A former addict is earning the trust of women who sell sex on the streets of Southend as she devotes her life to giving them a route out.

For those of you who are interested, there is a part of the 12-step recovery process that ‘suggests’ we try to make amends to those people/communities we have harmed. I say ‘suggest’ because you might be surprised to know, there are no real absolutes in recovery, not in my experience anyway, the only ‘suggestion’ I have adhered to without question, is to not use that first drink or drug, no matter what. (15 years and counting this year) While I briefly have your attention, I’d like to debunk another myth if I may. I don’t believe in ‘god’ certainly not any theocratic/religious god anyway, some of my friends do, many are agnostic, but nobody has the right to tell me or anyone else what I ‘need’ to believe in. I ‘believe’ in the shared experience and wisdom of others who have stayed clean/sober too and that is why I find so much ‘power’ from attending fellowship meetings whenever possible. It is precisely for these reasons, the ‘amends’ and the need for others walking the same path, that it was suggested to me in early recovery, to start a fellowship meeting in Stoke Newington, Hackney, the neighborhood that had been exposed to years of my two-bob junkie behavior. I did ‘things’ that impacted on my community and wanted to try to put some of that right where possible. I’d moved away for the first few months of my recovery but returned to my little flat after six months. There is line in the 9th-step, the ‘amends’ step that says, “We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so, would injure them or others”. My ‘idea’ at the time was to approach the various shop-owners I’d been pilfering from for years and ‘own’ my previous behavior, it was suggested to me, that this course of action may indeed result in further injuries, mainly to me as most of the people I intended to approach were possibly not that bothered about hearing from one of the (retired) major players in the sale of stolen salmon/razorblades/coffee/anything I could get a tenner for, and might perhaps enjoy the opportunity to clump one of the ‘kind’ of people who were/are the bane of their livelihoods. So ‘we’ started a meeting in Stoke Newington, the ‘we’ being me and Carrie and a few other like-minded souls who were all just trying to get another day clean. Carrie, she’d be the first to admit it, could be ‘difficult’, one of her biggest problems was her inability to forgive herself for that, to accept herself and care about herself as just another human-being, who’d experienced such deep trauma, that being ‘difficult’ was merely a consequence of her own experiences, many of which were indeed so deeply traumatic, that the healing from them might take a very long time. In recovery, we get time, not so much in active addiction. Addicts don’t really ‘like’ time though, much of what we’re attempting to do in active addiction is to either distort or avoid the passing of it completely, that’s why drugs are so attractive to us, they disconnect ‘us’ from ourselves, others and the archenemy, our feelings and the hours/days/weeks that attack us with those feelings. One of the truisms I heard in early recovery is “If you want to know what the problem really is, stop using drugs and you’ll find out.” Obviously, staring at yourself in a mirror while trying to inject heroin into your neck is a strong indicator that you ‘might’ have a problem with drugs (in my experience) but for many of ‘us’ it is only when we manage to stop that kind of self-destructive behavior that we begin to get a clearer understanding of the reasons why we suffered that sort of shit for so long. It’s not really ‘normal’ that kinda stuff is it? *Reality klaxon alert* SOME PEOPLE JUST GET ADDICTED TO DRUGS BECAUSE MOST DRUGS ARE VERY ADDICTIVE *Has quick vape* So yeah, ‘we’ started a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in N16, it’s still there today and over the years, I’ve witnessed people walk through the door and find what they needed to improve their lives, often beyond measure. The ‘Boy’ in The Boy in the Doorway, did exactly that, he’d sat begging outside Sainsburys on the High Street for years, “Wrapped up in shadows and sorrow, hiding from history.” I walked past him often, we spoke a couple of times then one day he wasn’t there anymore, and I assumed he’d died, like Gary and ‘fat’ John his brother, Kevin, Pete, Scouse, Rena, Graham, Juno, the list goes on. He hadn’t died. “Went past the boy in the doorway, saw he was gone. Heard he’d moved to the coast for a cure, his time here was done.” He came back from the coast, clean for the first time In his life and has remained so, he’s been to college and is now qualified to teach art, his childhood dream now becoming a reality. I love him like a brother and find him inspirational in ways that words cannot adequately express. Marie came to the meeting too, she knew Carrie well, they’d used together, they’d both resorted to what many women sadly find themselves having to do to support a vicious and soul-destroying addiction. They’d both experienced the violence, the degradation, the humiliation, the rapes, the