My name is Nidal, I’m half Lebanese, half French. I was born and raised in the Congo. I graduated in journalism and for seven years I worked for two big French and Arabic newspapers. Three years ago I came to London to work for my Masters degree – the first two years were perfect, but then tragedy struck and my beloved Dad died of a sudden and unexpected heart attack.
My life went into tailspin. I started using drugs to ease the pain of my sorrow and before I knew it I was a slave, a prisoner trapped in my own body. With every smoke of my pipe, I was losing a friend, my family’s trust and support and finally my accommodation. I was homeless, chasing dealers in the street, thinking only about my next hit. I was surrounded by junkies and crack heads and I was petrified and ashamed to realize that I was becoming like them. After losing everything my freedom didn’t mean much; desperate for drugs I shoplifted and all I remember is the cold handcuffs on my wrists and the stinky smell of the previous criminals in the police cell.
I was in custody for five days but it felt like five years – I begged God to stop the agony of cold turkey. When I was taken to court for sentencing I was staggered to find that the judge refused conditional bail unless I had an address where I could be electronically tagged. All my friends turned their backs on me, how could this be happening to me, I’m a journalist, a student, a nice middle class Lebanese girl and I was going to spend the next month in Holloway.
I thought my life was over, but then they told me a charity called Shelter from the Storm had agreed to give me a bed. After three weeks in the shelter I am overwhelmed by the love and support of the amazing volunteers. I don’t feel lonely or scared, I am surrounded by people who live their life to give to those less fortunate and for that I can’t thank them enough; thank them for giving me my life back.