The Adderall Diaries Page #3

guilty of abuse and neglect,

I sat beside him in court.

Right before my statement,

he pulled me close,

so it would look like

he was hugging me,

and then he whispered in my ear,

'you know it's all your fault,

right?

You killed your mother.'

that's what I could never explain

to the lawyers and case workers.

It wasn't about the handcuffs

or the beatings

or his shaving my head.

That was nothing.

It was the constant suggestion

that I was doing

something wrong,

that I was inherently poisonous

and to blame

for the series of abuses

and abandonment

that marked my adolescence.

He made that suggestion

in countless, subtle

and more obvious ways

all the years he was alive."

Man:
This is bullshit.

"In the end his passing

brought me no satisfaction,

no closure.

The day he died..."

Jesus Christ, how can

you people listen to this crap?

Oh my god, it's a ghost!

Boo!

My son, ladies and gentlemen.

The poor, abused orphan,

the underdog.

How convenient for you to have

a dead monster for a father.

How utterly pitiable.

I should be gettin' royalties

for this sh*t.

My son, the storyteller...

What a f***ing joke!

You deserve to be played

fallin' for this nonsense.

My son was never homeless.

He was never in group homes.

He was a drug addict f***-up

who wants to seem

interesting and dramatic

and take your money

is what he wants.

All right, Neil, you gotta go.

- How are you doing?

- You gotta go.

Get your f***in' hands

off of me!

- You gotta go.

- I gotta go?

You're a f***in'

coward... always have been.

You people are all fools

to listen to this bullshit.

Um...

You know, I haven't seen him

in seven years.

The one thing we can

agree on though is that

we're just dead to each other.

You don't have to explain to me.

Well, unfortunately,

I don't think everyone else

will feel that way.

But thank you.

I tried to kill

my stepfather once...

...when I was 16.

I worked in a pharmacy,

and I did the research.

I figured out what kind of

pill I would need

and how much it

would take to kill a man,

the whole thing, right?

I put a few pills in my pocket

every day before I left work,

saved up enough, ground them up

and put them

in his fancy bottle of scotch

that he wouldn't let

anyone else touch.

So you killed him.

Nope.

Not even close.

Nothing happened.

It just went right through

his system.

He was that fat.

I guess I shouldn't laugh.

You'll get to funny one day.

It just takes time.

Stephen:
So what were you like

in high school?

Lana:
Me? I was a bad ass.

A bad ass?

Lana:
Oh, yeah. I had a punk

band and everything.

What were you called?

We were called the Lys Dexics.

- What?

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