Writing Exchange V

Journal #64
When I was five years old my mother passed away from cancer. I remember playing with my friends when my father called me over and said those words, “Your mother died 3 days ago.” I remember my dad’s girlfriend crying, but I was thinking, “What’s wrong.” I remember her holding me as I cried a little. I was too young to really realize what it meant to lose my mother.
As I got older, I remember how much it hurt to know and have to think that my mommy would never come back. I have a little sister and even though it was years later, she would still cry and ask for “Mommy.” I still think to this day, “Why God? Why my mom?” Sometimes I still think she is out there somewhere and that maybe this was all a mistake and that maybe one day I will see her. I know now that she is gone, but it is easier to think differently. I still cry about my mom and wonder why. I have only a couple memories of her though.
I have 3 sisters and out of them all, I look the most like my mother. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I think I see her, but then I remember it is just me. I know she was a good person and loved us girls very much. I am in Juvenile Hall right now because when I was 13, I distanced myself from my family and started running away from everything and everyone. I am pregnant now and I have finally realized how much I need my family. I miss my family so much. I am praying they forgive me and accept me back into their lives. I have already lost my mother and I realize now how much I really have in my life.
I am going to have a baby now and I know my life will be very rough, but I will be the best mother I can be. I will show my child love. The things I have been through in my life, the good and the bad, have only taught me more about life. I have learned from my mistakes and I am a stronger person.

Journal #65
It all happens in the blink of an eye. You don't realize what you've done until it's too late. Now all you can do is think. You wish you would have thought smarter, faster, better...NO! Wait...If you were thinking at all you would have been at home helping your mom instead of just staying out all night smoking weed, snorting coke, and popping pills. Don't you know how much she worries and cares about you? Even if you dropped out of school? You should have been home helping your younger siblings with their homework. They need you too: WAY MORE than your friends.
What the hell are friends? They dragged you down to their low level. Now you're either a functioning user or you're dependent. Drugs made you do things you regret so bad. The thoughts won't leave you alone. They are on your mind, day in and day out. You hate yourself. Not you, ME. I hate myself. Why? I don't know. I'm disgusted with it. I am deciding to change for the better. I'll finally be there for my family who misses me despite the fact that I almost walked out on them. Most importantly, I'll finally be there for myself.


Journal #66
Sitting with my mind paused off in a daze,
gripping imaginary sand, watching memories of waves
Then I think what is life and what does it mean,
Am I trapped in reality or in a complex dream?
I can feel the sound around me and it’s good to my sense,
But does anyone truly know what happens when it ends?
Is everything still good or will everything change,
It’s like a battlefield of questions I keep locked in my brain.
I admit if the outcome is bad then I’ll be scared,
But if it’s a better life, our vision was just impaired.
I can picture perfect people and places beyond wealth,
No more shedding tears, an abundance of health
Everything would be calm and I would be at ease,
We would pray with the clouds finally rising from our knees.
God’s in our stature, children to the thrown,
What I would give to stop dreaming and find my pathway home.
Cause the world today has darkened, filled with pain and sorrow,
And at the rate we’re proceeding we might not reach tomorrow.
So while everyone is sleeping in a distant land dreaming,
I’m waiting for that day to finally start breathing.

Journal #67
When I was born, my dad left my mom. My mom was addicted to multiple drugs. At three years old, my dad showed up and got custody of me. I hated him for taking me away from my mom. A year or two later, he got married to a woman I despised. I would do something wrong, not something big, but she would make it such a big deal and beat me. She smokes weed and is an alcoholic. Her and my dad would fight all the time.
I never got to be with friends. When I got to high school I dropped out. Some of my friends smoked weed, so I tried it too. I liked it so I continued to use it. My dad’s wife found out I dropped out so I got beat again. I was tired of being hit, so I ran away. I realized I liked running away and seeing friends better than staying at the house. I ran away more often.
Recently, I ran away and was out late one night. I was at a friend’s place when some police came up and accused me of starting a fire because some guys saw me earlier at a place where the fire started. Now I am in the hall and I have to wait a month and a half for a trial. The sad thing is I like it better here than at home.

Journal #68
The job I wanted was construction;
but what I've done is mass disruption.
I know that life in unfair,
they always make fun of what I wear.
But, I swear sometimes life's fair.
I look and sound young for my age.
Can you please read the next page?
I've always wanted to die,
Please don't give me one more lie.

Journal #69
There are events in everyone’s lives that change them. My father’s death changed my life and future. He died when I was seven. I didn’t even cry because I didn’t know how to feel. That is when all the discipline went away. I started doing whatever I wanted. I started smoking weed to help with the pain at age 11. That is also when I got my first felony and two misdemeanors. I was on a path of destruction. The thing I realized is that if I would have had a dad to teach me things or be there to discipline me when I messed up, I don’t think I would be in half the trouble I am in today. Fathers are important no matter how mad you get at them. Most kids are lucky because they have one. I haven’t had a father for ten years.

Journal #70
I guess you could say my dad has always been a little weird in the head. I remember him beating someone up just because he thought they took a rock from his yard. My parents were never married. I only had visits with my dad because of how cold blooded he was.
I just got out of school on a summer day and walked into my dad’s house. I was probably 8-9 years old. Who knew that it could have been the end of my life. I am not sure if my dad was spun out or not. As I walked in the door, he asked me how my day was. “Good,” I replied and went to my room to watch TV. I looked up and saw the gun slightly shaking back and forth. Then he shot it. The bullet went through my hair. Even though there was probably a loud noise, it didn’t seem to scare me. I don’t know why. Soon I went back to watching TV. My dad just walked out of the room. We never talked about it. I never told my mom because she wouldn’t have let me go back and visit him. Like six months later I saw him again as if nothing ever happened.

Journal # 71
My life is just too into the gang life. My mom tells me to stop it, but it's like an inspirational saying- it goes in one ear and comes out the other. I just can't stop the life I live. I try and I try, but it just comes back. The only way I can stop is if I move from where I live now. My parents are thinking about moving so we can get away from all the danger. I just want to say that I do want to change.

Journal #72
I chose a path.
I chose a path to walk through.
The night is dark and I don't have anyone to talk to.
The small light beaming in my eyes,
creates words that I can't describe.
There is no escape.
I feel like screaming, but I just close my eyes.
The sun has come back, but stays behind these prison walls.
Long days and long nights.
Long months and long times.
Only if I could press rewind.
I wouldn't change my way,
just my mistakes.
Hopefully, it will all fall into place.
Surrounded by hate and strangers once again,
my pride never fails.
Now I'm back up in this cell.
Once again, there is no way out.
Being broke with no home,
to being broke with my own.
The game has taught me to survive alone.
I chose a path.

Journal #73
On June 21st of last summer, my best friend died at my house. We were all partying and having a good time. We just took some methadone wafers and started drinking. No one knew my friend was dying because we were drunk in the living room. About two hours later, me and my girl went to my room and there he was on my bed, his face blue, choking on his own vomit. I ran over and flipped him on his stomach and my girl called 911. I was trying so hard to bring him back. By the time the EMT’s got there it was too late. I went to the hospital and called his mom. As she walked in, I broke down and his mom held me. I stayed with her that whole week. I felt guilty because he stole the pills from his mom. I forgot about him. If I would have found him sooner, it could have saved his life. Now I have to live with that. I will not make that mistake again. It changed my life forever.

