I feel good today. Last night, I hung out with this girl who lives in my neighborhood. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with someone my age.  She’s cool, she said she would drive me to school since my dad took my car away.

I went bike riding and worked out after school.

Sean relapsed again. He went to this gay-ass club at the Hard Rock with all these people and they all got fucked up.

I’m looking at a dollar bill in class. It’s crisp. Brand new, looks clean. I rolled it up just for fun—it wasn’t fun. To think I used to snort pills out of dollar bills all day long. Sometimes I’d be so broke I’d have to use an old receipt or my attorney’s business card. This one time I used my probation officer's business card.

October 27th, 2008

I came back to school today. The suspension is over. My birthday is on November 9. I’ll be 18, and I’ll have eight months clean.

The Just For Today was on “our past.” Today is a new day, I don’t have to be controlled by my past anymore.

Over the weekend, Roy and I talked about crack and hand jobs.

“You paid a hundred bucks for a fucking hand job,” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he says as he puts his head down in shame.

“Damn, was it a mean hand job at least?” 

He looks up at me amazed I even questioned it.

“Bro, fuck yeah it was, warm oil and everything, bro. These bitches will milk you like a cow. Fucking right it was a mean hand job,” he says in his southern accent.

We’re in his truck, driving to a meeting. I have a cigarette hanging out the window a Red Bull in my other hand.

“I’ve been thinking about smoking crack just one more time. I keep thinking about it, firing up that new stem with a big-ass rock on top. I can’t help but think how fun it is. I feel so bored being clean, using was fun,” I say. 

He turns down the radio. 

“Bro what? Smoking crack ain't fun. You’re not smiling with your buddies having a good time. Having a belly laugh. Fuck that shit, man. Smoking crack is fucking miserable. Crawling on the carpet looking for more, and fucking coming down off that shit is the worst.”

I take a drag from my cigarette and start laughing. He’s right. Smoking crack is miserable.

Roy said every time he ever relapsed it was to spite someone. He said he always uses to prove something to someone. 

That’s what I do. Every time I get high it’s because I’m pissed off at my dad, or my school, or some girl, like, “I’ll show you!” It’s so stupid. 

Even though Roy fucks whores and strippers, and gets hand jobs from Asian massage parlors, he’s still a good dude. He might not always do the right thing, but he stays clean. Roy was one of the first people to ever reach out to me at a meeting. He had six months clean when I met him. I thought he was God — six months clean was fucking insane. Now, I’m coming up on nine months.

Entourage was so good last night. Sunday night Entourage is something I always look forward to too.

No lie, I must have jerked off 12 times yesterday. My dick hurts, I had to start using lube because it hurt so bad. I jerk off, then I go to sleep, then I think of a naked bitch and my dick is hard again, then I jerk off again. Then I remember “Busty Models” is on TV and I jerk off again. Then I tell myself I’m really done this time and I go to sleep, then I wake up an hour later with a raging hard-on. 

At least I can jerk off today — having a dope dick can suck. It’s impossible to cum on opiates.

Today in school, they’re doing superlatives. I was voted “Most Wanted by Administration” — high school is so gay.