I wish I could tell you that I quit heroin due to some profound spiritual revelation or sudden thunderbolt of wisdom. But the truth is that the first time I quit was because, at 28, I found myself in a novel situation. It was the first time in my adult life I had absolutely no way of getting my hands on illegal drugs.
It turns out it’s extremely difficult to have heroin and crack smuggled on to a high-security psychiatric unit like the one I’d ended up on at Homerton hospital in east London (and believe me, I did try). Since it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere for a while, I decided I might as well walk out – whenever that may be – clean. Not just of illegal drugs but of the host of other medications – methadone, diazepam, zopiclone – such places tended to prescribe to people in my condition. And so, six weeks later, that’s what I did.
