Dying to Survive (14 page)

‘Do you have anyone to stand bail for you?’ asked my solicitor.

‘Yeah, that’s my step-da down the back. He’ll do it,’ I replied. But this time, Mick refused to do anything for me. I was put in custody and sent to Mountjoy.

As soon as I arrived I was told that I had visitors. It was the two Micks. They thought it was all hilarious. ‘Blocks of cheese and packets of rashers. Ah, that’s the best one yet. What were you trying to do? Feed the whole of Ballymun?’ my stepfather said, laughing away to himself.

‘What do you want?’ I asked, freaked out that they hadn’t put up my bail and now they were making a mockery of me.

‘Right, this is the deal,’ Mick said. ‘I’ll go bail for you, if you come back to the house to your mother. If you stay clean for a week, I’ll bring you over to Texas. But you have to be willing to stay there on your own. And I’ll send you money over every month for living expenses.’

‘Are you serious?’ I said in disbelief. ‘Why Texas?’

‘Well,’ Mick replied, ‘you don’t seem to be able to get clean over here. I have friends in Texas who are willing to put you up, but they don’t know anything about drugs, so you’ll have to go through your withdrawals before you go over. Myself and Big Mick will stay with ye for a week, just to make sure you’re alright with the whole thing. So what do you think?’

Well, Texas sounded far-fetched to say the least, but then I’d rather go anywhere than Mountjoy, I thought. ‘Yeah, I’ll do it.’

Going to Texas was different from going to Cuba for me in that I had fully consented to the idea, but only because it was my only option. And Mick seemed to be going to great lengths to ensure my recovery—albeit several thousand miles away.

I stayed with my mother for one week and within those seven days I was over the worst of my withdrawals. Myself and the two Micks flew to Arlington, Texas. I had never thought that I would see myself in Texas. The only ideas I had of Texas came from watching
Dallas
on television. I was excited about meeting some real-life cowboys and starting off afresh, in a place where nobody knew about my past or my addiction. Perhaps this was my chance to leave it all behind me, I reasoned, conveniently forgetting that I had had a number of chances already.

The two Micks had arranged to come with me to Texas and then leave after a couple of days, once I had settled in. When we arrived at the airport, a woman called Susan was waiting for us. She was from Belfast and her father and Mick were old friends. She told me that I would be staying with herself and her other friend Hannah in Fort Worth. Susan was in her late twenties and she had been living in Texas for eight years. She seemed friendly and down-to-earth and she promised me that she would take good care of me, thinking that I was simply coming to Texas for a few months for an extended holiday. She knew nothing of the real reason for my visit. Susan brought me to my new house and introduced me to Hannah, who was older, thirty-nine, and she had been born and raised in Fort Worth. Her big mop of brown hair went right down her back and her face was caked with makeup.

Both Susan and Hannah worked during the day selling property, so most of my time was spent lounging in the garden alone, worshipping the sun and drinking piña coladas. I had no transport so sometimes I would spend hours walking around the neighbourhood, people-watching and wondering if their lives were as perfect as they seemed. The novelty of living in Texas quickly wore off and it wasn’t long before the boredom began to sink in. I was getting home-sick and I couldn’t help but think that I was missing out on something in Ballymun.

If Mick had hoped that my visit to Texas might make me forget about drugs, it had quite the opposite effect. Sometimes I would hide in my bedroom and I would tightly wrap a tourniquet around my arm, feeling a sense of nostalgia as I watched my veins come to the surface, trying to burst through my skin. Then I would fantasise about my next turn-on. The anticipation of scoring heroin, the stimulation of getting that little bag of brown into my hand and doing what I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I would find a place where I wouldn’t be disturbed, then I would put on some music like Pink Floyd or David Bowie, just to add to the tragedy of it all. I would mix the heroin with the citric acid, burn underneath the spoon and watch in delight as they blended and bubbled together to form a dark brown liquid. My mouth would water as I thought about getting the vein and seeing the blood enter the barrel. Then I would thrust the heroin into my body, feeling like every part of me was being oiled. I would taste the heroin on the back of my mouth and I would slowly drift away from reality.

I wanted to run out of Hannah’s house there and then and score drugs, but I was only tormenting myself. I was in a country where I hadn’t seen one drug addict and I had no idea of where to find one. Then I thought of Narcotics Anonymous. I had heard that they had meetings all over the world, especially in America. If I wanted to get drugs, surely I would meet someone there that was still using. Maybe they could tell me where to go. Within days I had found a meeting nearby, but I was disgusted to find that they were all really serious about getting clean and staying clean. I couldn’t believe how different the meetings were from the ones in Ireland. At one meeting, a man stood on a podium, talking enthusiastically about his experiences and his strength and hope in recovery. I froze on my chair when I realised that he was randomly pointing people out of the crowd and asking them to share. I contemplated doing a runner for the nearest exit, but I was too afraid to move, so I picked a spot on the floor and I kept my eyes firmly on it. If I didn’t see him, hopefully he wouldn’t see me. I had a lucky escape and I decided that I would never go near
NA
again.

I had made some new friends who worked in the petrol station near Hannah’s house. Caroline was from the Philippines and Anton was from Mexico. They were both really pleasant and welcoming, making it their business to get to know me. At first I wondered why they were so nice, but then I realised that it was just their way. I wasn’t used to people being nice just for the sake of it. Anton was so fond of me that he began to give me free bottles of alcohol, just because I was Irish and therefore I was more than likely an alcoholic, he reasoned. Spending time with them both became the highlight of my day. Every Saturday I would visit Caroline’s house. She lived with her mother and her two aunts, who couldn’t speak a word of English. Caroline’s mother and aunts acted as though I wasn’t even there, but sat at the table playing cards and shouting aggressively at one another. Myself and Caroline would have our own little party, drinking bottles of Ritz and attempting to sing karaoke. I would get so drunk that I would pass out and somebody would have to drive me home. It seemed that, for the meantime, alcohol would do as a replacement for the drugs I craved.