Journal #74
An event that changed me was when my mom passed away. I was almost 10 years old and had been staying in a group home at the time. It was Thursday, June 16th. I was going to visit her. I had talked to her the night before. She was acting really weird, saying, “I’ll love you not matter what happens.” It really scared me, but she acted weird quite a lot.
Well, when I got to the place where we visited, we went to a different room than we usually visited in. I thought nothing of it until I walked in a room with my social workers and my counselor. They handed me my mom’s teddy bear and a picture of me and my mom on Christmas. Then they said, “Your mom’s dead.” I said, “Your ******* kidding me.” They said, “No, I’m sorry. She died in her sleep last night.” They told me she had a heart attack. Then they said they were going to tell my sister next. I said, “No, I am. It will be easier on her.” So we went to my sister’s. I gave her my mom’s stuffed puppy and a picture of her and my mom.
On July 7th we had the memorial at the Amphitheater. A week later we went to my mom’s viewing. It looked like she was sleeping. I wanted to wake her up so bad. My social worker kept saying my mom had a heart attack.
It is now two years later, and I recently found out it was a suicide, not a heart attack. That just brought me back to crying. I had to tell my sister. Man, I miss my mom.

Journal #75
I was sent to ROP (a wanna-be boot camp) for damn near two years. During that time I was messing up. I ran at least 9 times. I was selling weed and smoking it. It took me a minute for something to pop in my head. That was when my older brother told me to be better than him. The thing that made me think about it was a phone call home from the “boot camp.” My older brother told me my mom was in the hospital and they didn’t plan on letting her out. Instead, they were going to send her to a rehabilitation facility until she recovered from her 6 heart-bypasses. During all the surgeries, they discovered that my mom wouldn’t be able to walk, was partly blind, and had slight memory loss.
The “boot camp” was telling me that I would not be able to go home until my mother got out of the hospital. A month passed. I finally got a home pass to go and see her for three days. Well, during that home pass, I was told that our house was up for closure, because the bills weren’t getting paid. By that time the bill was sky high. I didn’t have anything else to do except to try and make money, so that we didn’t lose the house. My little brother was locked up and I wanted him to go home and not have to live in the streets. So I started selling dope on my home pass. I turned my home pass into a 3 month home pass instead of a 3 day. I was making paper. I was saving it for that house. My cousin told me to head back to the camp.
When I got back to ROP, everything was all messed up. It took me 3 or 4 more months to qualify for a six bed group home. Then I asked for a pass to see about my mom and they gave it to me. Now my home was boarded up. Mom was still in the hospital, so I ran and was selling again. It took 10 months for them to catch me. Now I sit in Juvenile Hall waiting till September to come by. Then I’ll be free and I’ll be 18.

Writing Exchange IV

Writing Exchange IV
Fresno and Butte County Juvenile Halls
July 17, 2008

Journal #46
I'm on the wrong road. I grew up with older people telling me what I should do to be remembered. They told me I should be true, and that I should hate my enemies on sight. They also taught me how to shoot, and shoot to kill. When I was growing up, I thought this was the way of life. I also thought I was on the right path; until I got locked up--attempted murder, my first offense. The judge told me I was getting 25 years to life. Then they dropped it to 7 years. Now I sit here thinking of how all those people were telling me lies. When I get out, I'm going to get on the right path, even though it won't be easy. At least now I know I'm on the road to success.

Journal #47
It seems like I’ve been traveling the road to failure for quite sometime now. Doing drugs and breaking the law has gotten me nowhere. If I could have just said no to drugs that first time, things would be a lot different now. But, I think things are going to be different when I get out. I’m starting to set long-term goals and I’m growing more confident in my ability to succeed. I will be great one day, I can feel it. I’m getting off the path of destruction and starting to walk the narrow path that leads to life. This is going to be a good change.

Journal #48
I’m on a path to prison. I’ve been to Juvenile Hall four times, but I don’t want to be on this path. I want to go to school and to become a mechanic. I want to have kids, a house, and to turn my life around, but it is really hard. I’m 11 years old. I’m going to be in Juvenile Hall on my 12th birthday plus I will be looking at six months on EMP (Electric Monitoring Program).
These are my main goals in life: to finish school, become a mechanic, buy a house, and to have kids. I would also like to own a jet black 86 Chevy Camero with red leather interior and chrome rims. I’ll get there by finishing school and going to college. I’m going to take responsibility and I am going to obey the law.
My role models are my grandpa and my step grandpa. My grandpa is a retired NASA worker. My step grandpa is the owner of a winery. I want to be like them.

Journal #49
My path consists of good and bad. The good includes that I do participate in school. I also have a few positive friends that have helped me to do better things. My family is very supportive and for the most part, they have been a good motivation to stay away from my habits.
Though I have people to motivate me, I can’t seem to keep myself together. Maybe it is the lack of goals or dreams. I can’t seem to look ahead or stay positive. Lately drugs have become a big part of my life. It’s like I’ll try to stay away from drugs and alcohol, but bad things just keep coming and drugs always seem to be the best way out. Sometimes I myself don’t even understand why I put myself through so much. I had a good life and I’m throwing it away.
In my life, I want to experience happiness or some kind of reason to wake up in the mornings. I know that I will never find happiness by the things I am doing now. I guess my goal would be to graduate and go to college. Right now I love writing. If I were able to be a writer, I would like that. Of course I want a family of my own. I want a life that doesn’t consist of drugs or crimes or jail. It sounds so easy to just give it all up. It is not.

Journal #50
My dream is to be a professional football player. I’ve been playing football since I was a fifth grader. When I became an eighth grader, I got into weed. Ever since I’ve been smoking weed, my life changed. I started hanging out with gangsters. I started to get drunk and go to parties. I also used to stay out late. My grades dropped a lot.
Now I’m a tenth grader and I’m locked up here in juvenile hall. This is the first time I’ve been clean in a long time. Now I’ve realized what I got myself into. So now whenever I get out, I’m going to start going to church and hanging out with a different crowd. I’m going to get back into a regular school and play some ball and hopefully go on and play pro ball. THAT’S MY DREAM.

Journal #51
One day I sat to think of what my life will soon become,
Will I make it to my 21st or have a shorter run?
It’s hard to tell when I’m unaware of the struggles that lie ahead,
Will I find the strength to change my ways or will I just be dead?
I try each day to make it better than the last because deep down I know I must,
When I’m through those doors I fall back to the past because it’s the only thing I trust.
Maybe one day I’ll do what I need and let my music take me away,
Until that happens it’s back to my life of being a soul that strays.
So while I stay and carry on, I continue to write and pray,
And if my prayers are ever answered that’s the day I’ll pave my way.

Journal #52
I remember a day when I almost fell to my death. I was up for three days. I didn’t sleep; I didn’t eat; I didn’t drink. Crystal had taken full control of me. It was the third day; I had turned into a beast. There was no going back; I just smoked two eight balls to the dome. What could I do? “Don’t stop, you need it, it makes you feel good”, the devil told me. So, I didn’t stop smoking and nobody in my path was going to make me!
That was until Friday morning when crystal almost took my life. I was scared; everything was spinning round and round. I was tripping out; then my chest was hurting like someone stabbed it. I couldn’t breathe, my face went numb and my heart was pounding faster than ever. I thought I was going to explode. I called for an ambulance; next thing I know is that I’m in an ambulance with all kinds of things hooked up to me. I asked the paramedic sitting next to me “Will I make it?” He told me “Not if your heart doesn’t slow down.”
At that point I thought I was gone for sure this time, but the paramedics explained to me that everything was going to be alright and that I was lucky they got to me in time. I finally arrive at the hospital. I was there all day, and then my dad showed up. He was mad at me. I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t even speak to me. I wish I could’ve taken it all back and gone home with my dad when he asked me three days before.

