Everyone has recovery inside them. No matter how hopeless it may feel, no matter the nature of the addiction. I was brought up in a family where both my parents were addicts – my mum to drugs, my dad to alcohol.
It wasn’t what my mum wanted for me, but it was what I saw. To deal with your problems, to make money, to have a good time – it was the easiest way. September is Recovery Month , when we celebrate the lives saved from addition, and remember those who sadly lost theirs to it.
I’m proof that the former is always possible, the latter not inevitable. Recovery Month took me back to HMP Perth, last week, as a volunteer and mentor this time. I’ve now helped more than 200 people with addiction and other challenges – I’m addicted to helping now, to feeling good about myself – but in 2018, I was not in HMP Perth out of choice.
Job, car, girlfriend, all lost I first started taking drugs as a teenager, despite working full time and holding down a good job. Everyone’s life is split between their work and colleagues on one hand, and their friends and home life on the other. But for me, that divide seemed even greater.
I came home from work and went into that other life with friends who were taking drugs, who were in and out of prison, and increasingly, I felt I was missing out. Why Scotland’s drug deaths crisis will only get worse without radical reform The truth is, that world seemed so appealing to me then. For a long time, I didn’t even know I was addicted – I was in denial.
One morning, I woke up with what I thought was a cold. My younger brother woke up and saw I wasn’t at work. “I have a cold,” I told him.
“I feel awful.” “No, you don’t,” he replied. “You have a heroin habit.
Take this and you’ll feel fine in 30 minutes.” He handed me a bag and he was right. So, I went down that path.
I quit my job, sold my car, lost my girlfriend. I was hurting people In my 20s, my life changed to such a huge extent. It’s not just that other people didn’t recognise me – I look back now, and I don’t recognise the person I became.
I’d gone from being fit and healthy to really thin. My clothes were hanging off me, and I was dirty and unwashed. I was hurting people, stealing from people.
I really didn’t care about myself and when you don’t care about yourself, you don’t have capacity to care about anyone else. Why 'shocking' 12% drug deaths rise in Scotland was worse than expected When my mum died, I didn’t care if I lived or died. Some of that was to do with grief and trauma, but a lot, maybe 60 per cent of it, was about addiction.
It drives every choice you make, and every action you take. I remember when I was 26 and sitting in my bedroom. It had gone from having everything a young boy could want to being almost empty.
Attempted murder I had already been in and out of prison when, in 2018, I was convicted of attempted murder. I had lost my temper to such an extent that I stupidly picked up a knife. I almost killed a guy over nothing.
It was the worst thing that ever happened, but it was also the thing that made me realise I needed to change. Six months into a seven-and-a-half-year sentence, I started to notice, every morning, everyone has the same breakfast, same clothes, same flipflops on. I started to think, I can’t take this anymore.
One evening, in my cell, my mind was racing at 100mph – then suddenly it stopped. It was like when Roadrunner came to an abrupt halt in the cartoons, and I had that moment of clarity. I remember thinking that I had two choices – end my life or change it.
And I thought that, while I don’t like my life right now, I do like living. Ending my life was not an option, so I had to change. First drug-free day I remember when I got completely drug-free and took medicine for the very last time – 26 June, 2020 – that date is now like a birthday to me I was transferred to HMP Castle Huntly, the open estate, and was employed as a harm reduction peer mentor.
That made me realise, this is what I want to do. I want to share my story and help others. Recovery is hard and while not everyone recovers, anyone can recover.
When you connect with someone you see it in their eyes. It’s like someone switches on a light right behind their pupils. The most important thing to remember is that your past does not define you as a person and does not have to determine how you live in the future.
Making a difference As I said, everyone has recovery inside them – whether they’re in custody or the community – it’s just getting to that right mindset. When people do recover, they can change their lives beyond their wildest dreams, get a job that means something, make a difference. I used to have a negative impact on my wider community, now I have a really positive impact.
I was the first prisoner to be part of the Perth Recovery Team. The first to go from HMP Castle Huntly to help people in HMP Perth. Now, after being released, I volunteer at Parish Nursing, in Dundee, helping people with addiction, mental health, homelessness and other issues.
Prisons have come a long way in the last 15 years, particularly HMP Perth, when it comes to recovery – a lot further than most community settings. But there’s still a long way to go. This may sound strange, but the biggest risk for prisons is not taking a risk on a person.
Anyone can change, I’m proof..
