Dope Sick Love
by Nathan Thompson
It was always Nia with her wicked grin and swinging hips. Her dirty blonde hair and laughing lips.. She was why I was standing at the small, anonymous door of a North London drug clinic in the summer of 2009. The metal buzzer felt cool on my fingertip.
“Yeah, it’s Dylan,” I said into the box. As it buzzed, I pushed the shatterproof door open and dragged my broken heart inside.
“So what drugs are you having problems with?” The thirty-something counselor wore a baggy T-shirt and glasses. I avoided his calm gaze..
“Mostly cocaine,” I said. “And GBL and Codeine pills. Oh, and I tried heroin a couple of times. But mostly it’s the coke.”
“And what led you to come here for help?”
“My girlfriend and I broke up,” I blurted out. “It was to do with all the coke… I keep borrowing money off her… Her friends hate me. I just want to get her back.”
The counselor looked down at his clipboard. “I’m happy to assign you a key worker and we can go from there,” he said. “Come back next week.”
Outisde the clinic my mind simmered with shame and regret. A sense of freezing cold isolation juxtaposed with the summer afternoon and busy people who flowed past me. I think I catch them giving me a wide birth. I cannot afford more cocaine and alcohol binges… but heroin is ₤10 a bag… I thought only of escape as I boarded a train to Soho in Central London – a place where denizens of the underworld feed on the shoals of tourists who crowd the narrow streets. A place where I knew I could score dope.
Nia and I had been together for just under a year before we split. She was a London girl, streetwise and under-loved and I was a passionate boy from the suburbs – arrogant and insecure. I fell deeply in love with her and she worshiped me. But the weight of insecurity on both sides put strain on the relationship from the start. I dealt with the fear of not being good enough by drinking and taking drugs, she by maintaining a constant circle of admirers ready to take my place if things went wrong.
She was beautiful. Nia was evidence against the claims of the vicious critic in my head, a comeback to all the accusations that I was essentially unlovable. After all, if I have a beautiful woman on my arm I can’t be that bad can I?
It was more of a breakdown than a breakup. I began the destruction by sleeping with a woman who, when I look back on it now, was probably a post-op transsexual. She had a large frame and fake tits and had propositioned me on the street in a rough area of East London one Friday afternoon. My cheating was pre-emptive. If Nia hadn’t already cheated she was bound to when she realized what a terrible person I was.
The next day, Nia and I had a party to go to on a boat on the Thames. I had been up for around 24 hours, drunk and paranoid. I had even scrubbed my penis in case Nia could taste condom on it. To this day I still don’t know if she insulted me or if I imagined it. Either way I found myself storming home determined to teach her a lesson. I ignored her calls for a week.
Our dual form unraveled over those silent days. My actions hurt us both deeply. Even after communication had resumed it was unclear where we stood. Then one day Nia had a new boyfriend and that was that.
I started to make the connection between my drug use and the tendency of my life to turn to shit at regular intervals. It was this realization that lead me to the door of my local drug clinic that day.
Nia and I broke up at a time in my life when my support structure had blown up. Nia was gone, my parents had moved to China and I had alienated my friends over the years by scornful and selfish behavior. I was left at the mercy of my rabid beast of a mind.
The self-loathing would begin as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning. Often, I could barely drag myself out of bed. I worked from home in an uninspiring job as a PA so I didn’t have any co-workers or routine to keep me sane.
I started using Heroin regularly, scoring in Soho in London’s West End. It was my life raft. It gave me something to arrange my day around, something consistent to hang on to. I felt it would never reject me, never break my heart, never sell my home and move to China.
On top of my detestable self, I carried the guilt and shame of our breakup like Jacob Marley’s chains. If only I hadn’t taken so much coke. If only I could afford to take her out. If only I hadn’t ignored her calls for a whole week that time…these thoughts looped in my head and Heroin was the “off” switch that gave me peace.
Nia and I stayed in touch as summer became autumn. I had been relegated to one of her “back-ups” and I was determined to move up the ladder. She told me that her casual boyfriend was planning to move to New York. We were sleeping together before he was on the plane.
I told her I was clean from Cocaine and ready to make a new start… which was true. I was off Cocaine. Nia believed me, hell, I believed me. She didn’t know about the dope and, like all inconvenient actions and their consequences, I drowned it in an ocean of denial.
Besides, the dope helped me. For the first time in our relationship I was able to depend on something other than Nia. When I was high, I was gregarious and confident. I think we both mistook this improvement my spirits as a sign of new maturity and personal growth. Cautiously, she took me into her bed more often.
When Nia’s friends found out we were sleeping together again they were dismayed. Things had got off to a bad start between me and them when they had asked me not to smoke crack at their house party. Things further deteriorated when they found me an incomprehensible mess in a crack-smoke filled toilet. They threw me out that night. But Nia ignored their protests with characteristic rebellion and I loved her for it.