Journal #53
I feel like my path has been chosen for me
Knives, drugs, mistakes and agony
Sitting behind these walls
Will I ever be free?
I am so far down the path
I’ve had my fair share of wrath
Trying to do right and always doing wrong
Stuck on stupid hitting the bong
Everyone tells me I am to blame
My whole life is a shame
Can I go the other way?
I am hoping, maybe, someday
I am better than this, wait and see
I can go the other way
Just watch me

Journal #54
One road, two paths.
Where am I at?
Which way should I go?
Should I follow?
Should I lead?
I'm my own type of person, with my own type of needs.
Should I change or should I stay?
Change for my new family, or stay for me.
Inside of me, I need to change;
but I still act a little insane.
I need to change.
Not just for me,
but to show the people who put me down,
I went all the way without a frown.
I'm a changed person.

Journal #55
I now realize that this isn't the right path I was destined to take. I can't stand this place! I miss my family, this place makes me just want to break down and cry. I've gotten into a lot of fights, but it wasn't the right thing to do, because in the end you still loose. They get you back, and then what do you do? The same? It never ends this fight over color or race. It's all the same, pointless. Your friends really couldn’t care less; it's those that tell you to stop that really care.
My mom is scared that I might get shot or stabbed. I was like," Blah, blah, blah." Now I can see why she told me all of that. I now can see that the pistol is right in front of me, pointed at my head. One mistake and I could get filled with lead. I'm stuck now, I want to go back and tell my mom I love her, without having her drive all this way just to see me. I want to scream out," I want out of this life!" But, suicide is not the answer. What won't kill me, will make me stronger. I plan to be strong enough to say no to the homies, and go the right path straight to my home. They say a person can never change their ways. If so, I will be the first to do it in my own way.

Journal #56
Going from elementary to middle school was always exciting for me. I was the one who always had the goals of finishing middle school and going to high school. I had my goals all planned out. I was already bragging about it.
First year in middle school was the best year. All A’s and B’s. I was always proud of myself and my grades. During the end of 7th grade, I started going out with boys and started ditching school, not caring about my grades or my attendance. Summer started and I had summer school, but I didn’t care about it anymore. I started drinking, going out late and started smoking weed.
8th grade started and I started smoking dope. My parents found out when I was arrested by the cops and put into a drug program. After that I was suppose to be on probation, but I kept ditching school and started getting into fights. I didn’t graduate from middle school, but I got into high school because the counselors were tired of seeing me in the office.
High school came and I started at ******* High School. Both of my sisters went to that school too. One was a senior and one was a sophomore. I got kicked out. I never went to school; I was always ditching and going to get high with my homies. I got dirty drug tests and I kept coming back to juvenile hall. Now I have six months, but I only sixty days left. Two more months and I’ll be home going to school and being a better person.

Journal #57
I’ve always thought of myself being successful in life until two years ago. I now think I am going nowhere. I feel as if the road to success isn’t success at all. It is prison and death. I don’t want to be on this path, but it is so much easier to go down. All I’m trying to say is I don’t like the path I am on, the road I wanted was blocked. It didn’t want me anymore. Until that road opens up again, I don’t know where I will be. I’ll either be dead or in prison just because of a slip up. Now I won’t see the grassy field or a family with kids. I’ll see bricks and barbwire fences.

Journal #58
My goal is to own a house
Instead of renting an apartment getting my food eaten by a mouse
But money ain’t what life’s really all about
So dry off your tears and blow out them boogers from your snout
Spit out them nugies from your mouth
Stay out of problems
Cause getting locked up doesn’t solve em
I only want the things that’ll get me through life
And when I say that I ain’t talking about no wife
Cause things like that don’t matter
I don’t care if or if not my pockets get fatter
As long as my cash stays decent
I’m incarcerated not recent
This is the life of someone who fouls
And makes money off the drugs that he sells
But I’d rather be working
Instead of being mad at the world while proving
I mean to make dollars at a job
Because all I do is keep getting locked up when I rob
I don’t want sight of another bong
All I’ve been threw I now know right from wrong


Journal #59
Hours are long, minutes are short
As the seconds pass, I like this place more
I know I'm bad, I know I'm wrong
Let's get together and sing this song
When I dream all alone, in my backyard getting stoned
I'm always dreaming of my home, with my girl on the phone
So roses are red, and violets are blue
When I leave here, I hope I'm new
I'm feeling crazy I'm feeling high
I'm smoking so much, and I wonder why
So I'm going to stop so my mom won't cry
Wipe those tears off of her eyes

Journal #60
Right now I am on the wrong path. I’m on a path that will take me either out of this world or to prison. I have made my way down this path with my own decisions. Nobody made me skip school or do drugs or any other kinds of bad decisions I have made. I now realize this because I have ended up in this detention center. My younger brother has been following my footsteps. Knowing this, it is one of the many reasons I want and need to change my path.
I need to be a better influence for him and to show him right from wrong. My only options at this point are a group home far away or to move to Oklahoma with family I barely know. These are the harsh consequences of my actions. If I’m lucky I might get another option with my friend’s mom to gain custody of me. She is trying just as hard as I am. She is my role model and the person who is helping me change my life around. I’m so thankful somebody wants to help. I know I can’t expect her to do everything for me. I need to take anger management and do all the other things required to let me change my life for the better and to try to help my brother.

Journal #62
I don’t know what to write. I’ve been in here for four months. I am in a gang and although I am down, at the same time I don’t want to end up in prison. Prison, I am right under it. The only reason I am not there is because I am only fifteen years old. I am supposed to do things normal fifteen year olds do, but I don’t. I fight, drink, sell, and carry a gun. I want to turn my life around. I want to get a real job. Prison is not for me.

Journal #63
I got a problem
with you
with my parents
with friends
with drugs
with crime
with probation
with cops
with myself
with the world
But I don't know why.

Writing Exchange III

Writing Exchange III
Fresno County and Butte County Juvenile Halls
July 11, 2008

Journal # 26
If you really knew me, you would know that four days ago, I hit rock bottom. I wanted to die. I was out of the hall for about nine months. That is the longest I have ever stayed out. Once I started using, my sober and sane world came crashing down around me. My family pushed me away because of the drugs, so I ran.
I took all my money and belongings and split. I spent over $500 in two weeks and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital with an IV in my arm. Well, I ripped it out and ran out of the hospital, knowing the cops would be coming to speak with me. As I was running, I spotted my picture on a telephone pole. It read:
WANTED
BY A DAD WHO STILL LOVES HIM
Right then and there I broke down and started to cry and scream. I’ve had enough. I called my pops and he picked me up. At this point, I wished I died in that hospital bed. My dad said he loved me and we were going to get through it together.
The next day I turned myself in to the hall. Right before I walked into incarceration, my dad gave me a book: Writing Exchange II. I read it the first night and it made me feel like I wasn’t alone. There are others out there like me. Now, what a coincidence: I’m adding my story to a potential next book. I hope this helps someone that way it helped me.

Journal # 27
I’m about to be sixteen years old and I’m fighting the battle of change. I feel like it’s me against the world. I’m fighting my addiction to drugs and my addiction to gang banging.
I sit here in juvenile hall with twenty-nine different girls and hold my composure every day. I face the complications of change, the struggles of an addict, the thoughts of a criminal and the burden from being a girl who’s inflicted so much pain on her family. This is not a second chance, this is MY last chance. I want to change so bad, I can feel it, literally.
My boyfriend, who is an important part of my life right now, is in the same program as me and my biggest fear is that my changing is going to tear us apart. I hope he wants change too. Drugs and gang banging are a major setback in life and if I continue, I won’t live to see eighteen. So really, my choice to change is a choice between life and death. I choose to live.