Hannah was beginning to get worried. She sat me down one day and asked me what was going on. I told her all about my past and my addiction, how I couldn’t stop thinking about drugs and how lonely I was. She cried as she listened to me and from then on she became like my big sister, minding me and bringing me everywhere she went. She even brought me to her workplace at a set of condos. She would sit in her office and I would lie by the pool. Hannah introduced me to a young man called Josh, thinking that he would be good company for me. Josh was a nice, old-fashioned, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, good looking in a strait-laced and clean-cut type of way. Not someone that I would usually hang-out with, but I liked him. He would take me to the cinema or to one of the giant shopping malls in the area, acting like a gentleman and being on his best behaviour. One day he took me to meet his grandmother. She was a little old lady who was proud of her grandson. We both sat together drinking iced tea as Josh played ‘Hey Jude’ on the piano. It was so nice that I wanted to puke. I didn’t like or trust people who were this happy and it completely turned me off Josh. I spent weeks not answering his phone calls, hoping that he would get the hint and get lost. He eventually did and I kind of felt sorry for him but he just wasn’t exciting enough for me.

_____

Susan had just broken up with her boyfriend, Will, a soldier in the American army whom Susan liked to call her ‘big teddy bear’. But they were no longer on speaking terms and Susan wanted to celebrate her new-found freedom by going out nightclubbing with me. I was delighted to have myself a new drinking buddy and, after getting myself some fake id, we both went on the rip. We decided to go to a line-dancing club. I was amazed when I saw everyone dressed in their cowboy suits, dancing together in what appeared to be a bull ring. After a few glasses of vodka and coke and a couple of shots of Tequila, I found myself in the middle of it all. Myself and Susan danced for hours, making our way up on to tables and making a holy show of ourselves.

When it was time to go home, I suggested that we take a lift from one of her friends. But Susan was getting more aggressive by the minute and she insisted that she drive home herself. No matter what I said to her, she just wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t let her go home on her own, so I decided to get in the car with her. Susan seemed to be driving safely and within minutes I fell asleep. I was woken by an ear-splitting screech. All I saw was us heading full force into the back of a pick-up truck. I felt my seat-belt tighten around my torso as we made contact. Then everything went blank. When I woke up I was in the hospital. I had been kept there until I sobered up. I had got away with bruised lungs, but the police were waiting to question me. After being breathalysed I had no choice but to admit that I had been drinking. They gave me a warning and informed me that Susan was being held in custody and she would be charged with drinking and driving.

I felt terrible. Even though Susan had insisted on driving, I had egged her on in her drinking and partying, delighted to have a drinking buddy at last. I couldn’t help wondering if I was partly responsible. Was I the kind of person who brought negativity and bad things with her wherever she went, infecting others and making terrible things happen? I tortured myself with the thought.

The next day Susan was brought to court and she was put on two years’ probation. I never saw her again.

_____

When it was time for me to return to Ireland, as my visa had expired, Hannah brought me to the airport. We had both become really close, especially since Susan moved out. Hannah had been so understanding and supportive to me since I opened up to her and neither of us wanted to say goodbye. But I missed Ireland and I was ready to go home, even though I knew in my heart that I was going to use drugs as soon as I got the chance. But I also knew in my heart that I no longer had control over my drug use. Texas had been a waste of time. I had merely substituted drink for the drugs. I realised that my using drugs always had consequences but they weren’t bad enough to make me want to stop.

Anyway, when my back was against the wall I could always count on my family to send me on a little holiday. In fact, they seemed only too keen to do so, I thought. They were probably delighted to see the back of me for a bit. My new motto had become, ‘Go on heroin and see the world’. Who knows, maybe next time they’ll send me to Thailand or even better, Afghanistan, I thought.

Chapter
9

    TRUE FRIENDS?

I
was still only seventeen and underneath my sarcasm and jokes about my life I was really hurting and was desperately lonely. I was living with my grandmother again and I missed my mother and my brother Philip. I wanted nothing more than to be part of the family. Philip was ten years of age and I loved when he came to visit my grandparents. Sometimes I would watch him playing around the house and it would hit me that I had only been three years older than him when I’d first started to use heroin. Other times I couldn’t stand the idea of being around him, because I felt so ashamed of who I had become. I wished that I could just talk to my mother and tell her how I felt, but my fear of her rejecting me if I did was far too great for me to take the risk. And my fear of her not rejecting me seemed even worse, because then she wouldn’t be the problem,
I
would. It was easier for me to talk to my grandmother. I could just be myself with her and I knew that no matter what I did, she wouldn’t reject me.

I slowly began to open up to my grandmother about my addiction. I admitted to her that I had a problem with the drugs. I told her that I really wanted to stop, but I didn’t know how. She was just as baffled as I was. Sometimes she would cry and express her frustration at not being able to help me. Mostly she would just say, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be grand.’

I am not sure if she really believed this, but I was far from grand. I was becoming more attracted to drugs and the lifestyle that it brought. From the moment that I opened my eyes in the morning until I closed them that night, I was consumed with thoughts of heroin. I was in the grip of the drug and I was losing the fight to stay sane and healthy.