LAST NIGHT WAS HOMECOMING…

October 13th, 2008

I didn’t get to explain what happened at homecoming but I don’t really want to talk about it right now. 

I’m sitting in Mr. Connelly’s office — he’s the assistant principal. My parents are on the way. I guess they’re trying to figure out what happened at homecoming… 

WTFFFFF. WTF. WTF. WHAT THE FUCK!! WHAT THE FUCKKKKK!

Just got suspended for 10 days. My dad got so pissed when he heard the word suspension, that motherfucker. Ok, I fucked up, I feel like an idiot. Why do I keep doing stupid shit? It’s a big deal but it’s not like I’m fucking up every week any more. I literally used to get kicked out of school, arrested, come home wasted, crash a car, something in the house would go missing, every single week. Getting kicked out of school for 10 days one time over the past six months isn’t that bad.

So I fucking slapped that faggot kid at homecoming and now I’m suspended. I handed my dad my keys and my license but I wouldn’t give him my phone. My dad was screaming when we got home. I followed them home from school in my car, walked inside and my dad just lost it. He kept saying, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Pinche idiota, pinche carbon, we just went through this shit and now you’re doing it again! Give me your phone and your fucking keys, you’re not going anywhere.” 

At first,  I don’t give him anything.

“I need my phone and I’m still going to meetings!” 

He starts laughing. 

“Oh, yeah right, you’re not going to those fucking meetings anymore because we know they don’t work.” 

That fucking cocksucker. I start yelling back at him.

“They don’t work? Are you fucking crazy! You have no fucking clue. You’ve never even gone to a fucking meeting, you don’t give a fuck, no wonder your kid is a fucking drug addict!”

He’s standing over by the counter. 

He walks over to the kitchen counter. “Haha, yeah it's my fault, huh? Every time you get upset you want to go do drugs. ‘Oh life is so hard,’ what are you going to do now? Go and get high? You are already getting high!”

I ball up my fist, “I’m not fucking getting high! I’ve been clean! You can drug test me!”

“Drug test you? Last time I drug tested you, you put orange juice in the cup. I’m not wasting my money anymore. I don’t need to drug test you. Who the fuck gets kicked out of school? Only people on drugs.”

“You’re so stupid. Fuck you”

He starts to really get mad at this point. 

“GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING KEYS NOW! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO THOSE FUCKING MEETINGS!”

My mom is in the kitchen, just staring at the ground. She doesn’t know what to say. 

I throw the keys on the counter, and cock my hand back like I’m going to hit him.

“Fuck you! Take your fucking keys! I’m still going to go to meetings!”

When I cocked my hand backwards he stumbled backwards, that fucking fat bitch. He thinks he can treat me like a junkie still, I’m not a fucking junkie any more. Fuck that fucking faggot. Normally when we get into fights I don’t say anything, I just nod and say, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m a scumbag, I’m a drug addict.”

My mom was scared. She keeps trying to help me, she wouldn’t leave my room.

“Mom get the fuck out! I don’t want to talk to you!”

 She’s on the other side of my bedroom door, “No Bryan, I’m not going anywhere.”

I finally got her to leave. I could hear her crying behind the door, sniffling. 

My dad left the house. He kept saying, “I want him out of the fucking house. He attacked me — once he’s 18, he’s out of the fucking house!”

Normally I would be high by now, but it didn’t even cross my mind today. I know I’m not going to get high. Thank God. I’ve stayed clean way too long to get high now, I can’t throw it all away. I just don’t see my life ever getting any better. I just want to fast forward. I can’t imagine me and my dad ever talking again.

I’m in my room. I’m writing, listening to Eminem; story of my life.

I locked my door because my mom kept walking in trying to talk to me, and when I didn’t let her, she just sat on the other side of the door. “Bryan, I’m not leaving you. I know you want to do drugs but please don’t. What your dad said was not right but you can’t act like that. You don’t do that! He’s still your dad.”

My mom sat outside my door for an hour, sitting on the floor crying.

Earlier today in Mr. Connelly’s office, my parents were sitting next to me. The assistant principal is a total fuck ass. I had to deal with him when we registered for classes on the first day of school. On that day he told me kids like me don’t change and that my parents should probably enroll me in a military school. My parents looked at each like, “Yeah, we did that three years ago…” 

We sit in the office and the guy starts asking me my side of the story. My ability to stare deep into someone’s eye and lie still amazes me. I feel more comfortable lying than I do when I tell the truth. All the evidence points against me and yet I still stand by my lie, like a captain of a sinking ship. 

“I DID NOT HIT HIM!”

They try to trick you like, “Just tell us the truth and it’ll be a lot easier.” Haha, umm no. They ask you over and over, your brain will tell you to give in. You know you’re lying but you have to hold out. Through conditioning I’ve learned that a lie must be grabbed with both hands and held on to for dear life. You can’t lie a little. It’s all or nothing. They could have it on camera and I’d still say it wasn’t me. If I admitted to slapping some dumb kid, would I have been charged with battery? Yeah, probably. Even if it went to court it’d be his word against mine. My sister told me to tell her the truth and I lied. Anytime anything like this happens, I just deny, deny, deny, no one needs to know the truth.

The assistant principal sighs, “Bryan, we have over 15 students saying they saw you hit him, why do you keep lying to me?”

I explain my side of the story. 

“When I was strung out on crack and pills, this kid tried to take advantage of me and get me to do gay shit with him. I sold him a naked picture of me and he went around telling the whole school I was gay. I’ve been clean six months now but I don’t appreciate the rumors. I want to know what you guys are going to do about these rumors going on. I want to sue him for defamation of character.”

My parents are so embarrassed. Mr. Connelly takes a deep breath. 

“Bryan, this is about you hitting him, I don’t know about all that other stuff and it doesn’t matter. We have all these students saying they saw it with their own eyes.”

I’m outraged now. “Of course they are! He’s friends with everyone! I don’t have a single friend here! I bet if he said aliens came down and abducted him they would say they saw it too… This kid is spreading rumors about me that I’m gay! Now what are you going to do about that?!”

He looks down at some papers and says, “You’re suspended for 10 days.”

Okay okay okay okay.

I’m suspended.
At least I’m not expelled.
My dad’s mad at me.
My sister is supportive.
I finally have time to go to the library and do college apps.
I have to go to meetings.
Abigail will pick me up and take me to meetings.
I’m clean. I’m still clean.

“Eat a motherfucking dick, chew on a brick and lick a million cocks per second, I rather put out a motherfucking gospel record.” —Eminem

I’m okay... Just breathe… Breathe… I’m still clean.

Haha. SUSPENDED FROM HIGH SCHOOL! Fuck high school. I hate being 17. I feel like this isn’t my life, I’m just waiting to wake up. I hate my reality so much I just think about killing people all day to escape it. 

Why are addicts so obsessed with sabotage? Finding any way to fuck things up.

I hear my dad yelling through my door, “November 9th, November 9th he turns 18. He’s out of the house. He attacked me. I want him out of the fucking house.”

It always rains when I get in trouble. Every single time, it rains. It rained when I go out of detox. It rained on the way to detox. It rained when I got arrested last year, it rains when I go to court… 

The universe has cursed me.