Entry #2073

Never Felt Like Home

Still, I never wanted to be home. Everyone in my family seemed crazy. Not because they were bad, but because life had hit them too hard, too many times. I felt like I was the only one who could see how broken everything really was. And I didn’t want to end up like them.

So I started looking for something else. Somewhere to belong. I found people outside my home who seemed chill — no screaming, no judgment. They seemed like they had it together, or at least like they had my back. I thought they were solid. I thought they were family.

But I was wrong.

One choice turned into two, then five, then ten. I started doing things I swore I never would. And now I'm here — locked up in juvi because of the choices I made. Not because I wanted to hurt people, but because I was lost and just wanted to feel something different than what I felt at home.

It’s hard to admit when you mess up, but it’s even harder living with regret. Still, I’m trying to learn. I’m trying to grow. I can’t change my past, but maybe I can change where I’m headed. I still have love for my family, even if they’re messed up. But I know now: just because you come from the chaos doesn’t mean you gotta stay in it.

I’m in juvi now — but I’m not trying to be stuck in this cycle forever.

 

Entry #2074
Safely Incarcerated
I’m not really good at writing, but here we go.

My safe place is juvenile hall.

When I’m here, I don’t have to worry about my next meal.
I don’t have to stress about where I’m gonna sleep next.
When I’m here, I have a chance to be a better me.

When I’m not here, I’m always getting in trouble.
I’m drinking, doing drugs, and never thinking about my responsibilities.
I don’t talk to my family much, and I’m always doing dumb shit.
I gotta stress every day about where I’m gonna sleep.

But when I’m locked up…
I get clean.
I get the help I need.
I get the education I was missing.

When I’m on the outs, I don’t even go to school.
I don’t have people guiding me or wanting the best for me.

But in here—even on my worst days—the staff care.

 

Entry #2075
Concrete Walls
Oh, these concrete walls. What I would do to walk through these walls.
See, it’s not about your incarceration or emancipation or your laceration,
so just give me a moment of your time as I ask for your full concentration.
See, while I’ve been incarcerated, I’ve lost all my motivation,
so I hope you listen and take this as a sign of inspiration.
Hoping you go into the world to do your diligence,
and act like you got some common sense as you need to handle your business.
This is not a game of tennis as you must get to the other side.
There are no concrete walls that divide.
Oh, these concrete walls. Oh, what I would do to walk through these concrete walls.
See, I had a friend that said, “phase after phase after phase, we’re all still stuck in this cage.”
So, does this mean we’re animals?
I mean, I know we’re all mammals, but see, animals have more freedom than us.
They got bars, and not walls. Rows, and columns.
While we got bros and hoes that just wanna holla.
I mean, are you coming around just to ask me for a dollar?
Can I be supported and uplifted or is that only because I’m greatly gifted?
See, that’s where I get conflicted.
Where I start abusing these substances we’re all misusing.
It all seems just so amusing. But, is that really why I’m using?
Oh, these concrete walls. Oh, what I would do to walk through these walls.
They say the only way out is through.
But is that really the key to getting through to you?

 

Entry #2076
I’m Trying
I didn’t always used to be like this. I was a good kid—quiet, respectful, even had some dreams. But growing up in poverty, things were hard. There was always stress, always struggle. I got tired of feeling less than everyone else. I started hanging around people who seemed strong, who had what I thought I wanted—respect, money, power. But they weren’t the right people. The more I followed them, the more I lost myself.

I started doing things I never thought I would—hurting people, getting locked up, pushing away the ones who cared. The truth is, I changed. Not overnight, but slowly, piece by piece. And now I’m here, trying to figure out who I really am again. Being in juvi made me stop and think. I don’t want to stay this version of myself. I want to get back to the real me—the one before the pain, before the mistakes. I know it’s not easy, but I’m trying. And maybe that’s the first step.

 

Entry #2077
Life Really Spiraled
People are always under the impression that I grew up in a healthy or “rich” family—though they’re not totally wrong about the rich part. But I grew up living the saying “money can’t buy happiness,” because let me tell you—it really can’t.

