I Just Wanted to Be Loved: A boy eager to please. The man who destroyed his childhood. The love that overcame it.. Stuart Howarth
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Автор: Stuart Howarth
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары
isbn: 9780007319565
isbn:
I dragged myself through my normal weekend routine of sloshing booze down my throat and snorting coke up my nose, but I felt like an outsider in the crowd. I couldn't find jovial Stuart, the one who was always up for a laugh. Someone much darker had taken over in my head.
A dealer I knew – let's call him ‘Dave’ – had recently moved close by, so on the Sunday evening I called and invited him over to do some cocaine with me. I didn't have anything in common with this guy apart from drugs. There was nothing for us to talk about so I put on MTV full blast in the background and we watched rock videos in between chopping lines.
It was late – maybe two or three in the morning – when I made the decision that I couldn't go on living any more. Enough was enough. I'd tried my best to cope but I couldn't do it. My life was intolerable and now I'd even driven Tracey away, the only good thing I'd had left.
As ‘Dave’ sat on our sofa, I went through to the kitchen and found a bottle of Bell's whisky. I don't like the taste of whisky so I only ever drink it when I'm trying to kill myself. Next I went into the kitchen and pulled out all the bottles and packs of paracetamol I could find.
I stood by the kitchen sink swallowing the pills one by one, washing them down with glugs of whisky. I reckon I took fifty to sixty paracetamol altogether. I knew from my research on the Internet that as few as twelve could be a fatal dose, so I reckoned it was a pretty sure bet I would die after taking so many.
None of my suicide attempts have been ‘cries for help’. Each time, I've been determined to die. When I ran a pipe from my car exhaust back through the window and turned on the engine in the garage one night back in 1999, the only thing that saved my life was that the pipe fell out while I was unconscious. When I slashed my wrists in prison, I cut so deeply that blood sprayed all round my cell and the wounds had to be stapled together in hospital. And that night, in the house with ‘Dave’, I no longer wanted to be in this world. I wanted the peace and calm of death, of nothingness, no more flashbacks and no more nightmares. I don't believe in God as such but I think there might be some kind of afterlife and, if there is, I hope I meet up with my sister Shirley who died in 1990. Lovely Shirl the Whirl, the gentle, compassionate spirit who was the only one I could talk to in my family.
‘Shirl, please help me,’ I was thinking in my head that night. ‘I just want to be with you now. You're the only one who's never let me down.’
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