Randy sighed as he sat down on the plane. He had really done it this time. Now, not only did he have no wife, no kid and no dog to go home to, but he almost had no job to add to his list. He couldn't believe that he had let himself spiral so far out of control. How could he have not seen it coming? As much as he wanted to ask the stewardess for a drink, he was under the strict, watchful eye of his mentor Paul Levesque. Or Hunter as Randy called him. And Hunter had gone out on a limb to save his ass, he didn't dare risk it.

Hunter looked over at Randy, "You doing ok?"

Randy nodded his head, "Yeah, I'm alright."

"Going through withdrawls?" Hunter asked.

Randy shook his head no and looked out the window. He stayed pretty silent throughout the plane ride back to the U.S. He wasn't the type to throw a pity party for himself. He normally just went out and got high or drank away the pain so he wouldn't have to think about it. But, that's exactly how he wound up here…in hot water and on the shit list. He didn't have the heart to tell Hunter that he had finished off anything he could find in his stuff that he hadn't destroyed so he wouldn't go be an angry prick.

Once the plane landed in Stamford, there was a limo waiting at the airport to take them to the WWE headquarters where Vince was awaiting their arrival. Randy looked across the way, "Hunter, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let you and Vince and the company down."

Hunter held up his hand, "Save it kid, you need to give that speech to Vince, not me."

"Yeah, I know. But I want you to hear it to. I know right now it means squat, but I appreciate you believing in me, and I won't let you down this time."

Hunter leaned forward and stared him square in the eye, "I've told you this once, and I'm gonna tell you again. And hopefully it'll get through that thick skull of yours. The only thing holding you back…is YOU. Get your head out of your ass, knock the shit off, get yourself straight and then come back and kick ass."

Randy nodded. And facing Vince was a helluva lot worse. Randy was pretty sure the superstars that didn't get kicked off the overseas tour like he did probably heard Vince yelling at him. But, at the end Vince offered to pay for Randy to get himself some help. He had already made an appointment with a facility in Atlanta. It was away from everyone and everything that could distract him.

Day 1-10

Ok, so I know I was supposed to write in this stupid journal every fuckin' day and talk about my highs and my lows and whatever bullshit they tell us to do. But it's pretty hard when you're puking your brains out and wishing to god that you'd hit your head hard enough on the toilet that you'd be unconscious for this. Going through the withdrawls is enough to either keep me on drugs so I never have to do this again, or stay straight so I never have to do this again. Seeing as how everything in my life is riding on this, I'm hoping to GOD that this shit works.

We're not allowed to have cell phones, internet, television or anything like that until we've been in here 30 days. That gives your body and your mind a full month to detoxify before slowly bringing reality back in. We're allowed to write letters and receive letters after they've been inspected though. So, I just got done writing a letter to Amanda. It's the first time I've said anything to her since the day I left.

Alright, confession time. I'm shaking my head as I write this, I am so fucking ashamed of myself. And I will never forgive myself for doing this. But, I kicked my wife and our son out of the house for trying to interfere with my life. Yeah, it's as stupid as it sounds. All Amanda has ever done is be there for me and bend over backwards for me. We got married when we found out that she was pregnant with our son. Not out of obligation, but because we knew we loved each other. And they were the joys of my life. I would go away and then I'd come home and there they were, waiting for me at the airport with all the happiness in the world.

Then as Brandon grew up, we began to notice something was different about him. He was incredibly colicky. Nothing helped, even adding cereal to his formula he still fussed and crabbed. He was never a big snuggler. He wanted to be in his chair or jumparoo thing or his swing more than being held by anyone. He walked early. But he didn't talk much…hell he barely spoke a word or made a sound. But, he had a temper. He would throw horrible tantrums and he would kick, hit and bite himself or others. God this is weird to write…I barely admit it to myself, let alone to a stupid journal. Anyways, as he grew, he still didn't talk. But he was VERY active. He climbed everything he could find. He played with some toys, but not very many.