I was taken from my biological parents when I was around one, maybe two. My mom took me to a party and left me with people who were extremely intoxicated and surrounded by the same drugs they were high on. My dad, who found out about my mom’s reckless decision shortly after she left, got in the car and went to the party to get us.

When he got there, he was livid—screaming and shouting at anyone near me or my mom. He picked me up, put me in the car, and tried to get my mom to come home. But she, being hard-headed, intoxicated, and probably embarrassed, refused to leave. My dad grabbed her hand and tried to get her in the car. After some fighting, she finally got in.

As we drove home, still arguing, my mom suddenly opened the car door and jumped out. My dad accidentally ran her over. He picked her up, put her back in the car, and rushed to the hospital. In the chaos, he left me in the car—probably out of pure stress. I stayed in the car the rest of the night and into the next day, until police arrived and turned me over to CPS.

That was the start of my foster—and eventually adoption—journey. I bounced between countless foster homes, way more than a “normal” kid usually does. Along the way, I experienced traumatic events, including physical and emotional abuse. One of my foster dads was arrested for molesting me when I was just two years old.

Eventually, I was adopted by a family who are still my legal guardians today. Even with them, and even at such a young age, I still couldn’t catch a break. Growing up with them, I had some stability: both parents around, regular meals, school, and help when I needed it. But I was super energetic, often getting into trouble, and always full of questions about my early life—questions I already knew the answers to deep down.

Throughout my life, I saw countless counselors and therapists who often told me, “I can’t help you.” I was an angry kid, constantly getting into fights, arguments, and eventually suspensions and expulsions. I grew up hearing things like, “You’re gonna grow up to be a failure,” or “You’ll end up a drug addict just like your bio parents”—especially from my dad. Hearing that all the time crushed my mental health and self-esteem. And truthfully, I didn’t prove him wrong.

I started smoking weed and drinking around age 9. But life really spiraled when I began popping oxy and Percocet. Soon I was smoking and shooting heroin. I knew addiction ran in my family, and I had an addictive personality—but I was hurting. I needed to escape my reality, and drugs gave me that illusion.

My mental health was unstable, and my self-worth dropped daily. I acted recklessly and unpredictably because of my drug use. By 13, I was court-ordered to a lockdown facility in Utah for drug use and crimes I committed while high.

Now, I’m 17 and in juvenile hall because of my addiction. I sit here every day wishing I had never touched drugs—because that one choice changed everything.

 

Entry #2078
To My Lil Sis
Hey Sis,
It’s been a while since we saw each other—because now you're dancing in a field of sunflowers and sleeping with Mr. Love Bug. You were so sad when I told you he was gone. I found him in the middle of the road. Taco, my first dog, and Shasta—our dad’s dog, the sweetest dog ever—and our cousin’s dog, Sativa, are all walking in that same field of sunflowers with our uncle, our grandpa, and our little brother. It hurts so much thinking of all of you. It hurts every day.

I blame myself that you're gone—but hey, I needed help with my mental health. Every time I think of the day you left, it hurts like hell. And every time I think of that day, I start to cry. I love you. I want to say I’m sorry for getting mad and saying things I didn’t mean. I feel bad about everything I did in the past. I miss you—forever and ever. I wish I could go back in time and say sorry for everything. I know I need to be a better version of myself for you. I’m getting the help I need. I made a promise to you, and I’m trying my hardest to keep that promise.

It’s been eight months without you, and I’m sorry. I’m trying my best not to blame myself—or anyone else—but deep down, I know who I blame. I’m keeping that inside of me for now. Maybe one day that person will show me the way, or maybe people will stop believing in him. Because to me, he’s not real.

Anyway, I’m sorry I’m taking too much of your time. I just wanted to let you know that you’re always in my heart and on my mind. The bracelet you picked out for me still never leaves my wrist. You are the most important person in my life, and trust me—it hurt everyone when you left. You were too young to go.

But hey—we have a new cousin coming, and a niece too. I’m going to your cross soon, and I’ll spend one whole hour with you. I’m glad you're still with me, by my side. You are so important to me. You always knew how to make me smile and laugh. My favorite memory with you is when you tried saying my name and made the best nickname ever.

