside wall of out house, as he was painting over it. I can remember dad taking us out on a homemade sledge one winter when we had decent snow (big deal down here on the island, a bit of snow). Dad taking us swimming and ice skating, and later, me to Glastonbury festival.

Its funny how when you want to remember stuff, you cant…im trying to think of happy childhood memories that involve mum, I know they exist, but now I cant think of any. The nice memories of mum I can recall right now, seem to be tainted sad. Like, I can remember pretending to be sleeping as she stroked my hair…but oftentimes this was accompanied with an apology for loosing her temper or whatever, in the day. Did she know I was only pretending to be asleep? I didn’t think she did at the time, but with my adult eyes now, I cant imagine being that young and that good of an actress.

She used to spend a shed load of money at Christmas, buying us near enough anything we wanted. She did feel guilty. I know that she did, and does love me, in her own way, as best someone like her can love. I do believe she did try her best, even though she fucked up. I want to make that clear now. She’s only a product of her environment. To be frank, it’s a fucking miracle she did as well as she did, and we have only the medium debilitating psychological disturbances we have! It is a testament to how hard she tried…I often think, I could easily have been born as my cousins, her sisters kids, who had it infinitely worse than we ever did. Then I feel guilty and disgusted with myself for being so ungrateful, whiney, and pathetic. I try to remind myself that its all relative, and my suffering, the way I felt and feel, the negative impact it has and still has on my life, on the (stupid?) people that have had or have the misfortune of trying to love me, and try to remember, reassure myself, that my feelings are valid.

So I don’t really remember that much from childhood. I can remember being very lonely, walking around the playground looking at the leaves and my feet, at about the age of 5? 6? When I think of that time, I get a visualisation of leaves, woodchip and the concrete playground. I always felt sad, different, isolated, even then. I remember having friends, but I think I was always on the edges…I’d get invited to birthday parties (paranoid adult head: cos their parents made them invite me?), but I don’t remember playing at school much. Maybe I did, and just can’t remember?

I can remember being oddly interested in boys at that time, which is weird, cos I know I didn’t know what sex was. Once, me and the boy I fancied thought we had ‘done it’…but he had only laid on me, fully clothed. I ‘loved’ Daniel Attwood all through primary school. Maybe that’s normal? But it seems weird, I never think about it, only thinking about it now as a necessary bi-product of writing this, but for a 7 year old, I had really strong feelings for the poor sod! For a sustained amount of time (years!). Maybe, even then, I was desperate to be loved, a feeling that has never left me. Needless to say, the affection was never mutual, I was never his girlfriend, though lots of other pretty girls were.

I spent a lot of time at this age (as much as I could, infact) staying with my paternal nan and granddad. I felt safe and loved there. They were so kind to me, I feel so lucky to have been able to have that relationship with them, and I wonder what might have become of me if I hadn’t had their loving refuge to escape to. Ive tried to tell my nan (sadly, granddad died when I was 10) through a letter, but I don’t think she will ever really understand what she means to me, how much I love her for all she did for me back then, how much I always will.

I was not happy being at home. Even then, I felt like mum hated me. Nothing I ever did was worth anything, or good enough. Everyday, she would call me names I didn’t really understand until a little later (‘stupid bitch’ etc), half the time I never knew what I did wrong, and she would be screaming at me.

It felt like she only ever spoke to me to tell me to do something, or to tell me I didn’t do something right. I can vividly remember thinking ‘I bet she doesn’t even know what my favourite colour is’ I know that’s trivial, but the point is, she never bothered getting to know me, wasn’t interested in me at all, except for what I could do for her. Mostly, that was cleaning.

She has a severe (undiagnosed) OCD, probably because of her own filthy and neglectful upbringing (im talking literally shit on the walls). Every weekend, both days, my brother and I would have to clean for hours before we were allowed to do anything that might’ve considered usual for kids of our ages, if we were allowed (probably not, probably did something wrong or not good enough or complained too much so would be refused even after the work was done, as punishment). I literally cleaned our kitchen, countless times, with a toothbrush. Every day in the summer holidays, or half terms, we did this. Mondays was housework day: school nights, we’d clean from when we got home, until bedtime, and in the holidays we’d simply clean all day, from when we woke up, to when we collapsed in our beds, tired and miserable, at night. We knew we were missing out. The other kids never had to do anything like it, and so whilst we were cleaning, we could think of all the fun they were having, that we were missing out on (specially my bro, who was a popular kid).

