I should be doing my fourth step!

But I’m slacking like a motherfucker. I haven’t worked on it for a month!

January 1st, 2009

                  Happy New Year Bryan, you are someone special,
          you have divine potential, I love you, you’re a good person.

This year will be better than last year. I’ll try not to be such a scumbag.

• Get a girlfriend

• Bench press 295lbs, 12% body fat

• Buy a new iPod

• Build self esteem

• Strengthen relationship with my family

• Work steps

• Have fun

• Do good in school

• Save some money

That’s all I really plan on doing next year. Bryan, I swear to god if you fucking get high I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you. I’m going to cut you up into little pieces and feed you to a herd of wild boars, like in “Silence of the Lambs.”

The first year is a gift, you’re going to have to work for this next one. Just for today, you better get off your ass and strive for a better/more vigilant program. 

WORK STEPS OR DIE MOTHERFUCKER!

This state of happiness hasn’t gone away. I don’t know when it happened, but one day I started to feel good and I thought it was gonna go away but it hasn’t. Like, it “goes down” but it doesn’t “go away” anymore. It’s crazy.  Sometimes, I get insecure, pitiful, angry, depressed, lonely, but nothing like how I used to feel. I used to really want to die and didn’t think I could make it one more day clean. 

I think… I feel normal!
So this is what being human is like. Not too shabby.

I spent New Year’s at Amir’s and then went downtown. It’s never as fun as I believe it’s going to be — going out. The Mad Russian thinks if I continue to go out then I’m going to relapse… eventually… fuck.  I rarely ever go to clubs, I’ve been to like eight clubs since I’ve been clean, and it’s always pretty gay anyways.

So, Bryan, how does it feel to be 18 with nine months clean?

Well, from time to time I feel like a loser for getting so low that I have to go to meetings. But then, I’m glad I’m not normal. I do not want to be normal. My whole life I’ve been scared to think like others, I had to be different. I enjoy my life, it’s cool to be young and clean.

Do you think you’ll go to meetings for the rest of your life?

I try not to think about it. Right now all I know is that going to meetings is a good thing — a really good thing.

Who wears short shorts?
Hahaha, shut up.

…

I texted her Happy New Year’s, she didn’t reply. I knew she wouldn’t, but I just wanted to give it a shot. But like always, I feel stupid for doing it. Practically every holiday I send her some shit and she never responds.

Happy New Year----GET FUCKED
Merry Christmas----Eww, Creep
Happy Birthday----WTF
Happy Valentines Day----Eat shit and die
“Ugh, how’s it going?”----Are you fucking kidding me!?

Even those wouldn’t be so bad as not receiving anything.

Let me show you something I wrote down LAST January, I’ll write it down verbatim:

January 22nd 2008

I have become the Bryan Spears of my family. They consider me a “hot mess,” a lost cause, someone who simply lost it. I attend a learning facility, I got kicked out of regular school for snorting blues in the cafeteria. They found some residue in my pill crusher. 

Recently, I was caught taking my Dad’s last $160 from his bank account and he was extremely pissed off. I spent the money on blues and some hard, if I recall. I passed my first drug test with flying colors, not that I’m clean, but I either have clean pee on me or I just refuse to take the test. About a month and a half ago my family insisted I go to a rehab. They were planning an intervention, however, I obtained urine at the last minute and passed FOUR drug tests, at random, I may add. I am Houdini, I am a con, I am a piece of shit. I’ve been stealing and robbing people for the last few months, I mean fucking using hard core. This is my job. I usually come up with  $150-$500 a week. Matter of fact, I robbed some shithead $1,000 worth of blues a few months ago, nothing has yet to happen to me, he leaves death threats on my voicemail and I listen to them when I’m high. My school is shit, there’s no way I can get clean going there. I smoked a 50 of hard in the bathroom last week, the bathroom reeked of burnt plastic and crack. It saddens me that I’ve become a monster, how could I be so stupid and not anticipate these horrific withdrawals. I can no longer pretend that doing drugs is “fun,” it’s become a dependent factor for my body, more important than food & water, and only second to oxygen. I need these pills to survive.

That’s just an excerpt, the whole thing is a lot more depressing and embarrassing and graphic.

I’m such a miracle… I’m going to watch “Watch Dead Poets Society.”

CARPE DIEM 

MOTHER FUCKERS.