Journal # 28
I remember that day, that night I was there.
I remember the cars lined up the street, when I learned I had to say good-bye.
I lost a brother and a mother lost her son, a friend lost a friend.
I remember seeing his eyes right before he died.
Everything went dark when Death’s hands hit 12:00.
I remember when he got hit.
It was like a bunch of fire works were just lit.
I did not run I just stood there.
Thanks to God, I didn’t get hit.
I remember we took him to the hospital, but they said it was just too late.
I remember what I did that almost cost me my life.
I remember I got stabbed.
But I can’t tell you the rest, because the time is just not right.
Now I’m locked up with nowhere to go, nowhere to run.
I remember I just wanted to get high one more time, before I saw the light.
But I came back to reality and my mother was nowhere in sight.

Journal #29
Life is a strange thing. Mine was pretty messed up when I was little. My dad was never there and my mom was always on drugs, but at least I had my grandparents. Everything positive, came from them.
I remember when I was three years old, waking up early with my mom still asleep. She had a candle lit to cover the smell of dope. I grabbed it next to the corner chair. I caught the chair on fire. When my mom woke up, she yelled quite a bit. I felt so bad.
I remember being seven and calling my dad to see if I could go and see him. He said, “Ya,” so I went over to his place. I waited for hours and hours. He never showed up. I called my grandmother and cried to her, telling her my dad never came. She came right over and got me, apologizing.
In the end, I have no room to talk. I did drugs too. The one thing I won’t do is avoid my son or do drugs around him. He is the most beautiful thing in the world. I won’t be like them. I can’t be like them. I refuse!
I am lucky to have my grandparents. They have always been there for me no matter how much trouble I get in and they have helped with my beautiful baby boy. If they were to go, I would not know what to do. I love them with all of my heart.

Journal #30
I remember when I was young I had dreams,
But as I grew up I started to B-A-N-G.
I remember through it all I still had some good,
But at the same time I was still in the hood.
I remember when I got my first gun charge,
I was only eleven thinking I was hard.
I remember when I beat those three years,
Like forget going to trial.
They gave me my time in the hall,
So I took it and smiled.
I remember thinking I’m a soldier baby,
I’ll sit down on mine.
Told the staff in a few months,
I’ll see the sunshine.
I remember in the back of my mind,
I felt bad.
I didn’t want anyone to see me,
Walking the same path as my dad.
I remember being a role model to all of my younger cousins.
Now they look at me different and say I’m just trouble.
But I realize in this game,
I can’t fumble.
So I’m going to get myself together on the double!

Journal #31
When you are locked up you are really faced with a lot of problems like just following instructions and paying attention. But when you get out that’s when the real struggle begins. When you get out you are faced with drugs, alcohol and thousands of reasons to violate probation. It is up to me to decide to mess up or not. It is not going to be easy to do right, but if I don’t do it how will I know how it feels. I already know that doing bad can make you feel good. So when I get out I am going to do good because I am tired of just feeling good, it’s about time to feel better and the only way to do that is to do what’s right.

Journal # 32
Memory brings happiness, but also brings hurt.
I remember being left as I slept in the dirt.
All these dumb things that I brought on myself,
Like drinking and smoking and messing up my health.
Disrespect came along with all of this.
I hurt my family, and I know I wasn’t missed.
Kicked out, dropped out, and never went back.
I remember seeing my clothes in my black backpack.
I hate that.
That’s why I don’t want to think.
I recall being in an alley on Christmas Day with a drink,
Messed up, screwed up, and drunk on my ass.
Crying when I thought I saw my mom’s car pass.
I think at last, maybe I should’ve done right.
Then I sneak in my old lady’s window for the night.
Pale and white, disfigured inside.
I want to fix myself, and I don’t.
And I don’t know why.


Journal #33
If you really knew me you would know that when I was 10 years old I saw my dad shoot up. If you really knew me you would know that it wasn’t uncommon to see my dad hit my mom. If you really knew me, you would know I was beat on, all of those ten years. If you really knew me you would know that I took care of my brother until he was old enough to do some of the things on his own.

Journal #34
This is the story of my Asian life…my sister was seventeen. My parents were separated…as for myself; I was an eight year old girl. I really did not have a clue what my family was going through until that horrible, cold January night. How could I have a clue? I mean, I was only eight years old. All I cared about was my after school snack, the cartoons on television and trying to stay up later than eight-thirty on school nights.
I remember that night like it was only milliseconds ago. My mother had asked me to carry the towels upstairs to the linen closet. After I moaned, groaned and procrastinated for about ten minutes, I finally agreed. I remember trying to peer over the towels to make my way up the steep stairs safely. When I got to the closet, which just happens to be next to my sister’s room, I heard her crying. Being the most concerned third-grader I could be, I opened the door a little bit wider and I asked, “Shelly, what’s wrong?” She just looked at my confused expression and then asked me to give her a hug. I was pretty much into the charade of showing that you hated your siblings, so I refused her request. She persisted and asked me once more. My shaky response was, “Why?” Shelly explained to me that she had just swallowed an entire bottle of over-the-counter pills.
I was not exactly sure at that point in time if this was a dangerous move on her part. But, I realized it must have been pretty serious. I ran down the stairs to my mother, crying the whole way. I told her exactly, word for word, what Shelly had just explained to me. My mother raced up the stairs two at a time. She burst into my sister’s room and she begged Shelly to get out of bed and to tell her what happened. Shelly refused to tell my mom anything. My mom forced her out of bed, told her to get dressed and they hurried to the hospital.
My neighbor came over and I cried myself to sleep. All I remember after that is waking up and my neighbor was still there. I learned that Shelly was going to be all right after she had gotten her stomach pumped and especially after she had spent the next three months of her senior grade year in rehabilitation center for adolescents.
I never knew exactly why she had attempted suicide and I never want to ask her, but, I do know that life is our most precious gift and I will never again pretend that I do not love my sister. I am happy till this day that I still have her and that she moved on with her life and got married at the age of twenty-three. I learned to stay strong no matter what happens or what’s in front of me. This is the life of being Asian and is the hardest thing for me.

Journal # 35
One day I was at my dad’s house in Chowchilla. It was me, my oldest sister and my two nieces. We were leaving that morning to go home. My sister and my nieces had gotten up early and were getting ready to leave. I was still asleep. My other sister called my oldest sister and told her to take me home too, so I woke up and got ready.
My sister was driving as we started home. We had just left Chowchilla with my sister, my nieces and me in the car. My sister had a seizer; I tried not to panic. I got a hold of the steering wheel and pulled the car to the side of the road. Fortunately, the next thing I realize is there is a highway patrol man coming down the street. I waved him down and he pulled up. I told him what had happened and he said I was a hero.

Journal # 36
If you really knew me you would know that I never used to get in trouble. If you really knew me you would know I never used to claim. If you really knew me you would know I used to hate cigarettes. If you really knew me you would know I never used to drink. If you really knew me you would know I didn’t want to rob people on a bike trail to make money. If you really knew me you would know that I used to love to have a good time riding BMX bikes instead of getting high. If you really knew me you would know that I wish I never would have moved on the block where I live. If you really knew me you would know that I hated having to go to my community school so I gave the teachers hell. Even the one I am writing for today. My second year at the community school I got involved in the writing exchange. I became calmer and closer to the teachers. I hated it when I found out our school was closing. If you really knew me you would know I only told one girl in my life that I love her. If you really knew me you would know I still love her and want her back. If you really knew me you would know I became closer to my sister and cousin and now consider them both sisters. If you really knew me you would know I am extremely proud of who I am. If you really knew me you would love me and know that I wish I could be the person I used to be.

