So far so great.

I haven't posted anything in forever and infact I even considered giving up writing. However I'm choosing to not let the judgement of others dictate my life. I understand that my past is ugly and I've done some crazy things but the past is not who iam, it's what I've done.
So, things in my life are super great. I quit my job and have found a better paying one for a great company. It's hard work but at least it's honest.
Misti and I have moved into a new place. As for us, we are doing awesome and marriage is in the future.
The only part of my life that I'm stuck on is the part where I have no contact with my son. Misti tells me to give it time so that's what I'm doing.
Well that's that. God bless you all.

Trying to learn something new...not so much.

Tonight I tried to learn how to pack a can of chew.
So I did what most people would of and I YouTubed it. It didn't work out too well. Check it out for yourself!
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1166567296709923&id=100000699924704

book excerpt

Here is another excerpt from my book. The posts will not be in any particular order from the book. Enjoy!!

After living with Maria for a few months, my life, at least on the outside, began to show tremendous promise. However on the inside my past issues were back.

In the beginning, Maria made it very clear that the drugs had to go and because I wasn’t completely ready to stop getting high, Maria and I had a few ups and downs. There were times when I contemplated saying fuck it and calling Laura because the cravings along with the depression were barriers that I couldn’t seem to get past. I didn’t want to quit using and I think the only reason why I made an attempt at a sober life was for Maria. She really had her life together and making her proud became my number one priority. I had become accustomed to taking the easy way out and a line of coke or a shot of heroin made everything that much easier. After a while, the view that Maria had when she looked at me began to matter more than how I felt inside or anything else.

Time passed and with help of Maria, the excruciating task of opening up became bearable. We would talk about my childhood but I wasn’t always entirely truthful. It wasn’t so much what I let her know but more of what I kept to myself. Things between us were going so great and I felt that completely opening up to her was a cliff I wasn’t ready to jump from. My fear was that if she knew everything, than how could she stay?

 I remember with Laura, love being some rhetoric effort but with Maria, I wasn’t always able to read her feelings toward me.  She was never the one to let an ‘I love you’ slip from her mouth and I sometimes misinterpreted that as her not giving a shit about me.

A year into our relationship, Maria became pregnant with our son Trenton. Ill never forget how scared she was to call her parents and give them the news. He parents, for whatever reason, never really cared for me. I remember not ever being allowed inside their house. When Maria had to go over there,  she would drop me off on the corner to wait. I never said anything to her about how that made me feel but the truth is that it hurt. Being a part of a family is all that I ever wanted.  I used to wonder if Marias fear would have been replaced with joy had I been someone else. Today I’ve come to believe that her parents just wanted more for their daughter. Who could blame them?

After numerous attempts at landing a job, Maria and I decided that it would be best if I went back to nursing school. So that’s what I did. Things were going as well as they could and even though I was going to be a dad at 20, I felt that I could be the best dad possible. No way was I going to follow in the footsteps of my dad. I would be there for my son always. Love would be something he would never have to ask for. I kept this inside never, telling Maria. There was something else I never told her-I was constantly on the lookout for disaster because that’s what I was used to.

Although I couldn’t see it, my life’s metaphor was losing no time at finding me. The shit storm was on its way.

My wake-up call.

As some of you know, I used to run around with a needle in my arm. The high was, for the most part, my escape from reality.

The memories of my past, the lies, all of the pain, gone. POOF see ya later. All gone with the push of the plunger, not to be seen or heard from again. At least for the next 4 hours or so.

For 10 plus years that was my life.

So what changed?? Well, to put it simply, I got tired. Tired of the trips to the E.R. Tired of being sick. Tired of my dealer being shorting the bag. I was tired of prison.

One day I awoke in my cell and said to myself "hey dumbass, there has got to be a different way of doing this thing called life".
So when I was released I began working out, reading and playing the paino. Instead of picking up a syringe I grabbed a pen.

I began to write.

