Fuck. First day of school. Like, real school. With those fucking faggot fucks.

Like a normal public fuck of a school. 

Fucking gay.


8AM

I’m sitting in the Registration Office with my parents. I feel like I’m still in treatment. The walls here are the same color beige. The color is giving me anxiety. It’s hard to breathe. My heart’s pounding. I’m so anxious. I’m clean and everything is so new. If I had to guess I’d say it was the first day of first grade. All the kids in the hallway, the noise of children, backpacks, bells ringing, laughing, oh god I hate it… why do I hate it so much?

My mom and dad are here. I’m wearing a sleeveless gym shirt and some Nike running pants. My Dad is pissed. “No one else is wearing a sleeveless shirt, you gotta wear long sleeves! Damn it Bryan, you’re always taking short cuts!” I just look at him with that familiar look: I’m a fuckup, I know. Just leave me alone. 

Some other Hispanic parents were talking to my dad and asking why I had to register again if I went here last year. I feel bad that my dad has to lie to people because the truth about his son is too embarrassing. I wonder what goes through my dad’s head. Does he just block it all out? That’s what I do… I try not to think about how I got kicked out last year for snorting Roxy’s in the middle of the cafeteria. How I got sent to some other school for expelled students which isn’t even a real school, it’s a “learning center.” (I smoked crack in there too). And I’ve spent all summer in rehab… It’s a lot easier just to try not to think about it.

I look up from my diary as if expecting the color of the walls to change, but they’re still the same, and I feel the same way. I want to die. I really want to kill myself sometimes…

I don’t want to go back to school. I’m reading American Psycho. I prayed a lot this morning before school. I’m scared. I feel so alone all the time. I just want to go home. And here I am, feeling like a three year old. I have so much anxiety. 

My dad’s so friendly; he’s talked to everyone who’s sat next to us. Which means I had to talk to them too. I even had to shake two kid’s hands. 

. . .


I’m in math class. My math teacher sucks, math sucks. 

Some kid came up to me and said, “You’re high right now, aren’t you?” 

I just looked at him, and then back at my diary. I know school will get better, but I want it to get better now. 

After the meeting last night, we all went out to eat. Roy looks like an Abercrombie model but he is the most fucked up one out of all of us. We were all eating and bullshitting.

“Aw man, y’all don’t even got meth down here like they do up where I’m from,” Roy says

“Yeah, that’s cause down here only gay people do meth, go to any meeting and guarantee if the person says their drug of choice is meth, they’re gay,” I responded.

He shakes his head. “Shit man, everyone does meth where I’m from. I met my ex-fiancé in the meth house, finest bitch there, swear on my mother’s life she was.” I kept asking him about meth and why it’s so different from crack. “Well, meth is a long drawn out high, it’s not like crack where you hit it and you come down right away.” 

Gus had shot meth before too and he starts to chime in. “Yeah bro, but shooting crack is almost on the same level, it’s not going to keep you geeked for days and days, but when you shoot it, it’s totally different.” 

Roy starts laughing. “Yeah man, but meth is so cheap, I used to make that shit at my mom’s house. Me and my bitch would just be cutting the tops off of matches, I’m talking hundreds of them.” 

We all laugh and share stories till about two in the morning. Roy told me the first time he shot heroin, this black dude shot him up and told him to count backwards from ten, so he started counting backwards, “ten, nine, eight, seven…” “Man, when I got to seven I was fucking out bro, nodding the fuck out at thirteen years old.”

I feel like now I need to shoot meth. There’s so many things I haven’t done, you know? 

I called Roy after dinner and said, “I feel like talking about how all that stuff made me want to relapse, I just want to try it.” Roy laughed “Bryan, bro, all that shit is the same, shooting meth or smoking crack, it don’t matter, listen to me. I done shot the best fucking meth this side of the Mississippi and I still ended up in the same place as you are man. Shoot it, smoke it, drink it, shit, you can shove it up your ass but for people like us it’s the same shit.” I started laughing on the phone, “Yeah man, I guess you’re right.”

        
School was awkward. I can sense people whispering about me. I ate lunch by myself, listened to my iPod.


I eat lunch by myself, everyday…