My overriding memory from this time is of literally crying myself to sleep in the dark…’why does nobody love me?’ I feel sorry for that little girl, who doesn’t feel like me now.

There were only a few occasions when she was really physically abusive, that I can remember. I have felt so confused about it, for so, so long, because its really hard to put your finger on, to describe how my mum was cruel and hurt me, when she rarely actually was physical. I felt ( and sometimes still feel – it’s a constant battle) like I was just a whiney, whinging, ungrateful, spoiled brat.

The public face of my mum is very likable. Even to this day, very few people know what she is really like behind closed doors. On the face of it, if you had seen us or met her, you would have no reason to doubt she was anything other than a good wife and parent. She was even a foster parent for many years (that hurt… you’ve got the time for other children, to be patient and kind to other children, what’s so hideously wrong with me?). I can still see her eyes, the angry eyes she’d flash you when you had annoyed her, but other people were there, so she couldn’t deal with you in her usual way. I used to love it when social workers (for the foster kids, not us) were round, and mum would be so nice.

My mums forte is power games, weird manipulation and lies and tricks, but she was physically abusive a few times.

Generally though, mums abuse was cold and cruel and emotional – I honestly believe she probably, for the most part, had no idea she was doing it. Though some things do seem too premeditated, or to sustained, to excuse as impulse or anger. When I was about 9, I can remember her sticking my dirty knickers to the front door, with a sign saying ‘fringewalk’s pissy pants’, to humiliate me. I can’t remember what I had done wrong.

Its hard to explain how things were. Mum and her depression were the domineering factors in all our lives. Everything the family did was mums will, no one else was considered; mums happiness (which never, ever came) was always paramount.

My dad worked shifts and nights a lot back then. For a while, as much as I completely love and respect him, and as painful as it was to have the thought, I did wonder how he could have let it go on. As an adult, I’ve concluded it was a combination of factors; he wasn’t there much, he didn’t want to see it, he was probably just about managing with the responsibility of putting food on the table and, mainly, he was dominated and emotionally bullied by mum too. He is a very lovely, family orientated man, easy to take advantage of. Apart from a few mistakes he made not controlling his temper when my bro was a very difficult adolescent, I cannot fault him. If I had a choice; him and mum or completely different parents, I would choose him and mum all over again, so that I could have him in my life.

In the last couple of years he has *finally* divorced her, and is now recovering from the aftermath of the years of abuse he suffered.

Its taken a long time for me to allow myself to say I had an abusive childhood, for a number of reasons. Maybe in the last year, I’ve come to terms with ‘admitting’ it.

Firstly, so many people have it infinitely worse, it seems selfish and ignorant to moan about what happened to me.

Secondly; loyalty. I love my mum, in spite of her behaviour, I always will. Even more than that, I understand why she was how she was (and still is), and I feel sorry for her, she never really stood a chance, and as I have said, I do believe she tried. She was abused in ways I (thankfully) cant even imagine, she was very young when she had me and married dad, she got diabetes (and very fat) as a result of her pregnancy with me and her dad died just a few months after. She must’ve had severe post-natal depression, but back then it wasn’t really a known thing. It must’ve been incredibly difficult for her. Maybe it’s why she hated me. Her life strikes me as very tragic and sad.

I still wish I could help her, and it is with great sadness that I try to accept that I can’t, and never will be able to. It goes against everything that I try to believe in, but sometimes, it really is just too late. She is still exactly the same, and it is to dangerous to have her in my life. She will only use and hurt me, all the while pretending to be my friend. I’ve had very minimum contact with her over the last couple of years, and the one time i did se her and speak to her properly, it was a series of lies followed by manipulation and problems that followed. So i can’t let my gaurd down.

Thirdly, because of the public face, because it was only me she treated like that (not my bro really, except the cleaning), for all my life, I thought it was me, my fault, something wrong with me. No one else seemed to notice. Was I imagining it? Remembering it wrong? Attention seeking (which I am prone to)? Later, she turned out to treat my sister (who is 15 years younger than me) in the same way, so now i wonder if it’s just the girls?

It has only been these last few years, when everything has unravelled, that everyone has seen her for what she really is. The mask hasn’t just slipped; it’s fallen clean off, at least for those of us close to her. It wasn’t me, wasn’t my fault, and there is nothing wrong with me.

