I’m in my AP Psych class. We do a lot of reading on drug addiction and other mental illnesses. My teacher was talking about addicts having realistic drug dreams that can trigger them to relapse. I raised my hand and said, “Yeah, I had one last night.” She goes on explaining that addicts go to 12 step meetings, and I raise my hand again. “I went to one of those last night too.” Haha.

My teacher is cool, she always asks me how long I’ve been clean and how I’m doing and stuff.

November 30th, 2008

My dad pulled me into his office on Thanksgiving and we talked. He sat me down and told me I need to go to a real college, not community college. 

He said if I went to community college, I’d be a loser. 

He said I needed to grow up. 

I closed my eyes and tried to be courteous. 

Then he said, “Bryan, if you decide to go out and kill someone, it’s not just going to affect you, it's going to affect the whole family.”

I rolled my eyes and started laughing.

“Dad, I’m not going to kill anyone. Are you crazy? Oh my god.”  

“Shit, Bryan, I don’t know, the stuff you write in that book is really fucked up. You have all these movies on Ted Bundy and documentaries on serial killers across America. I hope you don’t bring that journal to school — they’ll arrest you and put you in a straight jacket.”

“Dad, I might be a little fucked up,” pointing to my head, “but I’m not going to kill anyone.”

I got my car back!!! So happy!

Abigail is still getting high. She went to the meeting last night so fucked up and looking like shit. 

I still took her home and fucked her though.

I feel good. I feel really fucking good. I can’t believe that I’m starting to feel normal again. I’m stressed out with school, a little frustrated, still super insecure… but I feel good. 

I find myself looking at myself from the outside and I don’t recognize who I see. Am I really walking around school with a NA basic text? Am I really sitting in my car writing in a journal? Did I really jerk off six times today? Are these my clothes? Is this me? 

Am I really clean?

I guess that I am.

The hardest part about getting clean is losing your identity. Drugs were my whole identity. Without them I had nothing. Or so I thought.