Finally Amanda questioned our pediatrician enough, so we took him in and had his hearing tested. That came back fine, so we went through our school district to have his speech evaluated. And that's when all hell broke loose. They came to the house to evaluate him. And they watched him twice. Then a few days later, they arrived back at the house…and told Amanda that Brandon's behaviors fell into the autism spectrum. Maybe we were naïve, but we were first-time parents. We never would have thought that. But we didn't know anybody else who had kids with autism either. The things they pointed out made sense though. He always lined up his toys, books, movies into perfect lines. When he got really excited he'd bounce up and down at the knees. He played with cars because he loved to spin the wheels over and over again. He always wandered off. And you could call his name until you were blue in the face, if he was distracted he wouldn't answer. And hell half the time he was paying attention and he still wouldn't respond. He didn't look you in the eyes. He loved to watch anything that spun and he always ran in circles.

I lost it, I couldn't handle it. How the hell was I supposed to show off my kid when I didn't know what his future would hold? So I shut down. I quit carrying his picture, I quit acknowledging him unless someone asked me directly about him. At home, I barely did anything with him. I just felt so disconnected from him. And I know better now, but at the time I felt like I had a "retard" for a son. God I could barely face Amanda. I felt like I let her down, like it was all my fault. So I began to act out. I drank heavily, started doing drugs, I took stupid risks in the ring and when I got hurt I'd always get the hardcore pain killers. Then I'd get home and I'd be all fucked up and I'd pick fights with her. And if I was really messed up…I blamed her for Brandon's problems. I knew inside she blamed herself, and I knew inside she was going through hell but instead of being there for her and supporting her and telling her we'd get through this, I pulled away and pointed fingers and made her feel worse.

Then I started sleeping around. I wasn't giving or getting what I needed at home, so I justified my actions in my head and found many others who would. I shouldn't say many others, there were only a few, but they lasted for a long time.

Soon all I ever heard about was speech therapy, aba therapy, sign language, occupational therapy, special-ed preschool and I couldn't take it. I felt like Amanda and I didn't exist anymore. Everything was Brandon's disability. And so I went out, got incredibly fucked up, bought a bunch of drugs, came home and overdosed.

Had Amanda not been home, I would have died. But on a whim, Brandon's therapist was running late and asked Amanda to come a half-hour later than normal. She walked in to tell me and I was having a seizure on the bed. I wasn't breathing. She called the paramedics and began to do rescue breathing. And she saved my life…How did I repay her? I told her to keep her mouth shut, and that her and Brandon were driving me to hell and I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't focus on wrestling and it was fucking up my career. I told her they had a week to be out of my house…or I'd have them removed.

And that was it. I never heard another word from them. Until I got the divorce papers. I called her and called her and begged for another chance, but the minute she found out I wasn't clean she promptly hung up the phone. Then I refused to sign the papers. Finally the judge declared something or other and we were officially divorced. A year and a half after I got home from overdosing...I was officially divorced. I always paid child support, I knew his stuff wasn't cheap. So I sent checks to a PO box she had set up…and I wrote letters to her, begging her for forgiveness, telling her I was sorry…but those came back. As did the checks. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. So I sent the checks back and told her to start a savings account…for BRAYDEN. Not Brandon our son, but I was so high that I couldn't even write his name properly. What a worthless piece of shit I am.

And then after we were officially divorced, I went on a binge. I destroyed a hotel room, did as many drugs as I could get my hands on and I prayed to God I would die. I chased them all with a bottle of Jack Daniels….and then Hunter walked in. He heard the commotion and one of the divas (they won't tell me who) went and told him I was having a nervous breakdown.

After they contained me and I passed out, I came to in a hospital bed. I had my stomach pumped and the minute we discharged, Hunter escorted me to Stamford. I got high in the bathroom with what little was left in the baggie in my coat pocket at the airport right before we were searched.

And then I came here…God please let her read the letter. Please let her know I'm sorry….

Now I'm ending this stupid journal entry….now that I'm crying like a baby and feeling completely worthless. For all the pain I've caused my family and my friends, I don't deserve to be here….but here I am. Still alive. Apparently somebody feels I'm still needed. Maybe next time I write, I'll tell you what I said to her.