Today I'm not perfect in the least. I still get that overwhelming urge to call my dealer. When I see a needle I still itch. It's a process and knowing that is my progress. Just remember it's a process.

Stolen car, sleep and more disasters!

Christmas break we were evicted again and forced to move in with my father's only friend Brad, who lived in a trailer park. I said goodbye in to my own room and hello to my very own spot on the floor. When school resumed I’d be in the 8th grade at my 6th different school; however, I never made it that far.

Whenever my family moved, my father never forgot to pack and bring along his hatred towards me. Dads belittling progressed and it wasn't long before Brad was invited to aid in the cause. The punching, the slapping, the burns, the name calling, all the “come here and shut the doors” were now doubled and the precious cavity that protected me was rotting away. I couldn't take it anymore. The day or so before Christmas I walked out that trailer and never looked back. There was no destination, no plan, no worries. Wherever I ended up had to be better than where I came from. Soon the sun fell taking a temperature with it in and the local high school became my stopping point. I managed to break into a little snack shack and after stuffing my face with chocolate cupcakes, I curled up on the cold floor, listening to the hum of the ice machine. Replaying episodes of my life I wondered about a lot of things such as where was my real mom?  Angelina where was she and why didn’t she take me with her? I thought about my dad and how just one ‘I love you’ could have cleaned up so much filth. I didn't want to be freezing my butt off and alone but running away was the only solution that would make the chaos die. Regardless of my choice, I learned that day that went things in my life become overwhelming, I can run away and be free. But since then I've also learned just how lonely freedom can be. 

So off I went managing to somehow jerk and stall my way onto the interstate.

My memories are wanting desperately to find my mom. I had this idea that if I found her, everything in my life would change for the better, that in a way, I could hit rewind and start over. My birth certificate read that she was born in Illinois so my 13-year-old heart decided that's where I needed to be. I drove into the night and with every mile that distance myself from dad, the feeling of contentment began to flourish. I suppose I became a big comfortable because I fell asleep at the wheel. After I was jolted awake thanks to the guard rail, I begin to look for a place to pull off and crash out before I crashed out. The next exit led me down a bumpy dirt road where I was forced to drive slow do the dips and holes. But regardless, I ended up stalling. Putting up the window, I prepared myself to call it a day. Tomorrow I would find something to eat and continue on my quest and find my mom. Things were going to be okay. 

Awaking to the distant sound of the highway, I rubbed the sleep for my eyes. I glanced out the car window and realized I was out in the middle of nowhere. My stomach reminded me to stick to the plan, so I climbed into the front seat and keyed the ignition. I shifted it in first and let off the clutch resulting in the front tires kicking up dirt but the car staying put. Remembering the hole that I hit the night before, I put the car in neutral and got out to have a look. Sure enough I was stuck. I begin to look around for something I could put under the tire but came up empty due to being surrounded by nothing. Rummaging in the trunk, I found a little wooden box that maybe once had held jewelry. I got down on my knees and begin wedge the box under the driver’s side front tire. The dirt was so soft the hole just laughed at my effort. When my frustrations had reached the point of trying something new, disaster struck. While pushing the box with all my might, the car rolled back, pinning me from wrist to elbow under its hot tire. When I realized what had happened I panicked and tried to talk myself free but the tire had me and his grasp and was not letting go. “HELP ME” I screamed into the empty desert but  heard by no one. For about an hour I continued to beg for help and try to free myself but the situation was going downhill fast. Laying on the ground with my head to the side, I watched little bugs perform their daily duty I contemplated getting up but my will would not outlast reality.” screw it” I said. This is how I would die; alone and barefoot. I had come so far but really had gone nowhere. Throwing in the towel, I noticed that I had lost all feeling in my arm so without the pain to limit in my effort, I arose to my knees and gave it all I had. Finally, I pulled myself free. I had to get help. My arm was in bad shape and I was unable to move my fingers. The numbness was vanishing as quick as it had come so I cradled my arm in the other and made my way to the highway. 

