Facebook’s put me onto many things.  Making a Murderer, Conor McGregor, Rick and Morty.  Right now I’m watching season one of The Inbetweeners.  I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  It’s a slightly uncomfortable watch.  I like it, but I’m flashing back to a million and one times from my teenage years.

It’s only in recent years that I’ve added my old school friends, on Facebook.  I’m cautious with what I post.  I don’t know why, but I still very much care what they’ll think of me.  I don’t feel that way about any other group that I’ve met at any other time of my life.  I remember being back there, taking drugs for the first time, spending long summer days hiding from the truancy officer.

It didn’t take me long, after the first day I truanted school, for me to adjust to being in the bad boy crew.  I started smoking straight after I met peers who smoked.  I inhaled my first breath of lighter refill gas, and immediately asked

“What else is there?”  I’d entered a new world, one of uncertainty, excitement, occasional violence, adventure, and fit birds.

I ended up smoking cannabis every day, binge drinking, eating magic mushrooms, taking amphetamines, and losing my virginity.  It’s like I’d been welcomed into this whole new experience.  Something had to give, though.  I had my first schizophrenic episode at seventeen.

It was the seal of the experience.  That was the final chapter of a book that seemed to write itself.  Everyone’s doing well, now.  They’ve got kids.  They’re all relatively level-headed people.  They were good people, deep down.

Being bad was a thrill ride that I was magnetised towards.  Watching The Inbetweeners takes me back, gives me a lot to remember.  I guess I do like thinking back to that time, even if it was a bit chaotic.

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