 

Entry #2079
The Choice
The choice I made
Was straight-up murder.

At the time,
I thought—
Well, to be honest,
I had no thought.

Looking back,
I feel dumb,
Stupid,
Ashamed,
Unwanted,
And most of all,
I feel regret.

 

Entry #2080
Making Memories
It’s hard for me to say—or even think—that I have a safe place. For some reason, I don’t think I have one.

But something I do have is a memory that I hold onto. It’s just a normal day at the park with me, my son, and his mother. It might sound silly, but it means a lot to me because my dad never did that kind of stuff with me. So when I was able to make those memories with my own son, it felt like a real change.

There are other times I’ve had good memories with my son, but this one stands out. Everyone was happy. It was almost perfect.

 

Entry #2081
Lost Time
The choice I made not to get help with my alcohol problems was a selfish one—especially toward my children. I've lost so much time with them.

That choice changed my whole perspective on alcohol—what it’s used for, and what I used it for. It led me down a path I now resent.

Now look at me—I'm locked up, resenting myself. At the time, I thought I was superhuman, using alcohol to numb unresolved trauma. But looking back, all it did was temporarily cover something that needed to be permanently healed.

Alcohol used to be my safe place. But now that I’m sober, I realize the most important safe place was right in front of me—my two children.

 

Entry #2082
Looking Back
The choice I made was to carry a gun. At the time, I thought it was a good idea and that it was the right thing to do. Looking back, I feel stupid and regretful for the things I did. I also realize that I made a mistake that hurt more people than I ever thought it could. If I could go back to that day, I would’ve just stayed at my girlfriend’s house and not gone out to party.

My safe place is with my sister. When I’m with her, I feel like I can tell her anything without her judging me or telling anyone else. If I could spend time with her right now, I would sit and talk with her. I’d ask how she’s been since I got locked up, and I’d want to know what she’s been doing—because when I was out, we used to hang out every day.

 

Entry #2083
Time Away From Home: Juvi Time
My time away from home has been spent in Juvenile Hall. I still don’t fully understand why I did the things I did, or said the things I said. Maybe it was because I was upset. Maybe it was because I wanted everything to end. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking about the consequences of my actions.

I never really understood my parents. I know my dad was a drug addict, and my mom wasn’t around for most of my life. But I don’t blame her for leaving. When I was born, she was using drugs too and took my older brother with her. I was born with a condition I can’t control, and maybe it can’t ever be solved—but I won’t let that stop me from going after what I want in life.

I mainly grew up in one town, but I traveled a lot. I’ve been to Oklahoma, New Mexico, and back. I really liked the schools there. The teachers actually tried their best to give us a good education. Elementary school was probably the best time I had in school. I had this one teacher I’ll never forget.

Being in juvi has given me time to think about what got me here in the first place. I was being bullied—and I retaliated. I only did it to protect myself. I’m not the type of guy who would hurt someone without a real reason. I’m not the bully type.

I think being locked up changes the way people see the world. It changes your personality. It’s supposed to help you become stronger and more focused. The goal is to rehabilitate you, to give you the tools and skills to stay safe in the real world, and to live differently when you get out.

All I was trying to do was protect myself. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I love—I don’t hate. I don’t hate anyone. But I do despise people who pick on others for simply being themselves.

I’m open to trying new things and meeting new people. I want to travel the world and find new opportunities. But this world is full of hate. It’s sad to see the wrong people throw their lives away and take out their anger on people who never deserved to be bullied in the first place.

 

Entry #2084
Letter to My Young Life
Wasup brother — happy B-day tho!
I know what you’re thinking right now, probably like “Damn, I gotta be a ****-up to turn 15 in the hall.”

Truth be told, I was in your same situation when I was about your age.

The best advice I can give you is this: keep striving to become a better man. You don’t have to let your past mistakes define who you want to become.

I know you’re deep in the streets—stay cautious about who you surround yourself with. I’d rather see my boys working a 9-to-5 than having to visit their graves.