Help arrived in the form of a van driven by a man and woman who looked like they were time warped back from the seventies. I remember drinking a warm Sprite and passing out. When I came to, I was in a hospital. While my arm was being scrubbed by a nurse a cop eyed me from the doorway. That day before the sunset, I had picked up my very first felony. Grand Theft Auto. While being transported to a cell,  I realized two things The first being that the uncertainty of things scare me more than the shackles on my ankles. The second being that I was nowhere near Illinois.

Letting go of yesterday. Book excerpt.

When I was five years old, my older sister Angelina told me to let go, that she would catch me.
I was hanging from the second story balcony of our apartments. Prior to this, I sat alone, picking random blades of dead grass and watching the older kids climb over the rail then drop 7 feet to coolness. Soon I found myself once again wanting to fit in.
My little hands were slowly losing the fight.
“Just let go I’ll catch you!’
Glancing over my shoulder I noticed that the kids I was breaking my neck trying to so desperately ‘wow’, had lost interest and were now huddled underneath the broken street lamp. I should have kept my little but on the grass and left this madness to them but it was too late. I fell and in the process of breaking my fall, I shattered my left wrist. My sister failed to keep her promise and I failed yet again to make the team.
Arriving home from the hospital, I brought with me a plaster cast and an excuse to miss school for a while. A week later I returned and was vaulted into the role of the coolest kid in kindergarten. Everyone flooded me with questions about my arm and so I lied in great detail about how all of my friends and I took turns leaping from my roof. By the end of that day, my cast was completely covered with names and little doodles curtesy of my new friends. Had I known something positive could derive from such pain, I would of thought twice about constantly wearing long sleeve shirts.
I skipped home that day but was quickly tripped up by my father’s sour mood. He took one look at my cast and demanded to know “WHO IN THE HELL SAID YOU COULD DO THAT?” As I sit here many years later I still draw a blank when looking for an answer. But to be honest it wouldn’t have mattered what I came up with because any answer would have still resulted in a trip to the closet where the metal coat hanger was. Standing there in the living room naked dad gave me what I had coming and I left without going anywhere. Whether it was the coat hanger or my father’s words, I tried to only be physically present.
Eventually my needing to feel acceptance would drive the wedge deeper between my father and I.
“Daddy my arm is itchin real bad and I can’t reach it” I complained some months later. Rising from the couch my father snatched me up by the nape of my neck and pushed me into the kitchen.
“SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!”
Doing what I was told, I found a seat at our little kitchen table while dad rummaged through drawers. Violence was the only solution to my family’s problems and at five years old, I had become accustomed to this. However when I saw my dad coming at me with a large knife, I became a little nervous.
Without a word my father sat beside me and began to scratch the itch.
“Daddy I don’t think it’s ready to come off yet” I cried. With a catty look, he continued to saw away. Between my tears and the dust from the cast I was unable to see if he was making any progress but I felt the hot knife every time it found my skin. Eventually the cast came off.
“There you can scratch it all day if you want now!” he said as he staggered back to the living room and resumed his place in front of the television. Through blurry eyes I inspected a bloody arm that I didn’t recognize. Picking up what remained of my self-worth, I made an optimistic attempt to revive it only to realize that it was no use. My father had destroyed everything. Cast included.

I got this...watch and see!!

My new life begins.
I cannot rid myself of the past so I must come to terms with it. When I look back, I see the work of an artist gone mad, violently heaving watered down paint onto a frayed canvas, allowing gravity to have it say. The end result never how I envisioned it. Also I can see how living for the moment and finding joy in the now has always been my top priority. But my past is often repeated.
All of my “yesterdays” were bags brimming with lies and deceit that I hauled around. Most of the time I could be found with my eyes closed arguing with people no longer in my life and sending weightless apologies to those I've hurt; only then would my load become lighter.
All of my “tomorrows” passed with me begging for them to not return. However, they continued to show their faces and I continued to change mine, in hopes of finding a way to block “today” from singing the sorrow.