Winter came like a drunken stepfather but we were warm in Nia’s bed. In December, we became boyfriend and girlfriend again. Nia’s father had left her when she was young and she yearned for a dependable and strong love – a love which flowed through me in my better moments. There were times when we laid beneath a duvet, softly knotted together, hours falling like leaves in the autumn. We planned our future, named our unborn children, dreamed about the home we would one day share.
But it all started again. Heroin was a crueler master than Cocaine and Booze. It demanded more of my time and money and I was less able to control it. My lies began to corrode our new relationship.
I nodded out all over the place, at the theatre, watching a film, around the Christmas tree. I said it was tiredness. My inability to orgasm was, of course, intentional. I was practicing the Tantric art of sexual continence – a belief that sperm is a source of masculine power and should be conserved. British train services are not known for their reliability but any train I was on was guaranteed to break down or run late. I lost count of the number of times, I started a conversation with the lie, “I’m sorry I’m late, the train…”.
Nia and I were not living together. I had a room in a shared house owned by an old school friend. My housemates were also friends. They were not blinded by love and their suspicions grew along with my habit.
I knew the game was up when the owner caught me using for the third time. He told me to get out citing the late comings and goings, the unpaid rent, the wasted appearance.
“Get out by tomorrow or I’ll call the police.” He yelled and slammed the door to my room. I turned back to my foil and inhaled furiously. The unreality settled back around me. Soon he was back with my best friend in tow, Grant.
“This is over now,” he said. The two of them seemed to be talking out of one mouth. “We’ve told Nia, and your parents are next.”
‘You did what?’ I yelled in panic. “Let me speak to her!”
“You can talk to her when we get you out of here.” Their reasoned voices slowly took control. “Dylan, listen to us. You can’t stay here any more but we can take you to Grant’s house. It’s being renovated. He’ll stay with you while you detox…”
I had no choice, my parents were in China and my boss couldn’t know. As I bundled my things into Grant’s car the next morning, I found myself turning back to the house with righteous tears in my eyes. I looked at the empty building on the cold, February morning and yelled at no-one
“Don’t worry! The Junkie is leaving! The Junkie is gone!”
Later that night, I found myself exhausted but unable to sleep. I passed the next three days in a twilight zone of puke, sweat and panic attacks. I hyperventilated so much my blood become over-oxygenated causing my arms and legs to curl with cramp. I watched in horror as my limbs contorted like dead trees crying out
“oh God, oh God, oh God”,
And then I had a vision of the devil – a bald man, muscles wasted by sloth, huge white belly and spindly legs. He leered at me through rotted teeth. I screamed before sleep came.
“It doesn’t make me love you any less”. It was a week later and Nia was on the phone. “We can get through this”. She was a fiercely loyal person but also vulnerable and scared to be alone. I needed her and she was ready to fix me with her love.
Valentines Day 2010 found me standing at the station of the anonymous town where I was renting a room. I was waiting for Nia to arrive. I had managed to keep my job working from home but I was not sure how much longer I could keep making excuses for substandard and late work. In my hands I held a damp rose – all I could afford.
That evening, Nia and I ate greasy Tapas and drank heavily and tried to pretend that everything was OK. That evening we were sat on the sofa, warm in each others arms, breathing in unison. But it started to happen. I felt my eyes start to travel downwards and my head begin to drop.
I jerked it back up and strained my eyes wide open. I smiled and kissed her. She hadn’t noticed.
“Dylan…Dylan?”
I jerked my head out of my nod. Shit.
“You’re back on it, aren’t you?” she said.
“No… No, I’m just tired.” I lied lazily
“Where is it?” she demanded, in pure, fiery anger. She opened the bin and took out a pile of screwed-up foil balls with brown trails all over them.
“You lying piece of shit.” She threw the foil balls at me. We were both crying now.
There was nothing to say. Sobbing, Nia put on her shoes and left me for good. And I did the only thing I could do. I scored more dope.
I expected her to crack within a few days but a week later I hadn’t heard from her. Worried, I called her.
“You can’t keep doing this to me,” she said, her voice flat and toneless.
“I don’t want you to call me anymore.” She hung up.
I threw my phone hard at the bed and sat with head in hands. Nia was gone. My parents were on the other side of the world. My friends had washed their hands of me. I was left with just broken, fucked-up me. I was in way over my head. I made the call – I was ready for rehab.
Great post as always, good luck with your memoirs.
Thanks again man (or girl?). I have just been watching an interview with William Burroughs which has made me want to cobble together some writings into an ebook… we shall see
I’m a dude, and good luck with your future writing.
no offence, but I was kinda hoping you were a sexy lay-dee
That’s a sad story told well. I’m so curious as to what happened next…
Thanks man, the breakup was probably for the best. The posts arn’t in chronological order, in fact most of the blog happened after this event so if you’ve read any of the rest of this blog you already know what happened next! How have you been?
