Tag Archives: drugs

Amy Winehouse: The Untold Story

R.I.P Amy xx

 

“I loved crack and smack more than I did Amy and her the same”

The words of Blake Fielder-Civil ex-husband of the late Amy Winehouse who many point the finger at for her downward spiral into a dismal life of addiction.

Intense media fascination had surrounded the life of Amy Winehouse, which in turn fed the publics’ obsession as to what went on in her personal life to display the blank-eyed girl on-stage. I am a self-confessed onlooker and fan that consumed the many stories, dubious pictures and the shocking footage featured revealing the star smoking crack. Fuelling this intrigue was not only the controversy; it was in fact this delivery. The ‘rock n roll’ lifestyle is notoriously known for heavy drug use, many of the worlds most talented artists have been guilty of using at one point or another. Only more recently, candid video footage of celebrities caught red-handed is falling into the wrong hands. Most would expect the undeniable evidence of Amy’s behaviour to wave goodbye to her career, but actually it didn’t stop fans from queuing to see her perform – which I think speaks volumes. Nevertheless, the coverage served a purpose in the form of warning signs detecting something destructive about the Winehouse-Civil relationship. Still intrigued, like many others, at the long-term causes of Amy’s death I intently watched the documentary The Untold Story on channel 5 to shed some light.

It was the first time some of the closest people in Amy’s life were seen on camera, but one unanticipated voice was ex-husband Blake Fielder-Civil – the influence that won her heart and admits to providing the drugs in their relationship. The two’s on/off troubled relationship often became the heart of inspiration for the greatest work Amy had ever produced in best-selling album Back to Black. This truthful album not only won five Grammy awards, but was a form of emotional release from a woman her own husband depicts as ‘one of the loneliest people he’d ever met’. In the 2009 interview, Blake describes their intense passion for each other stimulated by drugs, but in the end torn apart as a result of their addictions.

Speaks a thousand words

He admits that her first dealings with hard drugs were supplied by him and it just seems Amy grew more curious to try the next high. All of this became aware by the public, when the two were photographed (right) in a horrific state which Blake continues to explain as self-harm whilst on a heavy drug binge. There it was. The truths lay bare from the man that lived the wild life alongside one of the most talented women of our generation. Aside from Amy’s demons, I hope she is remembered in the way she would have wanted; for the contribution she made to music. A unique voice, an trademark style and of course the integration of jazz/soul/R&B to create a genre that Amy delivered so well in her heartfelt performances.

Though, Amy’s untimely death is a huge loss, it should act as a caution to those who are living their lives in the same dangerous way that she did. At 27 years of age Amy had already achieved so much and probably had a lot more to give, as well pursuing her dreams of being a mother. Ambition is alive in us all; live strong to make them a reality.

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‘Addiction’ part II

“Megan” a comforting whisper echoed in my ear, as I looked up to see a familiar face, but not one that I would ever want to see me in this state. It was my grandma Paula. Looking up to see the worry in her eyes was heartbreaking, but a look that was familiar. She had always been there for me through all my setbacks and, believe me, there have been many. If there was one woman whom I respected, whom I wished to mirror it would be her without a doubt. I held her gaze. I had so much to say, that I wanted to tell her. But no words materialised. It only took two words escaping her lips to start the tears; “Darling, why?” Slowly tears were trickling down my face, as I tried to explain.

“I didn’t think. I can’t explain. It was the only way I could see out…” I said sobbing.

“You know this wasn’t the way to do that. Look what you’ve done to yourself and…” she paused, struggling to compose herself.

The disappointment that I could feel was unbearable and I could see I had failed her once again. A stupid mistake? No. Worse this time.

After a long silence grandma Paula finally asked: “So, come on, what was it and was it worth it?”

“I don’t know” I answered dismissively.

“Do you think I’m stupid?! The doctors have already told me what you’ve poisoned your body with. I just wanted to hear it from you; I thought you owed me the truth at the least.”

“You know. Usual and I’m not really sure what else.”

I was so ashamed at the substances that I couldn’t even bring myself to say it, not to her and the worst thing was I didn’t even know what I had or hadn’t taken. The state I was in before going to that place almost determined the outcome, but I never thought it would be this bad, ever. My Nana sat beside me. The look in her eyes turned from hurt and disappointment to sympathy, as she turned and said: “I knew you weren’t dealing with it very well, but this. I’ve never turned my back on you no matter what foolish mess you’ve got yourself into.”

I knew she was right. I couldn’t say a thing. My flippant responses were the only thing I had. I couldn’t show it but inside I was devastated. Her eyes met mine instantly she could tell.

“I found the letter” she said.

“What letter?” I asked, slightly unsure.

“The one you hid under your bed, from the hospital telling you about the first scan.”

“I won’t be going to the hospital for any scan now will I. There is no baby.”

There it was. Those words. I uttered them, as if it was nothing. As if I felt nothing. But the grief was excruciating, it felt as if every emotion inside me had been challenged, by this consequence that I just couldn’t take. My parents had given up on me, years ago. I turned self-destructive, seemed to meet the wrong kind of people along the way. Got into drugs, at first it was only marijuana and then I would be trying everything. One word. Addiction. Joe, I thought he cared about me, but junkies don’t make good friends. We got close you could say, in the way that he got me pregnant and ran a mile when I told him. He could never have been a father, seventeen and an addict.

“What have I done?” I murmured, as the realisation hit me like a wall.

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