My new life begins.
I'm still learning how to live. Everyday  thousands of emotions congregate within but it's the self hate that bullies its way to the front, threatening to take over. However today I have some tools to aid me in this fight.
Since being released from prison, I have learned how forgiveness is an option for everybody. I have also learned that in order to forgive I have to begin with myself. That along with other lessons has helped me to curb my obsession of twisting people's words into something false. Also I've learned that emotions don't always call for actions. In using this knowledge, I can feel a change within and so I give thanks to the progress of progress for not playing favorites. They say the clock stops for no one and I agree; time has been my catalyst: you live and you learn. Although a change in me is there, sometimes I feel like a fraud.At times, crawling under the blankets continues to feel like the best solution.
I know that I must meet wean myself off the strict diet of depression and gather strength so I'll be strong enough that when faced with all too familiar choices, I can proceed with caution, knowing how mental laziness has always been my undoing.

My new life begins.
I look ahead and thanks to what I've learned, I now know that I have the power to make my life better. I understand the choices I must make can not be fueled by impulsiveness. When I find myself in front of another blank canvas I'll pause for a moment, taking time to stare the present in the face, searching it for advice. Putting my insecurities aside, I'll gather some input from the future because sometimes the lessons and pictures of my past may not always be entirely helpful.

Love and life.♡♡

I found God on the corner of First in Amistad
Where the west was all but won
All alone
Smoking his last cigarette
I said "where you been?"
He said, "ask anything"

So begins a great song by a great band The Fray which leads me to this post. You see, God has always been good to me, that is, when I would allow it.
Most of my life has been spent in and around trash cans, searching for something redeemable but only finding value in my intentions. My lack of faith only added to an already empty shopping cart.
During my "time away", I had a lot of time to clean myself up and focus on learning to accept God's love, which I might add is FREE! 
Am I in mass every sunday?= No.
Have I stopped being hateful towards certain people from my past and present?=No. However, what I am beginning to do is live a life that God intended for me and that my friends is all that I can do.
Today, there are still a few "trash cans" in my life but the Lord has given me the knowledge that there's nothing in them that will help me be a better person.

When the chaos was at its peak.

                                                   

This is the begining of my crazy story. We begin in Las Vegas....

                                                                                          

                                                                                        January 2006
                                                                                   Las Vegas, Nevada

                    

“You have until the count of three to get the hell up and give me the money or I'm going to shoot you” I promised the petite asian girl whom I was standing over’ my .45 pointed at her head.
Wiping the sweat from my face, I listened to the girl for the third time state that there was no money. I had heard this song many times in the past and I was not in the mood to listen to it again.  Being without sleep for the past week, spun out on meth, I was in no mood for the run around.
“Get the fuck up!” I demanded, only to be met by the girls continuous lies.
“1”!
All I wanted was the money. No drama. No hassle. Nervously tugged my Red Sox hoodie tight around my head, I continued to count.
“2”!
All she had to do was give me the money. I would have been out the door 5 minutes ago had she done what I asked. Clack Clack. Racking back to slide, I gave the girl her last chance.
“3”!
“Okay I give you money” she cried.
About damn time.
I followed her down a long hallway that ran the length of the massage parlor and into a back office. With my gun on her I watched as she retrieved a large manila envelope from the bottom drawer of a file cabinet.
“Here” she stated flatly, tossing it on the desk that separated us.
Snatching it up, I told her to introduce yourself to the floor. “Don't move” I warned her, backing out of the office.
I ran down the hallway which was seemingly longer the second time through and out the front door. The little grey Honda was still there parked and waiting for me. Jumping into the passenger seat I looked over at my wife Megan.
“What took so long?” she asked as we tore out of the parking lot.
I glanced inside the envelope. “We're good.” I said letting her know everything was fine. “Good job babe.” Yeah I thought, good job.
My life would be much more chaotic in the months that followed. The reason for writing this book stems from an urge to answer my lifelong question of why. Why I do the things I do? Why is my life in the state that it's in? Why do I always feel so lost. Why am I in prison again. I know that even when the last word has been jotted down that there will still be memories that continue to haunt me as well as answers that will forever elude me. However I have to try.
I've always said that I don't know who I am but I'm certain of who I want to be. But first I must face this and deal with yesterday. It may be my last chance.
This is my story…

My book.