seemingly insurmountable tsunami of self-loathing that stems from all this. By the time Marie arrived at the Stoke Newington meeting, Carrie had relapsed back into active addiction and was again exposed to the daily nightmare of standing on Shacklewell Lane as local men cruised by in their cars looking for another woman so damaged, they would climb inside for less than £20. Think about that for a minute. I’m not a woman, I’m not going to even try to explain what that must feel like but there was one incident that occurred that gave me just the slightest insight into how these things play-out for women who find themselves in that position. I lived a few doors up from Carries flat, Shacklewell Lane was a 2-minute walk from ours and so I drove along it regularly. I was coming home after work one night, dark, cold wet, hostile, miserable in the extreme. (the weather not me) There’s a small park, the Island which creates the opportunity for cars to circulate along that particular stretch of Shacklewell Lane, drivers can go round and round looking for women like Carrie. That night, I slowed down as I approached the island, the car in front of me was stationary, so I also came to a halt, when suddenly, there’s a tap on the car window, rain and condensation making it difficult to see either in or out, and then there’s a face, “Business mate, business?” Then silence and a tiny, helpless scream as Carrie realizes it’s me, her friend not some creepy curb-crawling scumbag. The look on her face, the shame, the absolute horror she was instantly assailed by as she started to cry, “Oh fucking hell, no Simon…sorry I’m really sorry, I’m so sorry” She scurried off back into the shadows and sorrow of Shacklewell Lane, I never saw her alive again. Carrie Louise Althorpe died April 1st, 2017. I saw Marie every week, she came to the meeting, she got clean in NA meetings, a demonstration of such heroic conviction to the recovery process and the compassion and encouragement offered by other members to those who arrive in need of our support. She’d read a book about another addict’s story of addiction and his own recovery process in NA meetings, which briefly detailed that individuals own experience of enduring chronic withdrawals from heroin/crack. Getting clean in meetings, cold turkey, no detox, no rehab, just the meetings and the people who supported him. She believed that what was written in that book was honest and that she could also achieve the same results. It was and she did. There’s many ways ‘we’ can share a message of hope, some people forget that, I can forget it too, but I try not to. Marie eventually returned to her hometown of Southend, and just as I and John, (the boy in the doorway) had also experienced, she discovered that it is possible to stay clean in those places that had witnessed so many of our nightmares, it is possible to try and make our amends to those communities who had been affected by our behavior during those times. Another truism I’ve heard many times over the years, is that ‘if’ an addict puts even half the energy into their recovery, that they put into their using, they will not only stay clean, but they might also do remarkable things. *2nd Truth Klaxon* THERE ARE FEW THINGS MORE REMARKABLE THAN AND ADDICT/ALCOHOLIC GETTING AND STAYING CLEAN/SOBER (In my opinion) Marie knew that she had something to offer, particularly to other women who were still standing on street corners at the mercy of men wishing to exploit their vulnerability, often for less money than the price of a round of drinks. She ‘felt’ that Carrie wanted her to try and do something to help those women. There were no services whatsoever available to the ladies of Ambleside Drive in Southend when Marie returned to live there, a few years clean, still very much in her own process of addressing her own trauma and the consequences of her own addiction. She chose to address these, face on and part of that process involved trying to create something that could help others. No formal ‘qualifications’, no money, seemingly very little interest at first from those apparently charged with trying to help some of the most vulnerable women in society. “What did we do as a society to allow these women to become victims to drug addiction and sexual exploitation? “ Like I said earlier in this piece, ‘If’ an addict puts even half the energy into their recovery, that they put into their using, they will not only stay clean, but they might also do remarkable things. Marie and those she gathered together to assist her have done something truly remarkable you can read all about it here. https://www.aspirationsprogram.co.uk/ Hightown Pirates are a collective of musicians in various forms of recovery from addiction, we have always included women in our number, some of whom have also experienced similar things to Carrie and Marie. “We sing our songs to the empty rooms, we’ll kiss your scars until you love them too, the lovers and the others, the dreamers who can never ever sleep.” We are entirely self-supporting, no label, no management and zero interest from an industry that literally dances on the graves of those artists who did not survive their own addictions, but still make huge