One of my friends died the day after he got out of rehab.
When I wanted to quit, I felt a huge amount of shame for how I was living, and I was dead tired of the violent lifestyle.
I was living out of my car, hiding from drug dealers that I was robbing across town with a crowbar.
One with a handgun that I borrowed in exchange for a gram of coke.
I was fucked up. One thing that stuck with me is how one of my childhood friend's mom looked at me one day. When growing up, she liked me because I was polite and behaved well. She looked at me with this fearful look.
Right into my soul. It was only a moment, but it made an impact and snapped me out of things.
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