Wow, this is great. Excellent writing
Cheers for the love Shannon, been working really hard and it means a lot to know people read what I write and like it enough to comment – Big ups x
No problem, I have been reading for a long time now and was finally compelled to leave a reply, such strong writing. That’s rare now a days. Your writing has an effect on people all the way in Canada like myself! Keep it up 😉
I am really impressed by the way your writing touched my heart. Stumbled on your story by accident, but will certainly follow it from now on. I hope all things turn out for the best and wish you a lot of sunshine and love on your path. Have spend over 25 years in the same trap and understand the pain you must be going through. Hope you manage to kick the habit and experience life again. Greetz from a Dutch lady.
Hey Dutchlady, these posts are not in chronological order and many of the stories happened a few years ago now. These days I do not live the addict life any more thank God! I am glad you enjoyed my work. I agree that the only person that can save you is you. But at the same time we cannot do it all alone. I was lucky to have a healthy family that helped me to stay clean after my initial rehab. Thanks for your thoughts and wishes x
So good to realise your stories are from the past and that you are doing fine nowadays. You are right ofcourse, having a loving and healthy family that support is important. I can only admit to that and ours too has never given up on us. Our lives turned out to be great and when I look back now, I hardly recognise myself in that person. So there is life after an addiction, but I merely wanted to say that, even with the support of your loved ones, you are the only one that can save you just as you said.
Wish you a great life and all the best,
Geetz from Holland
Thanks, glad to hear you are well
Hey, totally love reading your blogs – they are beautifully written and I can really relate, having had a life along similar lines. Love your posts on DF too… you make me smile, and also make me want to cry, because so much of what you say is just so tragically true. You are great – keep it up xx
Thanks Fiona, that’s really nice of you to say. I’ve not been writing up on here much recently but I’m sure there will be a few more posts before the year is out. Best wishes x
Its a pleasure 🙂 I have read ur other blog too and it made me smile, because once you have seen the other side of life, the side that most people dont see, it is very easy to see how people can and do behave like absolute animals….. makes me thing of Pink
Floyd’s animals cd …” the club tie, the firm handshake, the certain look in your eye and the easy smile…. you have to be trusted, by the people that you lie to, so that when they turn their backs on you, you get the chance to put the knife in….”
Look forward to reading some more… I have started blogging too, really need to crack on with it…. have a great day x
definitly, I had a look at your blog and it seems like a really interesting idea so I will look out for your posts x
Wow, this post really hits home for me. Only that I am a not-so-good-looking version of Nia I guess:) Having been the significant other of a heroin addict for a long time I can relate to your story. It reminds me of all the bad and also the good days I had with my ex and my endless fears for his health and my pain being the mistress of a man who was married to the drug, without intention to leave her. Just like you he is clean now. But after nearly 8 years we both still suffer from our break-up…
Beautiful writing!
Glad you liked it. Your blog is an interesting reading too. Hope you are enjoying India!
Your writing has hooked me. I love your style. It has really moved me.. I can relate so very well to your posts.
Thanks Tina, glad you liked it 🙂
Thank you for sharing your stories!
I almost thought that I had gotten drunk, blacked out, and written the most recent part of my life down until I realized that my biography is much more pathetic and frustrating. The part about me… uh uh uh I mean him….feeling validated as a somewhat decent human being because I did have a unanimously agreed upon beauty on my arm definitely hit home. But the story drifted from my own saga in that we were both raging alcoholics and coke heads. The difference in our using was her motives were purely based on wanting to party and wanting to party endlessly while mine were filled with hopes of eluding my daunting reality and grim self fulfilled prophecies….you see during our wild crown royal and cocaine laced tango we stumbled through over 7 years, I sold a tremendous amount of top knoch marijuana with impunity…that is until every stoners favorite day rang….Happy 420!!! Instead of cheech at my door I found a mix of officers that looked like New Mexico ‘ s version of 21 jump street…I had finally been snitched on and raided. That was the beginning of our demise. That was when we suddenly had a her and I instead of we. In dealing with that case and another one I managed to rack up due to a drunk driving escapade where I wrecked my loves car leaving a poker game at 530 am because my nerves were shot after losing 15k….oh and I had gotten a dwi right before that also with a pound of weed in my trunk. ..oh and I shot my way down the chutes lubed with opiates until I landed in general population in the Metropolitan Dention Center with my veins outlined in tar, all the while my gorgeous ex ascended the ladders assisted by the cocaine sprinkled on each rung like gymnast chalk… While I treated my heroin use and outlaw antics with the tact of a pie eating festival…to this day my former fiance and her current fiance refuse to acknowledge my existence…I w a s especially troubled when i heard amanda had aborted my seed when I first arrived in jail. Though I have disappeared from her memory in the last 4 years, my only motivation to get clean is to personify success so much so I trump my previous life with women, cars, and money so much so that amanda will have no choice but to make we contact with me and show recognition. ..only then will I return to heroin and nod out for good.