After months of watching in horrified fascination at a gang of drug dealers use my home as a base to deal drugs from, I made a startling discovery. None of the stupid twats have any fucking common sense. Not one iota of it! I’ll give you examples; A drug dealer’s main aim is to make as much money as they can and to be as inconspicuous as possible. To blend in to the background and avoid attracting any attention what so ever. So every drug dealer always makes sure that- They a

When I was 13 my mum died. I went back to school and none of the kids would talk to me. I guess it was out of awkwardness because they didn’t know what to say. That’s when I met N. N was a rebel. A naughty kid. One of the kids I was never likely to associate with. But she was the only kid who brazenly walked over to me and said “sorry your mum died, you look sad, let’s go out together at lunch for a joint. It’ll make you feel better”. We were total opposites in every respect.

I decided to kill myself, I’d get someone to hit me up/shoot me up? What’s the phrase for injecting heroin? Foolproof I thought! A big dose and I’m guaranteed heart failure. Now I’m the most antisocial bitch going, yet my home turned into Clapham junction. I couldn’t get any time to myself with said person to kill myself. At one point we thought we did and we got halfway through and then someone knocked on my door. It was fucking Amazon, and all that happened because I only g

This is it. This is the moment when people gossip about ‘the day I snapped’ as I’m driven off to the mortuary. Why? 1. I wrote to 2 of the original gang members who trapped me- both are currently in prison. 2. I then wrote to the police officer who arrested ME: not the criminals-expressing my gratitude for raiding my flat 8 months too late, at the ONLY time none of the gang members were in my home, finding a shit ton of drugs that weren’t mine and arresting me for intent to s

Sounds more and more ridiculous with every day that goes by, and its taking higher and higher doses of antipsychotics each day to calm me the fuck down. I need to get some counseling or something. The way I look at the moment- an emaciated, trembling, anxious wreck- isn’t exactly helping my case. My eyes are all wild, my hairs sticking out at all angles. I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards after escaping from the nearest psychiatric unit. I look dodgy as fu

I think I’ve already explained this in one of my previous blog posts, but if you haven’t read it then what I’m about to write will make me seem like an obsessive weirdo; similar to a train spotter with no life. So after the gang took over my home, and I’d submitted my first ‘give information’ form to Crimestoppers- I became fixated with keeping up to date with every available local news source I could find online. Like the local newspaper, the news and appeals section on the