September 22nd, 2008

I could kill him if I wanted to.

Normally no one would believe him. I’ve fucked more girls than anyone else I know but he has this naked picture of me and he’s going around showing everyone. I heard people say my dick looks pretty big in it, so I guess that’s cool. 

I was strung out and he would text me from time to time. I used to bully him in middle school. I bullied everyone in middle school. But we were cool a few years later. I guess he came out and said he was gay like sophomore year. I texted him when I was dope sick and asked if I could borrow $100, and he said no. Which was whatever, I knew I was never gonna pay him back. I did that with a lot of people, I would swear I would pay them back the next day because I was getting a paycheck, or I was going to flip some pills or some shit but of course I had zero intentions on ever paying them back.

He texted me a few weeks later saying if I let him give me head he’d give me $100. I texted him back saying, “Fuck that, NO WAY.” A few days later, I was dope sick as fuck and I texted him again asking if he could let me borrow the $100 and he said no again. So I said “Ok. How about I give you a picture of my dick and you let me borrow the money? I swear I’ll pay you right back.” And he agreed. 

Later that night, I stole my sister’s car. I was withdrawing so hard, I hadn’t gotten high in like 30 hours. Sweat was pouring down my back, my legs were aching. I went over to his house at around 1am. He had a check from his grandma or some shit. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him.

He said he would go to the check cashing store tomorrow with me and I looked at him all pissed off.  

“A fucking check? Are you kidding me? How is that supposed to help me right now? Check cashing stores aren’t open right now! What else you got?”

He looked nerdy. He was wearing glasses. He looked like what you’d expect a gay teenage kid to look like. Gay mannerisms, feminine, 50 pounds overweight, glasses pressed into the side of his head, soft spoken with a lisp. He was wearing basketball shorts and white t-shirt. I looked around his room and just started grabbing shit. He didn’t say anything, he just looked a bit scared. I had been kicked out of school for a while and haven’t seen anyone from my high school, so at this time there were plenty rumors going around that I was junked out, smoking crack, strung out. 

In his room he had a shelf with some watches and grabbed them. I looked around and found an old Nintendo DS. I started to leave but he stopped me. 

“Hey, what about the pictures,” he asked with his lisp and high-pitched voice.

“Okay, give me your phone,” 

“No I want to take them,” he shot back adamantly.

“Fuck that, I’m not letting you TAKE the pictures. Give me the phone and I’ll go in the bathroom and take them.”

He hands me the phone.

“Give me the check, too.”

He gives me the check. I endorse it over to myself and I go into his bathroom and turn on the lights. I look at myself in the mirror. My face is sunken in, my eyes are red and hollow, I look at my arms, they look like someone else’s, scrawny and lanky. I used to work out a lot and really care about my body, now my body is just paraphernalia. A hollow shell used to absorb drugs.

I haven’t shaved or took a proper shower in months, dandruff is in my hair, acne on my back. I take my clothes off, and put them in the corner. I look down at myself and for the first time realize that I have a bush. I can’t remember the last time I had sex, it had to be at least a year ago. I grab my dick from the bottom and try to get it hard, but I can’t. I close my eyes and try to think about times I’ve fucked girls. I’m so sick, I just need to get the fuck out of there. I get my dick as hard as I can and take one picture. I put my clothes back on and start going through the bathroom, looking for some prescription drugs. I find a brand-new box of Simply White Crest whitening strips. I grab them and walk out the bathroom. I hand him the phone, throw all the shit on the grass out the window and jump out to go to meet up Braceface. 

I told Braceface I was coming with $100 but instead I’m showing up with a Nintendo DS, some shitty watches and a box of Crest whitening strips. I’m still in my sister’s car, the BMW Z4.  I meet Braceface at the Walmart by my house.

I’m withdrawing hard. I’m sweating in the car with the AC on full blast. I pull inside the parking lot as fast as I can. I have diarrhea. Some addicts puke when they're sick and some addicts shit. Sometimes addicts do both. I’m a shitter. Every time I get dope sick, I get the runs. Shitting myself was just another day at the office for me as a drug addict. Being dope sick is like having the flu—body aches, sweat and constant fluid releases. 

Braceface texts me that he’s almost there while I’m on the toilet inside Walmart. I clean myself as best I can and rush outside. I lean up against my sister’s car smoking a Newport, sort of curled over from being sick. 

He pulls up in his WRX. His car is nice, but how do you not get the STI? 

I run up to his window with a handful.

“Look man I don’t got cash but I got this,” I say, and start throwing the stuff into his car aggressively.

“No man, what the fuck is this shit? A fucking Nintendo DS? Do I look like I fucking want this shit? What kind of watches are these? This shit isn’t even worth ten bucks, nigga what the fuck is this shit?” He’s laughing but he’s pissed off, too.  

