‘No level of stigma or public hatred is going to get people like me clean’

‘Amber’ believes the new medically supervised injecting facility at Merchants Quay will at least allow her and fellow addicts a modicum of privacy and dignity

'Amber' is an active injecting drug user: 'This new facility – an environment . . . where we are not going to be treated like dirt, will give me head space.' Photograph: Bryan O’Brien
'Amber' is an active injecting drug user: 'This new facility – an environment . . . where we are not going to be treated like dirt, will give me head space.' Photograph: Bryan O’Brien

Amber (not her real name), who injects heroin and crystal meth “five times a day minimum” will “absolutely use” Ireland’s first medically supervised injecting facility (MSIF) at Merchants Quay when it opens before Christmas.

“It will change my life,” she says. “If its vision is even halfway realised it will be somewhere tranquil, where you can take your time. I am so tense when I am injecting I have had a needle break in my arm. Being able to relax, there is no price on the peace that would come with that.”

Now in her mid-30s, a slight woman, she fidgets while speaking, plaiting and stroking her hair. She describes a childhood in a rural area scarred by chaos, violence and sex abuse. She “escaped to Dublin” in her teens.

Amber (not her real name), who injects heroin and crystal meth “five times a day minimum” will “absolutely use” Ireland’s first medically supervised injecting facility at Merchants Quay. Photo: Bryan O’Brien / The Irish Times
Amber (not her real name), who injects heroin and crystal meth “five times a day minimum” will “absolutely use” Ireland’s first medically supervised injecting facility at Merchants Quay. Photo: Bryan O’Brien / The Irish Times

“I knew nothing about normal life and got into a series of really bad relationships with violent men,” says Amber.

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“I lost my virginity in the sex trade and have never really had sex not for money. I got into heroin pretty young. It’s still my main drug and I drink vodka daily.”

She went home at one stage to escape a violent relationship but returned to Dublin after a night.

“There was nowhere safe.”

Her most recent ‘partner’, also her pimp, is in prison, having been arrested while beating her up down a lane in central Dublin.

“We’d ended up working from a tent in the park. He’d send the Johns in and he’d pay me in drugs, so I’d be totally out of it most of the time. I am on my own now which makes it quite scary.

“I charge €100 [for sex] but it is more down to €80 now because I have so much track marks [injection scars] but there are some who don’t care.”

Her days are spent begging and “doing tricks” [selling sex] to buy drugs and finding somewhere to inject.

“My day is ruled by having nowhere to inject. I go down side streets, into toilets in shopping centres and train stations.

Amber: "I can’t inject into my arms, all my veins are gone, so you roll your waistband down and inject into your groin."  Photo: Bryan O’Brien / The Irish Times
Amber: "I can’t inject into my arms, all my veins are gone, so you roll your waistband down and inject into your groin." Photo: Bryan O’Brien / The Irish Times

“I hate using in public. I can’t inject into my arms, all my veins are gone, so you roll your waistband down and inject into your groin. I have been in alleys, desperate, and people shout: ‘You are disgusting. You are scum’. But when you’re sick you’re sick. I’ve been called bitch, vermin, told: ‘Find somewhere else to do that’ But there is nowhere.”

Eddie Mullins, chief executive of Merchants Quay Ireland which will operate the facility, says a majority of people who inject drugs have experienced deep trauma and poverty.

“No one I know who takes drugs is happy with their life. They absolutely want a better life,” he says.

Amber believes the MSIF will help change how she sees herself.

“I am reminded every time I have to use, I am disgusting. No level of stigma or public hatred is going to get people like me clean. We already hate ourselves. I know I have hurt people and I deeply regret most of my life. There is so much I wish I could change but I just can’t. I am still a human being and I don’t deserve this.

“But this new facility – an environment . . . where we are not going to be treated like dirt, will give me head space when I am not being hunted all the time.

“I am not saying I will get instantly clean. I won’t. I am in too deep. But it will give you space to think, plan ahead and maybe cut down. Right now, it is hard to think beyond, ‘Where am I going to use next?’ It’s exhausting. This will give a bit of dignity.

“There is no dignity in injecting into your groin in a public toilet.”

Amber is speaking to The Irish Times with the support of Uisce (Union for Improved Services, Community and Education), an advocacy service for people who use drugs, with which she is involved as a peer outreach worker and advises on safe-injecting training.

“Uisce is the first organisation that has valued what I say,” says Amber. “It feels like the only bright thing in my life. I am so proud of what I can do, speaking out for people like me.”

Kitty Holland

Kitty Holland

Kitty Holland is Social Affairs Correspondent of The Irish Times