Recovery Doesn’t Mean You Get Your Friends Back

We met in tennis class during our first day of high school. The four of us hung out every lunch on the far side of the quad. We weren’t the cool kids, we weren’t nerds. The other kids referred to us as the weirds and it stuck. Every weekend we went to coffee houses to see bands and meet girls. Sometimes we’d dress up in suits and go to the Universal City Walk for fun. Alone we were awkward but being part of a group made us feel like badasses. I was the first one to move out of my parent's house and into my own apartment. It was across the street from Cal State Northridge College. I sold weed out of my apartment. There was a steady traffic of college kids coming and going all the time. Our group was now seven people and I was the leader of the pack. Every day was a party for us. Eventually, they all got real jobs and I saw them less. I kept selling weed and my apartment remained the group's nexus. The first person to get the boot from the group was Clint. He was stuck in high school mentality for years after graduation. He didn’t want to work but wanted to hang out and if we did anything one of us would have to pay for him. He’d fuck everyone’s ex-girlfriend, get drunk, belch audibly, and then try to drive. <a href="https://medium.com/age-of-empathy/recovery-doesnt-mean-you-get-your-friends-back-eb36b09257c5">Read More</a>