Yesterday, my Grand-Sponsor spoke at the Ten — wow. He shared about how he let this guy stay at his house, took him in and the dude molested his 12-year-old daughter. How does someone handle that? Not even some stranger or family member, but someone you were trying to help… He beat the fucking shit out of him, he beat him on a street corner, he got his car and was going to run him over when someone else he knew from the program stopped him from killing the guy. 

The guy who stopped him was another addict he had helped get clean at one point. It’s crazy how the people we help today can be the ones helping us in the future. He took it to court and the guy got six years with 10 years probation. The steps got him through it. Today he says he forgives the guy. He later found out that the guy who molested his daughter was also molested when he was a kid.

Southern Roy, The Mad Russian and I went to FRC (Florida Recovery Center) to bring in a meeting. It’s fun to give back and share at a treatment center. This Monday, I’m going to pick up a commitment and start bringing in my own H&I meeting to FRC.
 
I talked to Patrick. He’s doing better, we talked for a while. The whole time I was using, Patrick had so much money all the time and I never had shit. He’d always be fucking with me, like, “Damn Bryan, get your fucking money right! You never got shit, this is the last twenty I’m going to give you.” 

I remember this one time I was so dope sick, I stayed home from school cause I was shitting all night and morning. I purposely didn’t flush so I could prove to my mom that I was really sick. “Mom, look! I have diarrhea, look at it!” She let me stay home, but I could see how badly she didn’t want me to. She had an appointment that morning. She was begging me to go to school so she didn’t have to worry about me being up to no good while she was gone.

My brother was down from Orlando, so I crept in his room while he was sleeping and took his debit card. Three years ago I went with him and my dad to go get his first debit card. The guy told him to think of a pin code and my brother blurted it out, not understanding that the guy wanted him to keep it to himself. My brother blurted out “2256” and even though it was so long ago, those numbers came right back to me crystal clear. I took his keys and went to the ATM. I texted Patrick and begged him to come pick me up. I texted him on the toilet all day, wishing he’d hurry up. When he finally got there it was about 10 minutes until he laughed and said, “Wow, you smell like shit… no really you smell like SHIT.” I wasn’t even embarrassed as I felt the warm muck between my ass cheeks. He had to drop me off at a Publix before he went to go cop cause I owed Omar, the guy he was meeting up with.

Omar is this guy in his mid-30s who sells pills and crack. He fronted me $100 of hard and of course I never paid him back, and he wouldn’t fuck with me till I did. So Patrick dropped me off and I sat on one of the benches outside of Publix with shit in my underwear. I remember sitting outside, in the hot Florida sun, sweat coming down my back mixing into the shit down my ass crack, hating life. My whole body aching. Just then I looked up and saw a girl I went to high school with. She was in her work uniform, pushing a shopping cart. I hated her. I hated everything about her, her fucking life, her nice little part-time job at the supermarket. I hoped her whole family died. I wanted her to feel the pain I felt. That fucking stupid slut bitch. Then Patrick came, we snorted the Roxys and when I got home I took off my sock, wiped my ass with it, wrapped my underwear in some computer paper and threw it in the trash with a little awkward smile on my face – live to fight another day. 

I took my SATs today. I think I did well.

When I took my practice SAT test last year, I was crushing up Roxys in class and snorting them throughout the whole test, the kids next to me looking over periodically, watching me snort a few lines.

  
October 6th, 2008

My chest is sore as fuck. I did three sets on a flat bench and that killed me. On my last set, I put up 205lbs 11 times. I’ve been eating better. Working out has always come easy to me, I just could never stay clean long enough to see results. I always hit each set with perfect form. I understand that it’s not about how much you can lift but more about hitting your target number, and focusing on the negative. It’s not about moving the weight as much as it's about moving the muscle. I got my strength up by doing five sets of five for the chest. I’d start out with the 70s on a flat bench, then the next week I’d try to go up five pounds. 

Recovery is a lot like working out. Recovery is a level of fitness, you just gotta maintain it. 

I might go to Santa Fe College and then transfer to UF, or maybe FIU. They have a good journalism program there.