A little shot out

  I was seventeen when Id stopped using meth-amphetamines after three years of consistent hard-core use. I was a criminal for a living and smoked meth every day all day. Before trying meth I was a heavy marijuana smoker and regular drinker (not at all normal for 13 and 14 yr olds). When I tried crystal meth I was involved with a local sur 13 gang id just been jumped into and had serious personality issues.
 My families were no longer poor, but my father was still drinking heavily and continued to effect me in a very negative way. A gang made me feel like I was in control and could do what ever I wanted, as long as I didnt go off alone too much. My father is an ex-marine who went to several less known but very viscous battles, and then left the marines to become a mercenary. The macho man bad ass complex I was taught never served well, as I could never live up to what I thought was the real thing. I always had feelings and I got scared quite often, which was enforced by my father also. I was to be as tough as can be while still having to submit to my father. I was extremely angry and was not at all aloud to express that at home, so I either bottled every thing up and submitted   ninety percent of the time, or exploded in rage or violence. I didnt want to bottle things up, but because I had to submit to my father I habitually let people step on me.  These are very sad things, and Im leaving out the first twelve years of the story but you get at least a piece of the situation.
  So why am I now keeping a blog and am involved in many proactive self help activities? I was given help partially against my will, although deep down we always want things to be better. After going to many programs, being kicked out and then sent to ones with higher security I eventually saw that my behavior wasnt serving all the functions I wanted it too. Instead of getting what I wanted I had more and more taken away. Id almost gotten another battery charge on one of the staff at a juvenile dual diagnosis center when my other option was to do what they called therapeutic reassignment. In this assignment I was to answer many questions about myself and my life with one page minimum for each question. I just sat by myself in the hall for hours before I started, but when I did it all came out. Things I knew but had never really explored or made concrete to that extent. Since Id previously been living on the street in various dope holes and criminal hang outs, I didnt feel like I had to fear my dad anymore, because what I experienced out there was very different then anything I had experienced before. I had no shame putting on paper everything I had done or had done to me.
  Its called therapeutic reassignment for a reason. ITS THERAPEUTIC. And after doing that assignment and relieving the support and praise of those working there my behavior was very different. I was excited to explore and get out all the shit I carried around for so long. I had much happier healthy feeling in my body and perspective, as though a lot of psychological crap had been released. A healing process was taking place and I could actually believe it. Id always knew about my crap but didnt think exploring and getting it out was an option, as my dad highly frowned upon such "pussy behavior". What I was learning at the center called "cross roads" was my new idol and god. Id all the sudden felt I should completely move full force into learning and self-development. My father was also staying sober which lasted about a year, so when I went home that definitely helped. When I went home I no longer associated with criminals or addicts to the slightest bit, except for once visiting my neighbor who was still smoking and drinking but knew damn well that he shouldnt do it around me or ever ask me to.
  I still had some anger outbursts as I was going against the stream. I had a terrible reputation to live with. I got in a fist fight with my dad in my front hard once, and he called the police. I left the area for a couple hours but knew that if I couldnt get to my intensive out patient group at the hospital my recovery could be in real trouble. I waited for the police to leave and then nicely asked my father if he would take me. He knew where id been and didnt want me to go back if I didnt want to so he took me to the hospital. We talked with my counselor for hours, lots of crying, cursing and accusing. I stayed clean and stayed on the path.
More will be revealed...