Remember to stay true to yourself and don’t let anyone take you for granted.
You are the master of your own destiny.

Like my pops told me:
Chest out, chin up. It’s the only way.

 

Entry #2085
What It’s Like Being on the Inside
The hardest thing you go through is being locked up. It’s not just missing your family on the phone—it’s seeing our old selves in the kids that are around us. Feeling hurt, abandoned, and stuck in your own head because you don’t know why you are so mad. You can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with you, so you build up walls and don’t let anyone in, afraid that they are going to turn on you and not be a solid person.

So you turn to the thing you are used to doing: surviving through crime, turning to the negative side of life. It took me so long to somewhat find out my true self. It took a long time to stand down when someone was calling me a btch. One day, I sat down and thought about the things that were going on around me and those times when kids were talking sht for no reason. It all comes from trauma and not knowing how to cope with the bad things happening in our lives.

We hurt people in ways that are cruel without even realizing it. I find it hard to believe that these kids want to hurt other people emotionally and physically, but it’s just the only way they know how to deal with pain. So you need to take a step back and think that this person is hurting, that they need to scream, cuss, and yell out the anger they have pent up inside.

Becoming a man, you need to consider what the other person might be going through and not take things they say to heart. It’s not saying that what they said is right by any means, but it is also not okay to define someone by their past. When someone does something bad, it does not mean they are a bad person. It means they are human and make mistakes, just like everyone else in this world. It just isn’t the same kind of mistake that you made. Everyone is different in their own way.

 

Entry #2086
My Dream Home
My dream home
Is where I can listen to my favorite music
And block out everything around me.

A place where I feel comfortable—
Where I can feel calm and relaxed more often.
A place where I feel happy and joyful,
Or even a place where all my problems disappear.

A place like the jungle.
Or the forest.
Surrounded by trees,
By birds,
By wildlife.
A place I can call home—
Where I’m with the people I love and care about.
A place where food and water never run out.

All I want to be is a game warden—out in the wild, working with animals. But by sitting behind these brick walls, I’m missing that chance. I’m missing fun times with my family and friends. I want to be in nature, breathing the fresh air. I don’t want to be here anymore. I know this won’t last forever, but sometimes it feels like it will.

I’ve felt like I didn’t belong for a long time, but over time, I’ve learned to be myself. I’ve learned that people come around eventually. Being in juvi has taught me a lot—not just about life outside these walls, but about myself. And I’ve got to give myself credit, because I have been doing good.

Even though I’m not a drug user, I still have problems to work through. I know I need to let go of the past so I can create a better future. Juvenile Hall has taught me coping skills, and I’ve gained tools to do better when I get out.

People have told me I can’t do anything because of the way I am. But I’ve proven them wrong. I can do anything I put my mind to. And I will learn from my mistakes.

 

Entry #2087
I’m Different Now
I remember being a youngster—messing kids up for talking trash, running from home, doing drugs, getting caught up in shootings, and being raised around gangs. I did all of it because my pops went away, and my mom was never home. So I started living with my grandma. I was running from a broken home. Then I met some dudes and started playing with tools—just a kid trying to count some blues.

My safe place is the Halls. That’s why I’m in and out. There are a couple staff in here who treat me with respect, like second moms. I’ve also got a lot of brothers in here. One of them I didn’t like at first. I even tried to fight him at one point and I ended up getting restrained. But now? We’re like brothers.

I’m different now. I’ve matured. This program is working for me. I still have outbursts sometimes—still get mad and try to fight staff—but I’m working on it.

 

Entry #2088
History Will Be Remembered
There were a lot of things I wanted to say,
but I couldn’t say much.
I wish I had listened.
I wish I didn’t walk around with so much rage.
Now I’m always in a cage.

 

Phase after phase after phase—
when will I stop with all this rage?
All this pain…
can’t you just go away?!

 

Paranoid to move,
thinking I’d end up back.
All these flashbacks—
thinking I’m so bad—
and still, I go back.

 

But Ma’s voice in my ear,
I always hear
when I’m standing here
all alone—
so alone.