profits for the record -labels who ‘own’ their songs. We are releasing our latest song on Valentines day 2021, it’s called The Boy in the Doorway, songwriter Simon Mason, wrote it about Carrie and John. We would urge you to donate anything you feel comfortable with, to the following link so that the work being undertaken by the charity can continue to help those it seeks to serve. https://www.aspirationsprogram.co.uk/sex-worker-outreach It will be available on all digital streaming platforms on February 14th. “We keep what we have, by giving it away.” It is dedicated to Carrie and the countless other who are no longer with us. Marie asked me to add her words to this piece, so here they are. “Firstly, I think I need to get the point across that women with an addiction problem do not choose to sell sex! I certainly didn’t when I was asked in school what I wanted to be when I grew up did not say I want to sell my soul over and over again sometimes for the price of McDonald’s Meal Deal. I’d have answered I want to be a writer. Women who sell sex had Hopes, dreams & Aspirations. Cruelly taken away from the need to numb the pain most likely from adverse childhood experiences, or a absent parent. When I came back to Southend I moved back near the red-light area. I’d see women I’d used with still there in the dark, in the rain more often than not withdrawing. I’d cringe because I knew the night(s) they had ahead of them. Long lonely gut wrenching, soul destroying, heartbreaking nights. What I also noticed was the women who weren’t around, the women who were dead, my using friends, a mother a daughter a sister an aunt, not going home to their families ever again. A few months after moving home I got the news our beautiful Carrie had taken her own life, I was devastated, I mean really devastated. After her funeral on the long train ride home I thought about Carrie and the high volumes of women who I knew had died. I started to cry uncontrollably. It was then I knew I had to do something. I don’t have any qualifications, I was living in hostel after being made homeless, but I knew my experience was worth something, in fact any using addict who has got clean experience is priceless. I started calling drug commissioners asking what was in place for the women who sell sex. I was told there was a woman’s group at 10am on a Thursday at our local drug and alcohol service. 10am? A woman who sells sex would not have long crawled into bed at 10am. So, I got up and took on a functional skills course at my local college, which ironically, is situated on the red-light area. I went on every bit of trauma Informed care training I could get my hands on; I attended every meeting within local services I could get in to, being a voice to the women who had lost theirs. In March 2020 I went to the £1 shop and brought condoms, toiletries, and chocolate, put them into bags with my phone number and headed off on to the red-light area with a friend from the local soup kitchen I was volunteering at. It took time, perseverance, and courage to go back to the corner I sold myself so cheaply from. Then it happened the women one by one started to call my phone. I’ve built up strong trusting relationships with the women where others haven’t been able too. We fundraised in the same way I used to graft for my crack. We got enough money for a venue right by the red-light area. We spent months in there painting and creating a trauma Informed environment for the women. When the first woman came through the door her words “ This is my safe place from him “ she is talking about her abusive partner. I was asked yesterday “ What would success look like to me?” My answer? “ If we can exit one woman from the trauma and damage that street prostitution brings and she makes it out like I did, that’s what success looks like to me.” Our outreach service is named after our dear friend Carrie, as you said Simon there’s many ways to carry a message, Carrie has certainly left a powerful message. “Spoke to the boy in the doorway, same place as yesterday. He’s all wrapped up in shadows, sorrow, hiding from history. But he’ll still raise a glass to his demons, pick fights with reality. Don’t you know that I’d put some skin on those bones, he won’t let me. But I looked straight into his eyes and I told him, I care. And I whispered, very softly, don’t be so scared. Hey man, you seen our Carrie? she don’t answer her phone. Don’t you know that died, just last week and she died, cold and alone. So, go dance to some sad songs, she’d like it that way. Then go sit in your circles, maybe I’ll join you one day. And she looked straight into my eyes, and she told me, please care, And she whispered, very softly, don’t be so scared. Went past the boy in the doorway, saw he was gone. Heard he’d moved to the coast for a cure, his time here was done. But the girl that sits in his place, looks exactly the same. She knows all the words to my song; she don’t know her own name. And she looked straight into my eyes, and she said, please won’t you care. Then she whispered very softly, don’t be so scared. And she looked straight into my eyes, god knows what she’ll find there? And I told her, very softly, I used to sit there.”