Journal #37
I remember my first charge; I still think it’s hard.
I remember on August 4, 2007 when I first got my visit.
I remember blanking out that my brother had died.
I always thought it was a lie.
I remember I said I want to die.
I remember doing meth, I never went to bed.
I remember my mom getting hit by my dad,
Till this day I still think it’s bad.
I remember doing time,
I remember I tried to get a dime.
I always knew people lie.
Now I’m sitting here doing time, or just trying to commit suicide.
I always thought life’s a joke.
I always stayed low.
I want my brother to come back,
But now I know he can’t do that.
I remember getting angry,
But I was always angry.


Journal #38
If you really knew me,
You would know what I feel every day; the hate and pain.
If you really knew me,
You would know I never went home because when I did I was stuck watching thirty different kids.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was raped and in a scary place.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was held hostage in a closet for two weeks.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was a prostitute with no hope. I had already been raped, so what did it matter. I hated this place.
If you really knew me,
You would know after all I have been through I have little hope.
But, if you really knew me,
You would know I’d do anything for people and my heart is gold.
If you really knew me,
Would you understand this is why I am this way or would you still think this white girl is crazy?
If you really knew me,
You would understand me.
If you really knew me,
You would know my love is slowly fading for myself.
If you really knew me,
You would know I cry myself to sleep and it has been this way since I was thirteen.
If you really knew me,
Would you reach out your hand?
If you really knew me,
Would you help me understand?

Journal # 39
I remember coming from my cousins in L.A. and my mom and dad not being at home anymore.
I remember saying I didn’t have anyone to look up to anymore.
I remember my mom coming home from work all tired.
I remember trying to make some money for us.
I remember getting in the gang.
I remember getting shot at.
I remember getting locked up and calling my mom to come pick me up.
I remember her telling me to not go anywhere.
I remember breaking into houses thinking that they were never going to catch me.
I remember being chased by the cops the next day.
I remember trying to call my mom from the Juvenile Hall.
I remember my oldest sister telling me that they had been deported,
My mom with my little brother and sister.
I’m just here locked up wishing that I would have never done anything wrong.
Maybe I could have been with her.

Journal # 40
I remember when my parents left me behind;
It was a long time ago, but it’s still in my mind.
I remember the day that I first got high,
I still love the feeling so much-and I don’t know why.
I remember when my dad came back home.
It was a Sunday afternoon, sitting on the porch on the phone.
I remember the day that my little brother died.
There was so much pain I couldn’t cry,
But I can feel it inside.
I remember when I first got locked up in the hall,
I looked up at the ceiling and stared at the wall.
Now I’m here again and I’m doing my time,
Wishing that I could go back to when I committed my crime.
Even if I fall, I will get up again.
I will set more goals and to accomplish them.

Journal #41
If you really knew me, you would know my favorite drug is methamphetamine.
If you really knew me you would know I am involved in gangs.
If you really knew me you would know I lost my love over my hommies.
If you really knew me you would know I regret being a gang member.
If you really knew me you would know I am waiting for my day to come.
You couldn’t really know me. I don’t even know myself.

Journal #42
I am up against my addiction to drugs. It is one of the hardest things to get through. I never thought I would become an addict because I saw what it did to my friends and more importantly, my family. But at the age of 13 I tried meth for the very first time. I guess I was an addict in hiding because I really liked it. From then on I’ve used meth like it is going out of fashion.
I managed to hold myself together and stay clean for a year, but I fell off track and right back to the dope I went. My grandma has been clean for a year now. I’m just hoping she can manage better than me and stay that way because she is the most important person in my life besides my handsome son who I miss so much.
I’ll be free on the 11th, so I hope that will be my second chance. A second chance is exactly what I am getting. I get to go home and be with my dad and not be locked up until I am 18 which is what I was expecting with my charges. What do I think a second chance looks like? I am looking at one right now.

Journal #43
Dear Mom,
Something you don’t know is that I have been raped and molested. In July of 05 when I was under the influence and I cried and told you the next day; I said I didn’t remember what happened, but I did. I just felt that you wouldn’t care or would have thought I was crazy. I was so young and scared. You always said it was me and you against the world. There is you, but there is no me. I am nothing, worthless, and scared miserably.

Journal # 44
Money=greed=wanting power
Honey=bee=finding a flower
Hate=death=constant sadness
Pain=fear=endless madness
Hope=God=better days
Maybe one day we’ll be on the same page,
Because life is disintegrating with every step we take.

Journal #45
It seems like I have done wrong all my life. Now I’m getting asked what a second chance looks like. I wouldn’t know because I have been too busy doing wrong and not right. I would imagine that if I was to take advantage of a second chance I would pay back and attend to my dying mother’s life. I would try to show my little brother that I what I was doing was not right and that life could be better.
Now that I’m back in Juvenile Hall and my little brother is literally across the hall on a different pod, I can’t imagine what my mother is feeling. She sits in a rest home with an amputated leg. Life to me sucks. I do want to take that second chance. I have a child on the way and two at home. I love them with all of my heart and soul. I don’t want to keep on neglecting them.

Writing Exchange II

Writing Exchange
Fresno County and Butte County Juvenile Halls
July 3, 2008

Journal #12
The only people in my family that haven’t been arrested are my grandparents. They’re the only ones that have pushed me to succeed, but I always end up behind these walls. The next time I get into trouble, I’m going to county. I used to be ok with that; I would spend my life behind bars because that’s the cycle of my family. My dad and one of my brothers are both serving life sentences for murder and another brother of mine is on the run after committing a murder. My mom has been in and out of prison. I know now, I do not want to have that life, but it may be too late. I was supposed to get out on July 9th and I still might, or I might get transferred to county. I was told by my PO that I may be facing two attempted murder charges.
I thought things could not get worse until a few days ago when I found out that my grandfather died. The thing that hurts the most is that I could have seen him one more time if I would have been continuing to do good. I actually asked to be locked up this time, so I know it is my fault. It is not probation’s fault for not letting me out early or the judge’s fault for putting me in here, but me for making the bad decisions and not listening to what he was trying to tell me all of those years. So right now I just want to take this time and apologize for letting you down. Know one thing, if I get a second chance I promise you I will break the cycle and make you proud. I’m sorry. I love you.