 

All the phrases she used to say…
I wish I could hear her tone,
telling me to come home.

 

Now I’m all alone.
Can’t you come back
and tell me
I’m not alone?

 

Entry #2089
Cold Nights
This sh** don’t feel right.
You were my brother, not just in the streets but in my soul.
Now you're gone—on the set, that’s baby bro.

We used to thug it out—same shirt, same kicks.
Now I’m starin’ at your name, feelin’ sick as a *****.
Now I’m pourin’ out liquor, heart beatin’ out of my chest.
Used to post on the corner, split a sack just to eat.
Now I walk past that spot, feel the pain in my feet.

Let me crash when I got kicked out my mamma’s pad.
Gave me the only blankets that you had.
We used to laugh through the struggle—broke boys with a plan.
Now I’m cryin’ in the dark, just missin’ my man.

Your shirt still hangin’, your voice in my head—
And I still talk to you.
My bro gone, and I’m hurt to the bone.
Ridin’ through the hood, all on my own.

I wish I could call, wish you’d pick up the phone—
But the dial tone hit. Now I’m feelin’ sick.
They say time heals, but I’m losin’ my mind.
I just want my brother back. I’m tryin’ to press rewind.

We ain’t have much time, but we made that sh** work.
Used to steal food just to fight off the hurt.
Now I’m eatin’ alone—got money,
But I’d give it all back just to see you again.

I saw your momma cry.
She broke down at the wake,
Tryna be strong—but her hands still shake.
I hugged her tight and said, “I got you, ma.”
But inside I was dyin’. Like, why him?
Why the realest one fall?
Why take my brother when all these snakes still crawl?

Now I’m ridin’ dirty, tears fallin’ in my lap.
You were my armor. Now I ain’t Jack.
My bro gone, and the nights get cold.
Used to say, “We good.”

Wish I could call you.
Wish you could pick up.
But the pain hit deep—
Got me drinkin’ in my cup.
They say time heals,
But that’s a damn lie.
’Cause every time I smile,
I’m just tryin’ not to cry

I miss you, foo.
Ain’t nobody ever held me down like you did.
You ain’t deserve this sh**.

Forever 15.
Rest in peace, my brother.
We was all we had—
And now I’m half gone without you.

 

Entry #2090
A Day at the Beach
If I could go anywhere, I’d probably go to the beach. I haven’t been in a while, but it always makes me feel calm. It’s like a safe space for me. I don’t know—I just like the sound of the waves, the way the water moves on the shore, the waves crashing in the distance. Just the beach in general.

I’ve only been like eight times in my life, but a trip to the beach right now would feel amazing—especially with my siblings, my dad, and my mom. But shit, things don’t work like that anymore. Most of my siblings are split up. Dad and Mom aren’t together anymore, so things just aren’t the same, to be honest.

If I had one wish, it would be for all of us to be together again. Things were great back then. They could be great now—but never like they were before.

 

Entry #2091
Talking to a Ghost
Love is like a double-edged sword—especially when you love an addict. Love can be such a beautiful thing, but it can also be the very thing that pushes you to the edge of life—and then shoves you off it.

 

I usually like to think of myself as a reasonable-minded person, but after I met her, I started to question that. The number of letters I’ve sent her, the minutes I’ve used on phone calls—it’s all starting to add up to something ridiculous.

I’ve tried so hard to get into her head, to somehow convince her that she’s worth a good life. That if she would just listen—just once—she could be free.

It’s ironically funny, but also deeply heartbreaking, that every time I hear she’s getting out of jail and heading to rehab, I laugh and say, “I wonder how long this is gonna last.” Because everyone who knows her already knows—it won’t be long at all.

All my life, I wanted to meet her. And when I finally did, it threw me off. It didn’t feel like I met her—it felt like I met an empty shell. It was weirdly scary, but eye-opening too. I got to see what someone looks like when they’ve chosen the path I was going down—but at the age they were.

I wanted to say “I love you,” but it felt like I was talking to a ghost.

And the part that broke me the most?
The person I’m calling “her” in this story…
I call Mom in my real life.

Bottom of Form