Bad Boyfriend A-Z.... 'C is for Cannabis'

                                                            'C is for Cannabis'

I won't lie, I used to smoke weed. I started when I was a student, heavily influenced by my peers and living alone for the first time at 18 in London. I had a flat mate, we shall call her Alesha. Alesha was the perfect muslim daughter, face and body covered, regular prayers, no pork, no booze, no drugs, studious, elegant... Well at least she was when Daddy came to visit from Dubai, with gifts from his Cartier shop. She was the model muslim daughter; it was a thing of beauty. And she would see him off a Heathrow, before commencing her lengthy tube ride home to our flat on Holloway Road, were she would rip off that burka, and set about rolling herself a big fat joint in preparation for our night out to some big, dodgy, dark, sinister, crack filled 'nightclub'.

We often got ready together, she was a genuinely lovely girl, she was full of life, bold and streetwise, and she hated living a double life. I'll never forget the morning I found her Cartier lighter in our toilet,

"Alesha? You light your fags with Cartier?!"

"No I light my joints with Cartier! I must have passed out"

Anyway this was my first experience with cannabis and at the time I saw nothing wrong in chuffing it down my lungs til my head went spinny and I greened out. I vastly gave it up when I returned back to Kent, i just didn't live that lifestyle anymore, and i didn't miss it either. On the odd occasions I would save it for social gatherings, a few puffs when offered by friends and when I couldn't sleep after night shifts.

I'm getting to the 'bad boyfriend' bit, as this one will take some explaining.

You see I wanted to make it very clear that I, for many many years, did not have one little problem with this drug, apart from the fact I worked in mental health and knew there is strong evidence to suggest that smoking weed can bring on/ trigger psychosis, depression and anxiety. I guess it had never affected me directly, actually it had only ever been a nice, happy chilled thing to do...

Until around three years ago when I met Steve.

Steve used to smoke weed too, infact we met several years ago, and would socially have a smoke together, nothing happened between us back then, we both felt something for each other, but never let on, and we both had partners, so nothing ever happened... Until the latter part of the noughties that is.

When we met up via Facebook (yeh lame I know). We went for a drink, he told me he'd always liked me, and I confessed I once wished he was mine. One thing lead to another, as it does, and we ended up in a relationship. It felt like it was meant to be, like we were made for each other, I was thrilled to finally be with the man I once desperately wanted but couldn't have, and I think I mistook this for love. At least right now, I don't remember ever being in love with him.

HOW APT

When we started going out Steve told me he had given up weed, he smoked, we both did, but I didn't ever see him roll a joint until our first Valentines day together :(

It was pretty disheartening. He was out of work and was staying with me, pretty much rent free. The arrangement was that he bought some food and tried to find work. Anyway I needed a break and booked us a 4* hotel in central London, and theatre tickets for valentines weekend. He had been depressed for a while and I wanted to make him happy. He was really pleased I did it and told me he would make it up to me, but he didn't need to because a relationship is a partnership right? It's not about owing favours or paying each other back it's just about mutual care and respect, at least this is my take on things.

We awoke on Valentines morning in a beautiful hotel room, and it was all very romantic, until he sat up in bed, pulled out a bag of green and started fixing Rizlas together and I was a bit taken back. I asked him what the fuck he was doing? His reply...

"I'm on holiday"

If it makes it any better, he spent his whole JSA on a bottle of champers and a bunch of flowers for me. Who said romance is dead huh?!

                                    This also means something else, but we won't go there....

It all went downhill after that. He continued to smoke that shit whilst I continued to pay for everything. I started working two jobs to survive, evenings in a pub and days at my day job.

Sometimes I asked him to walk me home from the pub, but he couldn't because he had a WOW battle to attend.

He never ever seemed stoned and I rarely saw him smoking weed after that weekend. I was pretty convinced for a while that he had just smoked 'on holiday'

Our relationship turned bad, we rowed about silly things almost daily, I tried and tried to make things work, I was so desperate not to fail again, it was vital to me that things got better.

Anyway, it didn't get any better... In fact... It got so much worse...