Journal #13
It isn’t wrong when a mother and daughter have a special bond. I can tell her almost anything even if it’s bad and she wouldn’t even get mad. She’s the only one I can open up to and the only one that makes me feel new. The most beautiful thing in the world that makes me feel calm, there’s nothing I would want more than my mom. Every day she makes me smile, I’ll run to her within a thousand miles. She tried so hard to keep me from trouble. Every day with her my life doubles. In my mother’s glory, she’s my sun in the morning. I would do anything for my mom. She makes me happy when I’m blue, every day she makes me feel new.
But as I took her love and respect for granted, our relationship became stranded. I became addicted to the streets, posted with the homies smokin’ some weed. Mobbin’ deep to crazy parties leaving mom worried, coming home telling her my sorry’s. As I saw the hurt in mom’s eyes, I realized this is why she cries. So I stopped going out and stayed home, annoyed by the rings of the phone. Friends calling, telling me to come through, so I lie to mom knowing I wasn’t true.
As I walk down the street, I see the homie dooms, offering me a couple of his shrooms. Late that night I’m with home-girl stealing cars, in our hand holding chrome bars. Next thing you know we’re caught by cops, as they block us off within a couple stops. Five cop cars stop us at gun point and I’m thinking damn, in the home-girl’s pocket is a joint. As we get arrested I feel a pain in my chest, thinking of my mom and why I put her through this mess.
Now I’m in this grimy hall, hurting, without my mom, so I drop to my knees a fall. Thinking being locked up is hell without my mom alone in my cell, so I cry at night to God and say, I hope to be with her again one day. As days pass by without my mom I’m lost, now I know every action I take has a cost. All these games I was playin’, mom cryin’ while she was prayin’. Now I just sit and wait in my room, knowing I’ll be with her again real soon.

What is life without money?
What is Pooh without honey?
What is a sister without her brother?
What am I without my mother?

I LOVE YOU MOM!

Journal #14:
I remember when I turned 13. My dad had just gotten out of prison from a seven year sentence. I was just graduating from the 8th grade. There were two people I wanted to be there: my mom and dad even though they were not together. I saw my mom when I was on stage. I looked all around hoping my dad would show up, but he never came.
I remember right after the 8th grade graduation, I moved to a neighboring city. My dad was still out of prison, so I went to see him for Christmas. He gave me $150. An hour later I remember looking all around for him. He was gone. I spent a total of 30 minutes with my dad the whole year he was out.
I remember I just finished my freshman year. My mom was a recovering meth addict. I was really proud she was doing well now, but I sure didn’t show it. I was off very late at night drinking and smoking weed with the homies, worrying her. It went from weed to coke now and then, but I told myself I wasn’t doing so bad.
I remember telling myself I was going to make a better life for myself, stay out of jail, and away from drugs. I also remember the day I came to juvie, sitting in my cell wondering how this happened.
The most important thing in the world for me is to succeed. I want to succeed not just for me, but for my brothers and my mom too. I want out of juvie and to graduate high school. After that I hope to go into the Coast Guard or to college. If I did do those things, it would make my mom very proud and I think I owe that to her. My mom is a recovering meth addict. She lost me and my three other siblings when we were younger. She went to rehab and has been clean for 4½ years now. She has a steady manager job and a four bedroom house. So, I think I owe it to her to at least do something with my life. I want to succeed also for my brothers so that they can have a role model and someone to look up to.

Journal #15
One of the most important things in my life besides my family is probably my dirt bike. The reason that my dirt bike is “another” important thing in my life is because wherever I want to get away from people and have fun all I have to do is grab my dirt bike, load it up and just go!
Another reason I love riding my dirt bike is because when I get mad at someone or something, I can get on my dirt bike and take out some anger. The only thing about doing that is most of the time I’ll usually try and do something I know I can’t do and end up falling and hurting myself which sucks, but it happens.
There are many other reasons why I picked my dirt bike, but, the ones listed are the most important.

Journal #16
The most important thing to me is my family because when I was younger my family was messed up on drugs and didn’t take care of me. My dad was never home and my mom was always in bed.
When I got locked up on February 11, 2008 my dad went downhill very quickly because of drugs and alcohol. My mom had nowhere to stay so she was going to a homeless shelter. My dad ended up in rehab and my mom stayed with my great aunt. The only reason all of that happened is because I wasn’t there to take care of them. If I had been there my dad wouldn’t have had to go to rehab and my mom would have had somewhere to stay.
When I get out everything’s going to be different, there isn’t going to be any drugs or alcohol. My mom and dad aren’t going to be all messed up all the time and I’m not going to be messed up all the time either.

Journal #17
The most important thing to me is to make sure my baby niece grows up with a father figure in her life. When I was on the run, I took on that role. Her real father is in prison for three years. I helped raise her from when she was two months to six months old. I got locked up like her father. Raising a baby is a beautiful thing. Now I’m sitting in a cell thinking about her. I just wish I could go back in time and not carry a gun with me to the store. I swear I’d do anything for her. Every time I think of someone else taking my place in her life, I cry. I just hope that the person who does, does a better job than me.

Journal #18
My family is the most important thing to me. After 8 years of wasted time, I have come to this realization. I didn’t know what I had at home. I know that people say that all the time, but I really didn’t know. My mom gave me the world, everything I wanted I got. All I gave her in return were bruises and broken bones. I got in fights with my mom and beat her. She gave me love. It’s like she looked through the evil and only saw me as sweet and the child she wanted. I brought drugs and hell into her safe environment and she still took me and gave me love.
I got locked up when I was 13 for my first time. I thought I was the coolest thing. I went to a probation school and gave the staff hell for 4 years. I have been places you wouldn’t want to be: homes with tweakers. I started to do crack, meth, and coke because I was living under a bridge and in tents. I was too scared to go to sleep and the drugs made it so I didn’t have to. I was invincible, untouchable, and unstoppable. I then went back to prostitution and giving my money to a guy that said he loved me. It took me years to see that the only people in my life I really need, I hurt.
Now I am being given the chance to start all over and believe me I will never mess my mom or brothers lives up the way I did mine. I will never again lay a hand on my mom because the next time I may not get to have my mom in my life again. It took those last two years of living like I did to realize what I had at home.

Journal #19
June 30, 2005 was the day of my awaking. A couple of days previous to this date (three years ago) I was hit with a bomb. I was fourteen and pregnant. My first solution to my “problem” was to have an abortion. I did so much as to go to the clinic to abort my baby. I simply walked out saying, “I will come back later.” My mom and sister wanted me to keep my baby, but me being selfish, all I could tell myself was, “what about my body, I don’t want to get fat. I am too young to have a baby.”
Three days later my sister and I were driving from downtown and flew off the side of a ramp on the freeway. We went airborne. My sister yelled, “Don’t be scared”. That was the last thing I heard as we were flung like garbage into a dumpster. We landed on a tree. A TREE! We thought it was a bush. While we were flying, do you know what my first reaction was? I guarded my pregnant belly. Only two months into motherhood and planning to end it, but yet I protected my child with no concern for myself. At the emergency room they explained to me how lucky I was to be alive. Not only that, my baby was alive as well.
Now three years to the day, my daughter is two and I am trapped in this hell hole, not able to protect her like when she was in my belly. The love this child gives me is the best feeling and most important factor anybody could ever receive. I have to go six months waking up in the morning without seeing her face, without the “momma” she screams in excitement seeing my face. I find it hard to sleep wondering if she will forget me. Does she know how special she is to me? She is the most important, beautiful, special, smart, sweet little miracle God could have blessed me with. When I am released, I will show her how unique she is. Thank you God!

Journal #20
To me, the most important thing is my little brother. He is my life. I love him so much. He is one of the reasons I do right or at least try to do right. Before he gets older and can actually realize what’s going on, I want to be doing good for him and myself. He is one and I am 15. I was raising him for a while because my mom was not doing too well. She was into dope and so was his dad, but now look at me. I complained all of the time about them doing drugs but look where I am at.
I am going to do good this time for my little brother’s sake and mine. I hope that it all works out for me and him when he gets older. I hope when I get out and see my little brother he is happy to see me like he usually is. That is what makes my day, seeing him happy and loving me. I miss that little boy so much. He is my life, my heart, my everything and if it weren’t for him I would have never even thought about getting clean or helping my family.

