“Skate, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll!”—Kat Von D, LA Ink Forward by Tony Hawk Skateboarder and Jackass star Brandon Novak comes clean about his crazy rise to fame, tailspin into addiction, and other death-defying stunts on the road to recovery... At seven, Brandon was a skateboard prodigy. By the time he was fourteen, he was living the dream. Discovered by skate legends Bucky Lasek and Tony Hawk. Touring the U.S. with the elite Powell-Peralta team. Signing autographs and appearing in films and magazines. Brandon had it all. Then he got hooked on heroin. Soon the up-and-coming star was living a down-and-out life in a garage, begging for change, and hustling to score his next fix. He stole from his family and friends. He pushed the fantasy that everything was okay, that he was going to rehab, getting help, and getting better. But it was all a lie. This is the story of an addict—a dreamseller who stopped believing the lies he was selling and started believing in himself. With the help of his celebrity buddy Bam Margera of Jackass fame, Brandon joined the cast of MTV’s Viva La Bam and made an honest reach for sobriety. The road was hard, and he had some falls. But like any great skateboarder, Brandon Novak was always determined to get up again . . . “Entertaining, shocking, crazy, unimaginable.”—Bam Margera With 24 pages of photos Updated with a New Epilogue Brandon Novak is an actor, skateboarder, TV personality, artist, radio show host, motivational speaker, and author. He currently resides in West Chester, Pennsylvania.   Joseph Frantz is an artist, writer, media personality, and a producer and cinematographer of film and television. He also lives in West Chester, Pennsylvania. Dreamseller By Brandon Novak, Joseph Frantz KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2008 Brandon Novak and Joseph Frantz All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-8065-3828-0 Contents Foreword by Tony Hawk, Introduction by Bam Margera, Acknowledgments, Chapter One The Last Day of Using, Chapter Two A Prayer Answered, Chapter Three The Last Night of Using, Chapter Four The Phone Call, Chapter Five The Story of Alexia, Chapter Six Deceit and Betrayal, Chapter Seven Dying Love, Decaying Life, Chapter Eight The Road to Rehab, Chapter Nine Tuerk House, Chapter Ten Mrs. Evans, Chapter Eleven Kindness from Strangers, Chapter Twelve Physically Sick, Chapter Thirteen Dane, Chapter Fourteen Sean Williams, Chapter Fifteen Mentally Sick, Chapter Sixteen The First Step of a Long Journey, Chapter Seventeen A Ghost from the Past, Chapter Eighteen From the Beginning, Chapter Nineteen Bucky Lasek, Chapter Twenty A Conflict of Interests, Chapter Twenty-one The Initiation, Chapter Twenty-two A Change of Priorities, Chapter Twenty-three The Calm Before the Storm, Chapter Twenty-four The Cage, Chapter Twenty-five Downward Spiral, Chapter Twenty-six Bam Margera, Chapter Twenty-seven Haggard, Chapter Twenty-eight Paradise Lost, Chapter Twenty-nine Dealing with Reality, Chapter Thirty Death and Resurrection, Chapter Thirty-one Changes, Chapter Thirty-two It's All Over — or Is It?, Epilogue My Friend Scott, Update, 2017 by Joseph Frantz, CHAPTER 1 The Last Day of Using I am a twenty-five-year-old junkie, sleeping in an abandoned garage in one of the worst parts of Baltimore City. My eyes open. It is August 11, 2003. I can't tell you the time because I don't own a watch, but judging by the angle of the sun's rays shining through the cracks of the abandoned garage door, it is about eight-thirty a.m. As soon as I am conscious enough to think, panic consumes my body. My mind searches desperately for the answer to the question, "Did I leave a gate shot for myself last night?" A "gate shot" is what we junkies refer to as the first fix of the day, which draws the user "out of the gate" until they can pull a hustle that will lead to the next fix. I suppose this is a term borrowed from horse or dog racing, which conjures an insightful visualization of a junkie's lifestyle: a fixated animal running a desperate, circular sprint. My hands strike out, searching, reaching, grasping. Not in my shoes, not in my pockets, not on the floor ... I arrive at the terrible conclusion: no gate shot, not today. I am dreading the chain of events that are rapidly approaching, and I want so bad to reject the responsibility of having to scrounge up ten dollars for a pill of Dope, but Heroin is calling. I know I have to make it happen somehow, some way. I take a deep breath, and stagnant air fills my lungs. My eyes, adjusting to the sunlight, fix on the cracks on the ceiling, the peeling paint, the broken light fixture, the cement beams, all the exterior details which express my inner condition. My body shivers from the chill of the cold cement floor beneath my "bed," which consists of three moldy dingy-yellow cushions. A few days prior, I had taken them from a sofa that was sitting in the rain next to some