Dancing with the devil is not just about the drugs. It’s The Game, learning to handle the filters, the spoon, the drugs, riding the wave of anticipation, impatient for the ritual of the injection. It’s the love affair with the needle, the thrill of watching, as the blood rose blossoms in the syringe right after a vein is registered.

The longer the dance goes, the deeper the addiction, the more you love the needle. Nothing matters when you’re getting ready for that rush.

“I insert the needle into my arm and push down until I feel my vein pop as the needle’s head pushes through. There is a plume of dark cherry red splash colour as it enters the barrel in a swirling motion. I carefully push the mixture of meth and blood back into my vein and pull back again to make sure I’m still drawing blood before emptying the rest of the liquid into my vein.

I remove the needle nice and slow, and I enjoy that feeling when the needle comes out and the rush is imminent. This is the best. There is no yesterday; there is no tomorrow; there is only now, this wonderfully, delightful moment. Sometimes, sitting alone in my room on the edge of my bed, I catch a glimpse of a stranger in the mirror, preparing the needle, and it takes time to register that it’s me. Am I a junkie? The thought bounces around in my head, and the words stick in my throat. How many lines I have crossed.”

The progression to heroin is not quick, but slow and methodical. There is always someone willing to introduce you, to walk you over another line.  Haidee, a very petite wannabe student, with a lip ring and platinum blonde hair with handmade dreadlocks superglued to the crown of her head, walked her across the line.   When she met her, Haidee was working nightshift for cash-in-hand at a club and ripping off a few bucks playing the dole system. 

“It was a quiet, sleepy, Sunday afternoon.  We were looking to score some meth off one of her friends, a part-time dealer. What we found was five people slumped on the couches and bed in a Brisbane suburban lounge room. Everyone there is on the nod, that delicious, tranquillity that flows from heroin. Heroin is for junkies and I’m not too sure I’m ready for this.”

But you have already crossed the line to needle junkie. This is just one more step. Today’s choice, today’s step, is either heroin or that nerve-stretching nothing.  That’s the thing with addiction, at first the needle is exciting, then you start doing it with fewer people, and eventually, you find yourself completely alone.

But we are not there yet. Back in the suburban lounge room, there are empty spoons and filters on the coffee table. Lou Reed is playing.  A guy on the main couch with a ponytail who looks to be about 25, slowly points to a small white bag. This is Duane, tradie, part-time dealer. His eyes are glassy and his pupils the size of pins.

“Heroin is not my usual drug of choice, so Duane mixes the shots – 20ml for me and 30ml for Haidee.  She holds up her arm and presses on her vein so that the drugs flow to her brain as quickly as possible – Five, Four, Three, Two, One… BAM!!! My turn now – pressing down, release. Oh My Fucking God! I felt this amazing warmth pulsating through my entire body and veins – it was as though someone had shot me up with some sort of nectar from the Gods.

I felt like I was floating amongst the clouds and everything was cosy and warm and beautiful. Like coming in from the freezing cold and hopping into a nice warm bath. Everything was okay, everything was cruisy.

Life was perfect. I sat in that lounge room on the same chair for about six hours, only moving to vomit. I loved the feeling of ‘nodding off’ where you just fall into a semi-conscious state of bliss with your head hanging down.”