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.