Alot of people have been asking me about my book 'Letting Go Of Yesterday' which I hope will be out by August. So until then, I've decided to publish on this site a few chapters here and there. Please feel free to leave your comments.

Birthday out of the cell..

Today I turn 40. Wow! Where have the years gone? It seems like just yesterday that I was begging for my father to wish me better years, instead he passed time blowing out my candles.
But, that was yesterday.
Today is a cause for celebration because between the heroin overdoses and the federal sentences for bank robbery, I never pictured myself celebrating this day.
But I did and here I am!
With the help of my wife and my true friends (you know who you are) I've begun to realize that many more days like this are waiting for me.
Thank you! I love you.♡♡
So if you'll excuse me, I have some candles to blow out!!

My life today.

Things change. Our lives. Our dreams. Our hopes. It all changes according to the decisions we make and those decisions will ultimately decide our fate.

Today, my choices have been made not on impulse, but on my dreams of a better tomorrow. For example, a few weeks ago I walked into a bank. It was so crazy. The memories from my past. For a moment I felt as if I was suffocating and by instinct I searched for the bank manager. So I took a breath and asked God for help. Then I did it. I walked up to the counter with my head held high and no gloves. I opened a checking account.

I did it!

And I will continue....

I'm so happy...about time!

It's been a long time coming, happiness that is, and I think I understand things better now.
I'm so proud of myself so let me just get this out of the way.
Job**Check
My own apt**Check
Bank account** Check and for those wondering, I made a legal deposit...not an illegal withdraw.
Last but not least I just want to thank my girl for being patient with me and the distance.  I love you.
The only thing I need to find now is a church. I miss feeling close to God but church or no church, I know he's there. If ever in doubt I can just look around me.
Monday is coming fast so I'll close here. God bless everyone and GO PATRIOTS!!

A new day.

Like I've done many times over, I stood this morning and wondered how I arrived at where iam.
It's funny just how fast life comes at you. Sometimes without warning you can find yourself somewhere you didn't plan on being.
So this morning, as I stood there on the dusty cement, I looked around. Taking in everything, the sounds of a new day breaking, I gave thanks to God for all the good in my life, for another chance.
A new day is here and I'm not going to the cell...I'm going to work.

Another Chance.

My new life begins.
I cannot rid myself of the past so I must come to terms with it. When I look back, I see the work of an artist gone mad, violently heaving watered down paint onto a frayed canvas, allowing gravity to have it say. The end result never how I envisioned it. Also I can see how living for the moment, finding joy in the now has always been my top priority. But my past is often repeated.
All of my yesterdays were bags brimming with lies and deceit that I hauled around. Most of the time I could be found with my eyes closed arguing with people no longer in my life and sending weightless apologies to those I've hurt; only then would my load become lighter.  All of my tomorrows passed with me begging for it to not return. However they continued to show their faces and I continue to change mine in hopes of finding a way to block today from singing the sorrow.
My new life begins.
I'm still learning how to live. Everyday a thousand emotions congregate within but its the self hate that bullies its way to the front, threatening to take over. However today I have some tools to aid me in this fight. Since being released from prison I have learned that forgiveness is an option for everyone. I have also learned that forgiveness begins with self. That, along with other lessons has helped me curb my obsession of twisting people's words and actions into something false. Also I've learned that emotions don't always call for actions. In using this knowledge I can feel a change within and so I give thanks to the progress of progress for not playing favorites. They say the clock stops for no one and I agree; time has been my catalyst: you live and you learn. Although a change in me is there, at times  I feel like a fraud. Somedays,crawling under the blanket feels like the best solution.
I know that I must wean myself off the strict diet of depression and gather strength so that I'll be strong enough that when faced with all too familiar choices, I can proceed with caution, knowing how mental laziness has always been my own doing.
My new life begins.
I look ahead and thanks to what I've learned, I now know that I have the power to make my life better. I understand the choices I must make can not be fueled by impulsiveness. When I find myself in front of another blank canvas I'll pause for a moment, taking time to stare the present in the face, searching it for advice. Putting my insecurities aside, I'll gather some input from the future because sometimes the lessons and pictures of my past may not always be entirely helpful.