He throws all of it on the floor. The Nintendo DS hits the ground hard and now I’m the one pissed off. 

“What the fuck man?! You could’ve broken it! Fuck man!” 

“Call me when you have the loot.” He drives off. 

I call him and say, “Look man, just give me 15 minutes, I’ll get you more shit.”

“Bro I don’t want shit, I want fucking cash. I don’t do these fucking junkie deals, especially at two in the fucking morning.”

“I got a BOSE system, shit is fucking brand new, worth a hundred bucks easy. I’ll be back in two seconds, I’ll give you all of it, just give me eight blues.”

I get back in my sister’s car and speed over to my parent’s house. I almost crash doing the U-turn at the light. I usually never steal my sister’s car, but I have no choice, my parents have been hiding their car keys lately. It’s rear-wheel drive and I skid all over the road doing the U-turn. The Z4 is a pretty fun car to drive. 

I get to my parents’ house, go through the window and go into my dad’s office. I have been thinking about selling this BOSE system for a while. You put your iPod on it and it plays music pretty loud. I grab it off the shelf and race over to meet Braceface again.

Pulling up to his car I hand him the Nintendo DS, the watches and the Bose System. He takes a big sigh, looks at me with this weird smirk and says, “Where the fuck is the plug, you forgot the plug to the Bose system. How am I supposed to sell this shit without the plug?”

Sweat is coming off my face and dripping onto the floor, my heart is pounding.

“Shit man, fuck, fuck, fuck I forgot it. I’ll get you the plug, I swear I’ll fucking get it. It’s at my house. I’ll get it for you tomorrow.”

He hands me four pills… FOUR PILLS.

I look at my palm and count them. That’s four. Four Roxy 30s, the A215s.

“Four man? C’mon give me at least five,” I beg him. He tries to drive off again, I grab the inside of the car, “Bro wait wait!” I take off my gold chain. I’ve had this tiny gold chain ever since I was a baby — it’s 14k gold. I tried to pawn it a few times but they only offered me $20 for it. I handed it over to him. He checks it and makes sure it has a legit stamp on the clamp, he puts it in his center console and hands me ONE MORE PILL. A big smile crawls on my face. Fuck it, I wanted more but I’m cool with five. 

“These pills are fucking you up kid,” he says before he drives off. 

I hop into my sister’s car, grab a CD case, crush up the pills with my school ID, snort all five of them and drive home. Instantly, I feel better. From being sick as fuck, puking and wanting to die, I’m feeling like dancing. I turn the music up in my sister’s car and head home. I parked her car perfectly as it was in the first place. Turned the radio station back to the original station, and put the seat back into the original spot. I look at my phone… it’s three in the morning and I gotta go to school in the morning. 

The next day, I’m trying to cash the check I got from the gay kid but they aren’t letting me cash it. I drive to a few different check-cashing stores and they won’t let me cash a personal check at any of them. I get him to agree to come meet me, and he cashes the check and gives me the money. I grab the money and never pay him back.

Then like 3 months later, he’s telling everyone we had sex, and he shows a bunch of people the picture.

  . . .

I talked to my sponsor and he’s breaking up with his wife again. I mean divorcing her, whatever. 

They got into a fist fight, get this, cause she was faking her orgasms and lied about cumming. Now is that some fucking high-class problems or what? I never would even think about ever getting into a fight with a girl about that. You wanna fake your orgasms? Go ahead, I don’t give a shit. Just let me cum into your asshole.

I haven’t fucked in soo long! I’m getting anxiety. Maybe that’s why I've been out of it lately. There’s this really nice girl in my Spanish class, maybe I can get her to come over and watch a flick at my house… That dirty little slut. 

On Saturday, I had a crazy using dream, I felt like crap. I really thought I had actually used. I woke up thinking if I burped, smoke would come out, my throat even hurt. I went into the kitchen to get some water, I knew it was a dream but it felt so real. I had to tell myself over and over, “I’m still clean, it was just a dream, I’m still clean, it was just a dream.”

I’m six months clean and I really don’t ever, ever, ever want to get high again. But my disease wants me to, obsessing and dreaming, crack, crack, Roxys, Roxys, coke, sniffing, dollar bills, lighters, stems, copper, residue, razor blades, syringes, baggies, rocks, orange bottles, scripts, shots glasses, bathrooms, blankets, locks, blood, coughing, bells, burns, pain, bitches, vomit.

They just rain on me. The fucked up part is I enjoy them. I just want to jump into it. A part of me still wants it all to happen. 

The other day, Gus’ sponsor spoke at a meeting. He said, “I’ve learned that I am a co-conspirator to every bad thing that has ever happened to me. I learned that two years ago. But about six months ago, I learned that I’m also a co-conspirator of everything good that has ever happened to me too.” 

A lot of the time, admitting your good qualities is harder than admitting your fucked-up ones. 

I don’t think I have any good qualities.