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Bogdan Suciu: With methadone. I took the treatment on the street after they'd kicked me out of the government's treatment center because I missed two appointments—but that was because I was working. The centers can only handle treatment for 1,000 patients, but there are 18,000 people who need the help in Romania. It's hard to stay on the treatment, as it sometimes costs money, which most of them can't afford. Many take the methadone pills orally, with the wrong doses. Then they think that the treatment doesn't work, so they refuse to try it a second time. I've had two relapses. Each time it took me about a year to get over them.How did the authorities treat you?
They terrorized me. As soon as they found me on the street, they'd take me to the precinct to try and make me rat out other addicts. I told them to leave me alone because I was undergoing treatment, but they just said, “What treatment, you bloody addict? Your kind never quits.” I was lucky that my dad argued with them for me. Then the people from ANA told them that I was having treatment and should be left alone.What about the ones who aren't so lucky?
A friend got held up for a week at the precinct. They made him clean everything, even the curtains and the windows. Also, my best friend was so terrorized by them that he fled Bucharest for over a year. They were harassing him to try and get some dirt on me.
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Even if they did have one, what's the point in harassing the same ten addicts? Go catch the big fish—the guys selling the drugs. They’ll often force you to ask a friend of yours to buy some for you so they can arrest him for trafficking.

Maria: I lived with this boy who was doing synthetic drugs. I saw that he felt nice when he took them, so I asked him to make two lines for me so I could see how it felt myself. That's how I ended up doing heroin.How do doctors and cops treat you?
Badly, especially since they found out I have HIV and work as a prostitute. But the doctors did give me the treatment I need, even though the police fined me for prostitution.They never arrested you for doing hard drugs?
No, because I'd always admit that I had balls of heroin on me. They saw that I was sincere and left me alone. They didn't even confiscate my drugs. Others argue with them, so that's why the cops take all their stuff, including the syringes. Have you ever quit?
Yeah, I was clean for six months while I was in a treatment center where I wasn't even allowed to go out for a smoke. But as soon as I got out, I met up with my friends, who said, “Let's go trip balls.” It all went to shit again after that.
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Rosanna: Yeah, but I couldn't do it. I know it's bad for me, but I've grown up with drugs—I don't know how to quit. I'd try the treatment, but my ID has expired. I tried it once, but stupidly I stopped doing it because the center was too far from here.Does your family understand your predicament?
It's one thing to be understanding. It's another to feel this yourself. They tell you all it takes is will and ambition, but they don't know it's a struggle, that you go through terrible pains. Eventually they got disgusted that I kept doing it. I would be, too, if I were in their place.How do the doctors act around you?
I had an operation a while ago because I had problems with my gut and the doctor told me I had two hours to live. They all said, “Oh my God, you're in such bad shape—how did you get like this?” I was so swollen, you would have thought I was pregnant, but they still refused to hospitalize me.What about the cops?
It depends on the shift. There are some who will be abusive—who will swear at you, call you “a fucking cunt,” yell about “your momma's vagina,” and beat you. After that, they ask you details about what you do, when you whore yourself, how big the cocks are that you ride. It's not normal.

Adi: I have HIV and hepatitis. People treat us like mangy dogs. I was also cut with a knife recently. They stuck it my leg and my shoulder, just to steal my syringes.
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If I ask them for a piece of bread, they refuse. I don't steal. I just beg.How do the cops treat you?
One time they beat me up, took my syringes and took me to the precinct. When we got there they swore at me and hit me with a metal table leg and their plastic batons. They arrested me for drug consumption, then they pinned some unsolved thefts on me. They said, “Hey, you're the one who stole a ladder a few days ago.” I told them to find some witnesses to confirm it, but they kept going, “No need, we know you took it.” They saw that I was so poor that it wouldn't actually hurt to send me to prison.

Dracul: Money, which you need for drugs. I work on a construction site, so I do OK, but others have physical problems and they can't do it.Do you ever feel persecuted?
Nobody knows I do drugs at work, but it wouldn't be an issue because I'm employed without paperwork anyway. I don't even have an ID. But everyone outside of work stares at me. I can't talk to my friends or my wife any more, and her mother looks at me like I'm scum of the earth.Nobody understands?
My mom tries to. It's hard for a mother to be cold when she sees her child is ill. She gives me money and says, “Go on, son,” because she can't stand to see me shiver from withdrawal.Do the police do anything to you?
They keep beating me and asking me why I'm getting high. They take me to the precinct, where they make me wash the desks of the beat cops. They spit on us, swear at us, call us bums. They confiscate my money because I can't prove where I got it from. My ID expired, and I can't get a new one because I don't have a house. I'm a homeless person, so apparently I don't deserve an ID—I'm not worthy of an ambulance coming to pick me up if I get sick.
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