Solitary Confinement

Alone. That was me in prison. Day after day I was surrounded by 100's of other bad decision makers but yet still so alone.
I remember vainly waiting for my name to be called at mail time. 'D'Angelo Stefani' seldom was.
However looking back today and reflecting on the person that I was, I can't entirely cast blame on others for the many years of silence. For that I am sorry. I understand that the distance between us was necessary.
But to those few who saw past the craziness and sent me books or money or just was there, accepting the collect calls when I needed some company, I thank you! Your letters may have been few but your love got me through!

Why I Love Baseball.

One of the few bright spots in my youth came in the form of little league baseball. While wandering around the neighborhood one day, I discovered a ball field. From the other side of the chain link fence, I watched the game, the kids, the cheers-I wanted to be a part of it all. With my older sister Angelina’s help, I washed cars for the neighbors and saved up the $20 registration fee and declared myself ready to play.
My first year on the field was a freaking disaster! The coach started me at first base but after displaying my inability to hit, throw or catch, I was quickly moved to the bench. After showing his support for one inning, I was designated the ‘strike out king’ by my father. My biggest fan was Angelina who walked me to and from every game. Although she was clueless when it came to sports my big sister was always there for me.
My rookie season mercifully ended with my name nowhere to be found in the all-star lineup. That off season I vowed to improve. Playing catch with dad was not an option, so I improvised and did so in the form of a tennis ball. With a little help from the side of the house, I fielded ground balls, pop ups and line drives for hours.
A few games into my second season, I made contact with the ball and squeezed a little duck fart over the second baseman’s head. I guess tossing up rocks and hitting them with a stick had finally paid off. Reaching first base, I looked around for my father but I guess he was still on the couch.

GO RED SOX!!

Incredible Pizza...Incredible day!

Wow! The chance to be a kid was in the air so I snatched it up and enjoyed the day with my family. First we ate or at least Misti and I did. Brooklyn was too excited and wanted to hit the games.

The go carts came first and if Brooklyn would of worn better/taller shoes, then we could of drove the fast cars and I would of won!

All in all it was a great day!!

My little world.

This is Brooklyn everyone. In my eyes she's my daughter, in reality she's my world. As most of my readers know, I grew up with out a father and now I believe that having Brooklyn in my life is God's way of providing me the chance to give her what I never had. And that my friends is simply love. I love this little girl as if she came from me. She's my world. I love ya kid!

Sink or swim?

So begins another year.

I wanted to make ridding the depression that drowns me daily my new years resolution but the reality of today outweighs yesterday's dream.
At times I want to take that last and final breath, inhale the sadness and let the often spoken about peace take me under.
But I can't. I won't give up like so many times before. I won't.
So I swim on.
To my friends and my wonderful girl Misti, to my new extended family I say thank you for all of the paddles you've thrown out to me. Thank you. I love you. I love me.

New year...new life.

My new life begins. I cannot rid myself of the past so I must come to terms with it.
I've wasted too much time waiting  for yesterday to sing the sorrow while I begged  tomorrow to not show its face and I continued to hide mine.
My new life begins.
I can do this. I can do this.

My addiction to sadness.

I think I may understand why I feel so uncomfortable with happiness.
When I was a little boy, I was constantly sad. My first suicide attempt was at the age of 10. I just hated my life.
So I've been musing over my childhood and I think that, it just may have pleased my parents to see me down. I mean, why else would they do what they did unless my despair was pleasing to them.
So maybe I brought that into my adult life. Is being depressed my distorted way of pleasing others.
I don't know.