I still don’t feel this is the truth, the lessons she taught are very deeply entrenched in my psyche, so I try to be logical, look at the facts, and remind myself it is the truth.

Not that it matters all that much now. It is a relationship i will never understand despite continued effort, and one that haunts me. But I am grown, responsible for my own choices, my own sucesses and faliures. I need to accept and find worth within myself, i need to not just know, but realise that self-worth is not something to be given to me by anyone else, but something i scuplt for myself .

I know this, but i cannot realise it, it is not true for me, i still seek it else where because i cannot find it inside, i’ve been hardwired from an early age not to. And even that belief  is yet another excuse/self-fufilling prophecy/obstacle to self-esteem. Grrrr. It is very frustrating.

I think i started smoking weed aged about 16. It’s weird, cos I was always one of those ‘say no to drugs’ kids, and I never smoked cigarettes. I was a bright-ish kid, I got a few As in my GCSEs, I was involved in the school community (student rep, ran tuck shop, always involved in music/drama productions) etc.

When I was 16, I was dumped by the first boy I had ever ‘loved’. It was teenage, all encompassing, need-to-be-with-you-all-the-time, deliriously happy kind of love, but when I look back on it know, I am think I did love him, albeit in an immature way. Anyway – I didn’t take the rejection very well. I almost turned into a crazy stalker for a while, i was kind of in limbo, and heartbroken.

When I did finally realise it was definitely over, I kind of fell into a black hole. Its sort of embarrassing now, all melodramatic – but the pain was unbearable, and it affected my whole life. When I think about it now, I try to understand why it effected me so much – plenty of teenagers get their heart broken but they don’t self-destruct like I did. They cry and listen to music in their rooms, then they get over it and move on.

I tried to commit ‘suicide’, taking loads of paracetamol and my parents’ Prozac and hip-replacement medicine. I don’t think it was too serious an attempt, the infamous ‘cry-for-help’ more likely, but it was enough to give me a kind of lock-jaw for a couple days when the muscles in my jaw were almost locked closed and my legs were all tense and shaky, and I threw up a lot. It felt like really horrible flu, and it scared the shit out of me. What if i really fucked myself up?

Maybe quite tellingly, my parents didn’t notice. To be fair, I lived in a mobile home at the bottom of their garden by then, my sister was only about 2, and they both worked, so it’s easy to see how; they were busy. To this day they know nothing about this. They knew that I was a self-harmer after a teacher at school got in touch with them when I was about 11 (I think), but to this day I don’t think they have any idea how isolated and alone and miserable I was at this time and through most of my childhood. Most of my life. Ungratful twat.

After the ‘suicide’ attempt (feels weird seeing that in black and white, even though i know it wasn’t as bad as the words implies), everything was the same. I started drinking vodka a lot, straight from the bottle. I slept with 6 people in a few weeks, some whom I did not know and have not seen since, some of which were supposed to be ‘friends’.

My ex-boyfriend, G, (not the one who had broke my heart, but one who’s heart im sure I broke), who remained my good friend, took care of me, and drove me about for hours on end. I only felt ok when we were driving, I don’t know why. I suppose when we were driving I wasn’t sat around trying to deal with the feeling in my stomach.

I owe a lot to G and the compassion and love he showed me during that time – he was the only person who was there for me, and im very lucky to have had him, even though i didn’t deserve him and ultimately, i think i used him and treated him badly (which i have since profusely apologised for). He was my boyfriend off and on from the age of 14 to 18, it was a serious relationship, but i think i would have had anyone who would take me, i was so desperate for love. I never really considered if i felt it or if it was real. I don’t know why i didn’t fancy him that much, he’s a great guy and he’s very good looking. Maybe it was because he treated me so well.

I asked G to get me some hash during this time, i just wanted to get out of my own head. I had been with him and a few of our friends when they had smoked before, but up until then I had always refused it and made them promise not to go onto harder drugs (which is funny now, given my drug experiences). G was at university at the time and got an eight of hash from his friend there. We had one of those pipe/tube things you can attach to a beer bottle and make a bong from- neither of us smoked baccy or could roll. That first eighth lasted agggggeeesss.I would have a little pipe every now and then, nothing serious. I couldn’t roll a proper joint then, i had to use a rolling machine on the odd occasion i did smoke one. For a while, i was an occasional smoker, until i began probably my most significant (and damaging) relationship with a full time smoker.

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