Journal #21
The most important thing to me
Well, it was always obvious to see
It didn’t matter if you were a little chubby
Because you had always loved me
He was my very best friend
And he was supposed to be with me till the end
If I ever needed someone I knew you were he
I mean you would even hit the bong with me
There was no comparison to my feeling of dirt
When I found out that he was hurt
I had believed that even though he was old
It was impossible for his life to be sold
It had killed me on the inside
As I found out I couldn’t be there for his last ride
And it killed him slowly as he lost his sight
Slowly suffering through the everlasting night
As he slowly lost his sanity
I was hoping for some miracle fantasy
As he was going through this never ending hell
I was trapped in this encaging cell
I remember getting angry going crazy
After visiting where my mom had told me
It had been the day after my birthday
That my best friend had slowly passed away
And that day that I knew you were dead
I thought I’d never stop crying in my bed
So every day I beg and beg to the holy
To please take care of my best friend Cody
He had kept me safe from every evil beast
And because of this his memory will never cease
I don’t care if you think it’s wrong
But my very best friend was my dog

R.I.P. Cody
My family saved him from an abusive owner

Journal #22
What is most important to me is my little girl. My daughter, she is everything to me. The day she was born I was so happy. I felt like I had just won a million dollars. She is so beautiful, just like her mother. She is 10 months old today. I saw her last week, but already I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever. Already I feel that missing feeling I feel when I get locked up.
Words can’t explain how my little girl affects me when I am in here. Words can’t explain how much I love her and how much she means to me. Still, I couldn’t help her if something happens. God forbid that anything would go wrong for her while I am here. I’d go crazy. She is more important than my friends and family. All these walls and locked doors are holding me from seeing her. I’m tired of this concrete and stainless steel. Nine more days left and I can’t wait to see her.


Journal #23
The most important thing to me in this world is “graffiti”. I like art that’s what I do for a living. To me graffiti is important because I know that’s one thing nobody can take away from me. All I have to do is paint, create and decorate. Sometimes I do it so much I get in trouble with the cops, but that doesn’t make me hesitate or give up on my art work.
Graffiti is art. I will do my best graffiti, so I can show the world how good I am. That’s my goal; that’s what motivates me to become better than before. So my plan is to hit college and do some art over there. I want to see if I can get some of my graffiti art in a museum and that is important to me.

Journal #24
What is more important to me than anything would be my beloved son and my family. Ever since I was adopted at 3 years old into the family that I have, they have been there for me. I am more than happy that I was chosen to go to their house in foster care. I must admit, growing up in my family was a struggle, but I did learn it is important to do things on the double. Because if you don’t put your best effort before you, you probably won’t get anything done. Ever since my girl had my son, life seems to be brighter. Every time I walk I seem a little lighter. It’s amazing and a gift from God. The best things in my life are my son, my love, and my unborn son. I love them with all of my heart and soul. It makes me feel as if I can never fall. Will they all stop and forgive? I want to thank God for my kids. If my mother or one of my children would die, I would undoubtedly break down and cry and ask God why. I try and try to be a good dad, but the cemented blocks won’t let me leave.

Journal #25
I always seemed to raise hell. My mother used to tell me I was going to see from behind bars or the inside of a jail cell. I remember getting brought home from school by the cops for stupid things I did. I was getting into fights and stealing from stores. When I was eleven my brother died in my mom’s arms in the hospital. A year after that happened, I started doing a lot of bad stuff like smoking weed, robbing people, getting involved in gangs, and other things that were messing my life and education up.
When I was thirteen I went into a store and stole five bottles of booze. When I exited the store, the clerk supervisor stopped me and took me inside of the back room. He called the police. After talking with the clerk and me, they put my hands behind my back and said I had the right to remain silent. They put the handcuffs on me and drove to the police station. Two hours later I was transferred to the county juvenile hall. I arrived to the hall at 11:23 PM. I woke up in a cell. My mom picked me up at 4PM.
After being released from juvenile hall my first time, I went back three months later. I have been going back on and off for the past three years. I am here again now. Will my life ever change?

Writing Exchange I

Writing Exchange
Friday, June 27, 2008
Fresno and Butte County Juvenile Halls

Journal #1:
I remember when I was just a little kid.
I remember all the trouble I used to get in.
I remember my mom and dad yelling at me.
I remember I wanted to run away and just be free.
I remember I wanted to be something I could never be.
I remember seeing my dad always getting mad.
I remember the things my dad used to do were bad.
I remember him hitting my sister with a closed hand.
I remember when my sister was on the floor.
I remember a lot of things even though I was four.
I remember seeing my dad stand on top of my sister.
I remember him drop his fist and it barely missed her.
I remember the next hit was right on her face.
I remember I just wanted out of that place.
I remember growing up trying to get attention from my dad.
I remember I realized I was trying to get something I could never have.
I remember when my little brother was born.
I remember every time he would cry my head hurt like I was in a bush full of thorns.
I remember we moved from place to place every two years.
I remember I almost burnt down a “Sears”.
I remember when I got locked up for a 207.
I remember when I believed there was hell and heaven.
I remember how long I was going to get.
I remember what I was charged with, that’s something I won’t forget.

Journal #2
I remember when I was just a little girl, getting kidnapped from my mom by my own father. It was probably 2 or 3 in the morning. He was walking in the night with some crazy person who had a knife in one hand and me in the other. I was only 3 years old, getting taken to meth labs, locked in somebody’s bedroom screaming for my mom. Every time it would happen, my mom tried calling the police for help. They didn’t do anything about it because I had his last name.
I remember things that I shouldn’t: him all spun out telling me monsters were gonna come through the window and get me. He was never in my life except when he wanted to cause trouble. A few times I recall him dropping me off a few blocks from my house and me with my little backpack searching for my house. All this happened when I was under four years old. My mom left him when I was one, but he never left her. He stalked us until I was about nine. He was a drunk, a tweeker. He was somebody who didn’t care about anything.
Sometimes I wonder if that is where I get it from, not doing things I shouldn’t. But I don’t want to be that person anymore, in and out of Juvenile Hall, EMP, Probation. It’s not worth it. I finally found somebody I love more than anything and I don’t want to ruin it. I want to make them and my mom happy. They both deserve it. I know I can do it and I am going to.

Journal #3
I remember when I was five years old. My mom made me raviolis when my dad wanted me to wait. He was going to the store to get me some cereal. They got into an argument. My dad got a knife and put it to her neck. I brought out a plastic butter knife and threw it at him. He took his belt out and slapped me in the face with it. My mom got choked by my dad as she tried to protect me from him. It was 1999 and I was up for preschool. I yelled, “Mom, Mom.” Suddenly I couldn’t find her. The car was gone. I cried as I went to my mom and dad’s room. My mom’s stuff was on the floor. Then I asked my dad where the car was, where my mom was, and if I was going to preschool. He replied by cussing and me and telling me to get away. I ran to my room and cried. Soon my mom came in and said to my sister and I, “Let’s go somewhere safe.” My sister told my dad we were going somewhere safe. He came out of his room, threw my mom into the hallway and choked her with a chair. The whole time, I watched this happen. The cops came and ended the nightmare.

Journal #4
I remember getting suspended.
I remember getting arrested
I remember where I parted.
I remember how it started.
I remember blazing.
I remember spacing.
I remember racing.
I remember jazzing.
I remember seeing the horizon.
I remember all the poison.
I remember people startled.
I remember all the dares.
I remember none of the cares.
I remember the night of the shrooms.
I remember laughing at my doom.
I remember thinking it would never be done.
I remember all the fun.
I remember the very next morning.
I remember feeling like soaring.
I remember everything was cool.
I remember getting to school.
I remember hiding the half ounce sack.
I guess I didn’t remember the bong in my backpack.