A lesson for thoes who struggle with yesterday.

Once upon a time a woman moved to the mountains to study with a Guru. She wanted,she said, to learn everything there was to know. The Guru supplied her with stacks of books and left her alone so she could study. Every morning the Guru returned to the cave to monitor the woman's progress. In his hand he carried a heavy wooden cane. Each morning he asked her the same question."Have you learned everything there is to know yet?" Each morning her answer was the same. "No"she said "I haven't." The Guru would then strike her over the head with his cane. This scenario repeated itself for months. One day the Guru entered the cave, asked the same question, heard the same answer and raised his cane to hit her in the same way but the woman grabbed the cane from the Guru, stopping his assault in mid air. Relieved to end the daily batterings  but fearing retaliation, the woman looked up at the Guru. To her surprise the Guru smiled. "Congratulations" he said. "You have graduated. You now know everything you NEED  to know. "How's that?" the woman asked. "You have learned that you will never learn EVERYTHING  there is to know" he replied "and you have learned how to stop the pain.

Tons of people have learned how to stop the pain. Myself included.
STOP. MOVE ON. LET GO. Let go. Move on.

Changes made for the better.

I sleep. A lot. Like I was explaining to my girlfriend, if I don't get 10+ hours of sleep then I'm no good.
Part of this is do to having an iron deficiency and part of it is depression, which I don't understand; I'm happy. Things are good. I don't know.
What I do know is that beginning tomorrow, I'm getting my butt out of bed at 5 a.m. and I'm going to start working out again. Then it's off to the library to work on my book. It's time to get out of my 'cell'. It's time to make a change. Wish me luck.

I want to make a difference.

I want to give. I want to help others.
Most of my life has been spent taking and not giving. Whether it was taking money from the bank manager or looting the trust of thoes who gave soo freely.
I want to give back. The need to help people in need consumes my thoughts and today I'm learning how to help myself so that I can help others.

Something is wrong.

I don't understand what's going on with my mind. All I seem to be able to do is sleep. my girlfriend is worried. my roomates are confused. I know I have an iron deficiency but this is becoming...depressing?
Is that the problem?

Loved and locked up.

Being in prison is hard but I think being on the other side of the fence and having a loved one inside can be, if not, harder. Its like you're doing the time right along with the inmate. The collect calls, the request for money, letters and pictures. Its hard to find time to do all that when your world requires so much of your own time. Plus the stigma of 'loving a con' can begin to take its toll.
However there is something you need to know. Not all inmates are bad people. Yeah sure we have broken the law and I know that's wrong. But does that in itself make us...bad? In some cases us as felons did what we thought was best in the moment. Whether it was stealing to feed our families or robbing to support a drug habit, we did what the situation asked for. In no way do I condone child abusers and senseless acts of violence as don't most inmates that I've been locked up with. Somethings are just not necessary.
My point is this: when an inmate is released to the streets, there is a 78% success rate when that inmate has the support of loved ones. Not just financial support, but even if its just a hug and a I forgive you. Trust me, that goes a long way.
The recidivism rate will support my claims.
If you have a loved one on the other side and you are able, please take a second in your next letter or collect call and let them know that its ok. That you are there for them. Their future may depend on it.

It's the little things.

This morning I did something I haven't done in five years- I put on a brand new pair of socks!
Not the ' just out of the dryer' new but straight outta the package of six new! I know for a fact that no feet have ever been where mine are this morning.
No inmate numbers stamped on the top. No threadbare heals. No cold toes.
Today, because of the little things, I can walk with confidence; I'm ready to walk this new path.

Wanting to be liked sometimes hurts.