A couple of weeks before we broke up, Steve began accusing me of cheating on him. This made me angry. It's something I've never done, it's just not in me, I can't deal with guilt, I can lie, it makes me sick with anxiety.

Ok there was one time I snogged a boy in Images in 1998, behind my boyfriends back when I was high on 90's trance and Tia Maria. I had a breakdown the next day and confessed all to him and he forgave me (I was so lucky, because he was a good one).
 

                                                                The scene of the crime

Anyway, Steve knew of a previous boyfriend I had, whom I was still friends with on my Facebook. Now this previous one was a liability too, not towards me but probably to the public in general. Anyway let's call him Phil.

One day Phil made the mistake of commenting on one of my many Facebook statuses.

Why is it as soon as you mention Facebook it all sounds a bit 'Jeremy Kyle'?

Anyway Steve saw this and immediately felt the need to tell me I must be shagging him.

"he hasn't commented for 7 months, your shagging him!"

Like it wasn't even a question. Steve's mind was made up. I was shagging Phil.

So we had lots of rows and in the end Steve said...

"I'm going to kill that Phil, I know people round here, I'll find him and smash his fucking face in"

Now this actually did concern me, as a few months prior to this I had discovered my bad boyfriend had some particularly bad connections with some particularly bad people and I knew that finding Phil might be particularly easy. I text Phil one of the strangest texts I've ever sent.

Dear Phil. Long time no see! It's me btw, you might have deleted my number. Erm... My bf Steve wants to kill you, he things you are shagging me. I think he's serious. Erm... Just watch your back. Sorry!

He replied,

Don't worry, I'm not bothered, hope your ok, do you need protection?

Ok... So Phil knows and he's not bothered.

And so we plodded on for a few days until Steve comes home late one night with a black eye.

"What the fuck happened" I was concerned.

"Don't pretend you don't know???!!!"

"I don't know"

"He hasn't called you today has he?"

"Who?"

"Phil?" with a smug glint in his eyes.

"What did you do?!"

"Lets just say he won't be walking for a very long time!"

"Who did you hurt?" Me pretty frightened.

"Phil"

"No you didn't, you couldn't, I don't believe you"

"It was him, tattoo on his left forearm, blonde hair, 6ft, can fucking walk" He laughs and stares at me like a stupid possessed person.

"Phil is bald"

"Oh"

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT"

He lunges towards me, holding both my shoulders in his big hands.

"WHAT?!!" His forehead pressed against mine.

He spits in my face, and I wait for the pain to hit me. And then I lose it, like properly lose it.

"DO IT, FUCKING DO IT, I DON'T FUCKING CARE ANYMORE"

Tears in my eyes, he backs off.

He says...

"If you go to sleep tonight you won't wake up"

And after endless rows, endless accusations, guilt trips, verbal abuse and manipulation, I went to bed.

In the morning I was disappointed to wake up alive.

And then he started again, he had been up all night, smoking weed, working out crazy theories about me and Phil and had decided Phil and I want him dead.

"I know I won't be alive by the end of today, I know Phil and you are going to kill me. I'm going out today, I'll get him this time, and I'll kill you both before you get me. I'll kill him first, slowly whilst you watch, that'll teach you for fucking around"

And then he lost it... He completely lost it. All I remember is screaming and shouting and roaring and the sound of things breaking, and I ran.

I ran to the police station.

Thats the last time I saw him in my home.

He was charged with threats to kill and bailed and I sought advice from a domestic violence charity. I then spent every last penny to pay for a non molestation order, so he couldn't come near me or my home for a year.

The CPS dropped the charges through lack of evidence, but I had what I needed. Freedom.

When clearing up his stuff, what did I find? About £40 worth of green, and some scales, turns out he was dealing the whole time. He also left with a kitchen knife... Unless I find it hidden away one day I'm pretty sure he had it on his person when he was arrested. I liked that knife. But the scariest thing was the paranoia, and what it cost me, emotionally, it was devastating.

You know I always wonder if there was a poor innocent guy who ended up hurt because my boyfriend couldn't stop getting high.  If there was, then I would like to apologise to that man.

So that's my cannabis story. It's not as funny, but I wanted to share it. Let the fun resume with something beginning with D!