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.