Danielle John, 41, is an employment and skills coach in Cardiff. Here, she explains how her party drug habit led to a downward spiral of addiction and crime.
I didn’t realise I was addicted until it was too late.
I bumped into a friend on the way to the shops and told her I had the flu – that I felt like I was dying. I was sweating and had really bad stomach cramps, and she told me:
‘It’s not the flu. You’re clucking. If you have a smoke now you’ll feel better.’ It was heroin withdrawal.
I’d been living in Dublin for over a year by this point, which in those days was known as smack city.
I was 17 and had started using heroin for the come down when we were out partying; it was what everyone did. Then it became a smoke in the evening, then a sneaky smoke in the daytime.
I’d started taking drugs – speed and cocaine – when I was 14 in response to a chaotic childhood. I went wild running the streets. I was looking for a new family; somewhere to belong.
My mum couldn’t get a grip on me at all and I ended up in the wrong crowd. I was desperate to belong, and would do anything that was asked of me. By the age of 16, I was being exploited.
I thought I knew what I was doing, but I was being groomed. An older man – in his thirties – would get a load of fresh credit cards that people didn’t know were ordered in their names.
He would pick me up, take me to London, we would use the cards to buy stuff, pick up drugs and take it back to Cardiff.
I fell in love, moved to Dublin and had a baby. But when my mum heard I was on drugs, she moved nearby.
When she realised there were drug users in my flat while my son was there, she reported me to social services. They took him to live with her.
At the time I hated her, but it was what made me realise I needed to turn my life around. After two years I’d had enough, I came back to Cardiff, got off the drugs, sorted my life out and got my son back.
Ten years passed and I’d moved back to Cardiff, where I was doing well. I was in a new relationship, working in the pub and I decided to try for a baby.
But I had polycystic ovaries and ended up having nine miscarriages in the space of a year and a half. It was heartbreaking. All my friends were having babies and I felt alone. I hated myself. I didn’t feel like a woman. I felt like a failure.
The miscarriages left me tired all the time; I lost a lot of blood. There would be cocaine everywhere, and I started taking it to get me through the evening.
I’d only earn £35 a shift and I’d spend £40 on coke. It ended up costing me a fiver to go to work so then I lost my job for not showing up, and I started relying on shoplifting.
After a miscarriage, I missed an appointment for Universal Credit and I was sanctioned 272 days with no benefits. My mental health was really bad at this point and I started smoking crack.
A horrific cycle emerged; I couldn’t shoplift without the drugs because I wasn’t brave enough, then I would need to shoplift to pay for the drugs – for me and others.
Everything fell apart. My bills weren’t paid, my flat was disgusting, I was disgusting. I was wasting away. I’m tall and naturally a size 12 or 14, but I was wearing age-11 jeans with tracksuit bottoms underneath to keep them up. My eyes hollowed out and I looked like a skeleton.
Every morning, somebody would knock on my door, wake me up and give me a pipe. I wouldn’t have time for a shower, I’d get dressed and go out shoplifting.
I wasn’t washing my clothes, I wasn’t looking after myself. I had gone to extremes that I never thought I’d see. I couldn’t believe how dirty I was, how dirty my flat was.
I was trapped in this drug world and I couldn’t get out. I ended up in a relationship with another user, and if I didn’t get the drugs, there would be violence, as the crack turned our relationship into something volatile
Every day I woke up crying as I went through the motions. It was like Groundhog Day. I had Hashimoto’s disease by this point, so my body would be like rigor mortis when I woke. My partner would have to straighten my hands and fingers, I was in so much pain.
I would start the day with a pipe and then go shoplifting around 9am. People would give me orders, and I would go to the supermarket, fill the trolley, walk it to the bus stop, get on the bus and go and sell it for £100.
It was desperation. Drugs make you do things you’d never do otherwise. Or if I didn’t have an order I would take anything that didn’t have an alarm; big boxes of tea bags, coffee, washing powder, baby nappies and wipes, and sell it half price at the council estate.
I would have a smoke, then go and do it all over again. I would do three trolleys a day, which would all go on drugs, targeting different supermarkets so I didn’t get spotted. My heart would be pumping, I would be sweating. I never knew if they were watching me on the cameras.
Of course, I got caught and ended up with a two-month sentence and then a five-month sentence – both for shoplifting. Short sentences don’t work. You can easily get drugs in prison and it’s not enough time to get involved with training or treatment. It’s just a respite from the lifestyle.
When I came out the second time, my flat had been broken into by other drug users and they’d totally trashed it. There was rubbish everywhere, needles, foil, crack pipes. It was terrible. It looked like a squat. I remember opening the door and having to push against all the junk that was in front of it.
The council had come to take away around 100 needles, but I found sharps tucked into the sofa and I was scared to sit on it. Everything had to be thrown out. I slept on the floor on a blanket. I sat there, looked around the flat and thought – what can I do? So I had a pipe.
Then one morning in 2017, I was on the bus going into town to do more shoplifting and I realised, I couldn’t do it any more. So I got off the bus and went up to my mum’s to get away from the drugs. I linked in with my probation officer and she put me in touch with the St Giles Trust and a charity called the Wallich.
People think that addiction is a choice. It’s not a choice. People don’t want to live this life. They are desperate. Crack was harder to kick than heroin. But both times I was using drugs as a way to deal with the pain and trauma. I just had to be strong. It was a year before I was clean and I could go back to my flat.
I applied to be a wellbeing coach at St Giles and I got the job. Since then, my life has totally turned around. I am now studying forensic psychology at uni, so I can change the way people with addictions and mental health conditions are treated in the criminal justice system and I’m also working with kids in county lines.
It made me realise I was targeted when I was 14 because I was vulnerable. I spent 30 years looking for somewhere to belong, now I’ve found my gang in St Giles. It’s been amazing.
Now, I’ve got a support system, a nice home, a nice car. I’m happy and settled now and optimistic about the future.
I love helping people and knowing I am having a positive effect on their life. I wouldn’t have been able to do that without St Giles. It’s taken 30 years but I’ve found my place at last.’
Danielle has launched a new podcast called #TellMeYourStory about people who have come through adversity or addiction and turned their lives around.
As told to Sarah Ingram
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