The Downward Spiral Part II

My first year on the east coast was pretty tame. I had no friends and was going to a school that was miles away due to zoning. So I filled my time with church, riding my bike around town, and got into video games. I was doing fairly well in my first year of high school as a result.

Then I made a friend who was a senior and had his own car. He also happened to be a drug dealer. I was fifteen, so I wasn’t working and had no money. I got by on the charity of my new friend and some others I made along the way. But that wasn’t enough for me. I started taking my parent’s ATM card and sneaking out in the night to go get cash. Every bit of it was going to weed since it was so expensive out here. I didn’t like drinking because I always got sick, and there really wasn’t anything else floating around me at the time.

It didn’t take long for my parent’s to figure out what I was doing with their money. My father took me down to the police station to talk about my activities. The officer cuffed me to the table in a room and began asking me how I got the money, how I avoided the cameras, what I spent the money on and who I bought it from. I was a model child at this point with my mohawk haircut and bandana. I admitted what I had done with the money, but wouldn’t talk any further. The officer let me go, but said I had to pay my parents back. He had me look up “statute of limitations” and said he could charge me later if he hears I’m not doing what he said.

This deterred me for a bit, but then I got my first job at a Wendy’s to pay them back. Anybody who’s ever worked a restaurant job knows the kind of activities that go on there behind the dumpsters or in the freezer. It was perfect for me. I got out of the house, got high, ate for free and made even more friends. We also figured out scams to make money on the side while working. So we never went without.

I made more friends, and got deeper into the party scene. We smoked, we drank and we started getting into psychedelics. There was the occasional cocaine, but most of us stayed away from the hard stuff. I didn’t want to become a junky. I just wanted to have a good time and forget about all the pain from my past. I thought things were going great, but I was starting to falter in school and my parents noticed my changes.

I was in the 10th grade now, and my Father was working 3rd shift. He was never home, so when I saw both parents sitting in the living room when I came home, I knew the shit had hit the fan. They had searched my room and found my stash. My father wanted to take me to the cops again, but my mother had convinced him to try and get me some help. Here came my first trip to Charter hospital.

To be continued…

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