Mud & Stars.

From the beginning let me state that I am not a victim. Neither my environment nor my circumstances force me to commit a crime. The choices that I made are not a reflection of the type of parents that I have. They raised me to be better, and do better. And I don’t cast the blame on the kids I was hanging out with. It was my responsibility to make the right decisions. I regretfully failed everyone who was affected by my poor choices.

As a child, one of my greatest weaknesses was my inability to see beyond all the chaos that seemed to surround me. In other words, all I chose to focus on was the mud. I felt stuck in the mud. Eventually I fell in the mud. And being consumed with self-pity, I refused to seek help, and ultimately I drowned in the mud.

All that chaos started when my father had to leave due to military obligations. At the time I was nine years old. Like a lot of boys that age, my father was everything I hoped to become. So when he left, I really struggled with accepting his absence. As the months turned into years, my struggles began to manifest in my behavior. My grades in school suffered. I seemed to always be in trouble, which lead to problems at home. My mom took me to see a therapist, but at that age I didn’t know how to express what was going on inside. Eventually things reached the point that my dad, mom, and teachers petitioned the Army to allow my dad to come home. And they granted their request.

After three and a half years, my dad returned home. For a moment, everything felt complete. But within four weeks of his return, I found out that my mother was leaving. I automatically assumed that my behavior fueled her desire to leave. So I took her decision very personally.

Shortly after my mother left, Iraq invaded Kuwait, and my father had to leave again. Because of his feud with my mother, my brother and I were sent to live with our grandpa.

Up to that point, my grandpa was a complete stranger to me. And now during such a critical juncture in my life, I had to move to a different state, attend a new school, live with a stranger, while my dad was off fighting a war, and wondering if my mom still loved me.

It didn’t take long to realize that my grandpa had a short fuse. Little things would upset him. And when we pissed him off, he wanted us to feel it. I spent eleven months in fear of the man who was supposed to be my guardian. I hated my time there.

Almost a year later my dad returned home from the war. But that reunion felt different than the one before. When he arrived at my grandpa’s house, I remember standing back as my brother gave him a hug. I thought to myself he looks like my dad, and he sounds like my dad, but for some reason I felt out of touch with him.

When we left Georgia, there was no sense of sadness. I felt out of place my entire time there. By the time we returned to Killeen, it was summer time. Every kid’s favorite time of the year. But for me, it meant summer school. While in Georgia, I failed sixth grade math. It was the first time I didn’t advance to the next grade. My dad questioned my effort in school. But I didn’t care. He had no idea what the last four years had been like for me.

I was glad that my dad was home. But our relationship wasn’t the same. During the past five years, he had been home for less than five months. And I had no clue how long he would be around this time. I really missed my mom. And there wasn’t much communication between us. At that time, she had moved to California, got remarried, and had a new son. It felt like she was starting a whole new life, and I wasn’t included.

I was struggling emotionally, but no one seemed to notice. I guess everyone expected me to adjust. I developed a tendency to ignore my problems. But unresolved issues don’t resolve themselves. Yet how many thirteen-year-olds realize that? Though I lacked the experiences that come with age, I knew I needed to find a solution. I thought I found one that summer. Yet it turns out that my life took a detour the day I spent the night next door.

I knew the kid next door for a few years. He was three years older than me. He was throwing a going-away party for a mutual friend, and I was invited. In all, about ten people showed up. It felt cool hanging out with a bunch of high school kids. Some of them brought beer. And even though I knew it was wrong, I wasn’t bothered by it. My dad drank a beer every night, so I didn’t understand the big deal concerning underage drinking.

This was the first time I actually drank. And after a few beers, I felt the effects of the alcohol. For the next few hours, we drank and played video games. Later on that night, everyone went to the backyard to smoke, and I followed along. I assumed they were going to smoke cigarettes. At 13 years old, I was already smoking cigarettes every chance I got. But I was caught off guard when they lit up a joint and started passing it around. I didn’t want to get high. I had been through the D.A.R.E. programs in school. Heard about all the dangers associated with drugs. And what’s crazy is I never thought any of that stuff applied to me. In elementary school, I didn’t know anyone who used drugs. I didn’t live around drug dealers. I had never met a drug addict. At least that’s what I thought. Turns out there was one right next door.

As the joint was passed from one kid to the next, I was hoping someone would pass it along without taking a hit. I thought if someone else did it first, I could do the same. But everyone seemed eager to smoke. As weak as this might sound, in that moment I didn’t possess the strength to just say no. I caved into the pressure. Even though I knew it was wrong.

The marijuana amplified the effects of the alcohol. The entire atmosphere of the party seemed to go to another level. I had never felt or experienced anything like it.

Later that night, I was outside smoking a cigarette. When I looked over at my house, I started thinking about all the bad things that had happened since we moved there. All of those negative emotions began to stir. But then I caught myself. I refused to let the past ruin the night. And in that moment it occurred to me that getting high and drunk enabled me to detach myself from everything that felt wrong in life. By entertaining that thought, a seed was planted in the fertile soil of my young mind. That thought became a belief, which changed the course of my life. But that change didn’t happen immediately. It was worse than that. It was a slow and gradual change hidden over the course of time.

What I saw as a cure turned out to be a curse. Drugs didn’t solve anything. They just created bigger problems. Like most addicts, I thought I was in complete control. I even set up rules for myself to ensure that I maintained control. But over time I began to bend those self-imposed rules until they no longer existed.

Before my 14th birthday, I ventured out beyond alcohol and marijuana. My attitude towards other drugs became more relaxed. Drug abuse extended well beyond the physical and mental cravings. Life at home only got worse. I had to tell one lie after another to hide my addiction. I became isolated. When I was home, I was usually in my room with the door closed. I felt misunderstood. My father’s rules felt like tactics designed to keep me from enjoying my life.

Drug addiction also affected my social life. I was in the 7th grade when I first started using drugs. None of my friends used drugs. So at times I had to lie to them. After a while, I grew tired of making up excuses. Once I began buying my own drugs, I met other kids who were using drugs, which made it easy for me to migrate towards a different crowd.

This new crowd that I was a part of only cared about one thing: getting high. Over time, my attitude and character began to change. Each of us was pulling each other down without realizing it. I think the majority of us were broken in some type of way. Without acknowledging it, our pain created a bond. We understood each other’s need to escape reality. There was no judgment between us. No questions concerning why.

Without a doubt, participating in a robbery in which a man’s life was taken will always be the greatest regret of my life. And after 32 years, time has done nothing in terms of diminishing the amount of guilt that I still live with. Having stated that, I know that mistake would have never happened if I could’ve found the courage to just say no. I cannot overstate how drugs changed every aspect of my life.

In the Supreme Court’s ruling on Graham v. Florida, Chief Justice Roberts made the statement that, “It’s hard to understand how life could go so wrong at such a young age?”. I’m sure there are others who can echo that same statement. And I understand why. Each of us has different experiences throughout life. Unfortunately, there are people like myself who not only know how life can go wrong at such a young age, but we also know how fast you can lose control.

What I have shared with you is simply a snapshot of my life. Not in an attempt to excuse or justify anything, but to bring to light some of the issues surrounding at-risk youths. No child grows up with the goal of becoming a drug addict. None of us have visions of one day going to prison. And no one aspires to be a criminal. When a juvenile commits a crime, their life didn’t go wrong at that moment; there were other factors that led up to that point.

Parents, talk to your children and listen to them. Don’t assume they’re OK. You should also become familiar with the signs of drug abuse and depression. Catching the signs early can really make a difference.