Journal #5
It’s easy to and hard to live. I fell to the floor as bullets hit, one to my leg and one to my rib, another to my thumb and one to my wrist. Bullets burn just like the sun; they went in and out my wounds went numb. Four bullet holes with constant bleeding, they knocked me out and I wake up screaming. People were running and jumping fences. Tried to get air, but I was breathless. Who shot me I thought in a hurry, but couldn’t see anyone? My vision was blurry….on one leg I hopped out of the party. Fell a few times, still drunk from Bacardi. All I wanted to do was to sleep, wake up at home and say it was a dream. I expected this, wasn’t even shocked; I knew one day I was going to get shot. Well this is the story to let everyone know, I lived like a soldier and didn’t let it go.

Journal #6
It was March 10th. I woke up scared because I had court the next day and I knew I was getting locked up. A week before I had broke my hand on someone who gave my girl some oxycontin. Today was my check-up. I remember the silent ride to the hospital with my dad. There were so many things I wanted to say, but my ego got in the way. When I arrived, I started talking to my dad about how I wanted to have a barbeque since I was leaving the next day. He said that was cool.
At the end of my checkup, a nurse came in, but instead of saying you are free to go, she told my dad that my mom called and she needed to be contacted as soon as possible. When my dad came back in the room from making the call, he had a disgusted look on his face. Then he asked me, “Is there anything you need to tell me?” My heart dropped because I knew that my PO had found out. I wanted so badly to go back in time, but it was too late. My future had already been decided. When we got back out to the truck my dad confirmed my fears. I was to go to the police station to be questioned. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening.
I had walked a road to nowhere for the past 6 months since being released from rehab. And now I was going back to the place I hated most. When we arrived at the police station, I took the last few drags off my cigarette, knowing I wouldn’t have another one in almost half a year. I looked at my dad and told him I loved him. Then he knew. When the police officer took me in the little room, I couldn’t stop shaking. Then he asked me to take a seat and look at the recording of that day in the convenience store. My heart sank and I knew it was over. They arrested me right then and there. I was booked into Juvenile Hall, the place I hate the most. I have been here ever since.

Journal #7
I remember two days before my 14th birthday, screaming for my daddy to stop, wishing he wasn’t so spun out. I remember wishing he was not so paranoid about getting ripped off that he refused to hand his stash over to my cousin so he wouldn’t be arrested. I remember screaming to the cops to just let me see him. “Please just let me see my daddy.” I remember wondering why he wouldn’t stop, why was the drug so much more important than his little girl?
I remember hitting the glowie for the first time, feeling the rush and thinking I was untouchable. I watched all fears and tears melt away in that pipe. I remember being up for 30 days wishing I could get that first high again, looking in the mirror, seeing my little body and wondering how I got down to 87 pounds. I remember asking myself why this drug was so good, how I watched my dad throw away everything he cared about for this drug. Now I’m watching myself do the same.
I remember when I first started getting clean and how weird it felt. I remember how sad it was to not feel as comfortable at home as I did in a room full of tweakers and smoke. I remember giving up 3 years of my life to something that was killing me inside and out.
Now I know what it is like to be clean and so does my dad. He’s working on his 4th year and I’m hoping to get into my second. Now I’m finally making a better life for myself. My dad is my inspiration. If he can do it, then I can too. I hope one day my mom can do the same.

Journal #8
Nobody needs to know me.
Nobody needs to know what I’ve seen.

Nobody needs to know where I’ve been
Or what I’ve been through.
Nobody needs to know the sin
Or what the sin made me do.

Nobody needs to know my history or my present.
Nobody needs to know my suffering of what happened.

Nobody needs to know what got me this far.
Nobody needs to know what motivates me to wake up every day.
Nobody needs to know about physical or my emotional scars.
Nobody needs to know how to give me strength or what to say.

Nobody needs to know my fears, stresses, or worries.
Nobody needs to know what makes me happy.

Nobody needs to know me
Because if they do, then they can control me.
All anyone needs to know about me
Is that the only one I depend on or that does for me is me.

Nobody needs to understand me.
Nobody needs to know me,
Except for me…..

Journal #9
I remember flipping out when I found out I am going to be a dad. I remember my initial thoughts of, “Why me, why is this happening to me?” But as I sit in my cell I plan and imagine what my life with my child is going to be. I pray that I raise him right because unlike me, my child will have a father who will be there for him.
I remember when life was full of fun and no responsibility. I remember the sun set and rise that I no longer get to see because I messed up and got locked up.
I will always remember the look on my baby’s mama’s face when I got sentenced. She looked as though it just wasn’t fair. I hope as my time in here goes, that I get wise about myself. I have more than myself to care about now. I am 16 years old and about to have my own family.
I remember what it was like to just hang out with my homies, mess around, and chill, but I can’t do that now. Every day I’m getting stronger physically, but mentally I feel as though I am slipping into insanity. I hold on for the sake of my baby. It wouldn’t be fair if one day, daddy wasn’t there!

Journal #10
I used to remember fun and laughter, hiking and camping, fishing and tubing, until the divorce started. Then I remember pain and screaming of my mother as my dad was hitting and kicking her. I remember the look in his eyes as if he was going to kill her. He was just drunk. I remember coming out of the bathroom and seeing my dad cutting chunks out of his arm with a steak knife and then looking at me and crying.
I remember my mom trying to protect us kids but my dad being too strong. I remember running as fast as I could but too scared and too young to leave the parking lot of our apartments. I remember hiding under the cars while my dad was looking for me to come and hit me again. I remember smoking to be calm. I started stealing money from people to get another pack. Soon I got caught. I remember that this was when my life as a criminal started.

Journal #11
I remember the worst day of my life, October 8, 1997. I remember a big white van coming and ripping my family apart. The big white van took me and my brothers to a shelter. I remember lies from the County saying we’d all be together again. Then I remember all five of us drifting off into different foster homes, one by one.
I remember the visits once a week for one hour at the Building. Then soon remember being the only kid to show up, no mom, no dad and no brothers. I wanted to wait the whole hour because I was certain somebody would show, but sure enough, nothing.
I remember the different elementary schools. I remember still trying to be strong and good, thinking I was for sure still going home. I remember getting out of control and foster homes wasn’t it anymore. I remember my first group home at the age of twelve. I remember running away then getting placed in a new city. I remember it had been seven years since I had seen my dad, and then finally reached him over the phone. I remember running away from the group home and going to New Mexico to be with my dad. I remember the love he gave to me and the hurt in his eyes when I rejected it.
I remember I started doing drugs at thirteen. I remember my first time serving juvenile hall at the age of thirteen in Hobbs, New Mexico and getting extradited.
I remember starting high school. I remember the fights, the drinking, the parties and the drugs. I remember two years ago getting my mom back in my life. I remember the hurt in my heart. How could this be what my mom had to offer me? I remember living motel to motel with my mom. I remember finding out my mom was a prostitute. I remember her telling me she had nothing to hide from me so, for the first time, I seen her fix with a needle.
I remember looking for love in all the wrong places. I remember meeting a guy who I thought was the one. I remember after he went to prison finding out I was pregnant. I remember how my stomach turned thinking how am I going to raise a kid. I can barely take care of myself. I remember getting locked up again and being in juvenile hall thinking now what am I going to do with my life. Will I repeat history or break the chain and be successful.