Its 1 a.m. and yet still so hot out. I’ve been walking the streets for the last hour however my destination remains out of sight. I’m on my way to Leann’s house, who, by the way, is a girl in my Biology class. Up until a week ago, it’s been an ongoing introduction between her and I. We’ve talked a lot on the phone and I think she really likes me.
Of course I haven’t told her that I am only 16 and traveled around town courtesy of the Red Line. What she does know is that I’m 19 and have recently moved here from California. After receiving my nursing degree, I’m going to give med school a try. If my dad could do it, than so can I.
She agrees.
So, I’ve snuck out of my foster home and am on my way to see her. In retrospect, I probably should have just been honest with her and I wouldn’t be risking going back to jail but damn, she makes me feel so good.
My feet pound on.
Thoughts are interrupted by voices up ahead. There’s a group of girls dressed in scantiness, dragging on cigarettes. My new found confidence reaches only to those who think they know me so I stare at the concrete as I pass them.
“Heey now!” rumbles a deep voice from the group.
I keep walking and that’s when I realize that those aren’t girls. My pace quickens. The quiet has returned and I can hear the click from the traffic light as it turns from green to yellow and then to red. I also hear the sound of a car rolling up behind me and if it’s a cop, well I hope Leann likes to write because I’m going back to jail. Turning to see if my fears ring true, a little blue car pulls up beside me.
“Hey bro” says the Hispanic from the driver’s seat. “ I just wanted to warn ya that those aint girls back there.”
“Thanks” is the only response that comes to mind. The light turns green and he flashes me a smile as the little blue car drives away. That was pretty “cool” of him to give me a heads up but the reality is that I don’t have enough money for a soda let alone a piece of ass.
I keep walking.
My mind wonders back to Leann but no sooner than I can continue where I left off, the little blue car returns to my side.
“Hey you need a ride?” It is hot out and I do need to get off the streets and besides his smile seems so “real”. Plus he looked out for me with the girlymans. “Yeah that would be cool.”
This has to be the dirtiest car I have ever been in. Trash and just…stuff, everywhere.
“I’m Juan” he states as he gives me a fist to pound. “Hey I’m D”.
“Sup D where ya goin?”
“To a friends on 71st.”
“Ok yeah that’s cool. Do you mind if we make a quick stop at my house?”
“Naw that’s cool”
Even though it’s so hot out, the warm air rushing into the window feels strangely good. My feet battle with empty water bottles and I begin to get the strange feeling that we are driving in circles. I remain quiet out of…fear? A few more turns and we pull up to a red brick house, one of many that are crammed together up and down this dark street.
“Hey Juan can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.”
He unlocks the front door and I step in after him and that’s when I see the television lit up with silent gay porn. The door shuts.
The lock clicks.
Everything goes black.
After three days in the hospital the doctors gave their ok and I was released back in to the care of the Kelly’s. I think they felt sorry for me. Mr. Kelly pressed me every day. “It would help you to talk about what happened, you know.” I didn’t know how to feel about what happened. Anger, embarrassment and disgust all blocked me from dealing with what truly happened to me. It was so much easier to tell everyone that I couldn’t remember.
After I returned to my foster home I changed inside. Having people around me, especially touching me was unbearable so I stayed to myself as much as possible. I dropped out of college and sunk back into that little boy whom I thought had died so long ago. But he was back and it looked as if he was here to stay.

We are the choices we make.

Bank robbery... not the smartest choice I've ever made but needless to say, lesson learned. Three weeks into my freedom, I've decided to try another type of thinking and do to this choice, I've found a job! A real job and I'm so thankful for the process of progress. Choices are more than just spur of the moment decisions for me. They will decide if I wear shackles or suits.

The Making of A Felon.

My first 30 days of freedom...

Its been 30 days since I walked out of federal prison. For those of you who don't know, I was a bank robber among many other things. So, how did I become who I was and who I am today? Well that's what this blog is about. The HOW and the WHY.

I do hope to reach someone with my words. Someone who has gone through what I have. Someone whose life is currently in a state of chaos.

So, I've been out now for 30 days. Due to the horrible prison diet I was accustomed to, I threw up my first "real" meal.

It was pizza.
I was on the Greyhound bus.
It was messy.

But things are going good. I have a job and my federal probation officer is happy so I'm happy!

So that s the NOW.

The childhood nightmares are coming...