There was a time in my life not so long ago that I was a pretty terrible person. There was no regard in my life for myself or others. I didn’t think about my family before I did things and at one point in my life, I swore my parents would divorce over the hell I put them through. From the time I was five years old, I have stolen things. Anything. Not just from stores, and not just big items that people might think mattered, little things: like those trial size lipsticks that Avon used to put out in the 1970’s? I used to steal parts of things, too.

Like the handset to a cordless phone. One will not work without the other being in range, so why? One might ask would anyone steal such stupid things? It was the challenge. The only purpose was to see if I could get away with it…to see if anyone would notice. They did, and I was punished, but I moved up the ladder anyway.

The tootsie pop drops that came out in the early 1980’s were of particular interest to me…then it escalated to money out of mom’s purse, then a handful of quarters at the garage sale of a friend’s moms. This obsession grew until I was in prison. There is no other avenue for this type of behavior. I spent long days and even longer nights going back over in my mind all the times I said I would “never do this again”. I would dream of walking outside and smelling the fresh cut grass of spring. I would wake thinking I could walk out of my bedroom and to the big dining room picture window that overlooked the park in the fall. I would hear the whistle of the train nearby and believe that I was at home in bed listening to the old familiar train passing in the distance. I would gaze out to the open road, barred by electronic wire and fence and imagine that right now, as the night fell, I should be headed to the mall to buy Christmas presents. There is nothing in this world that can describe the dangers in not keeping a promise to yourself…and there’s nothing that can replace time. It’s not until the consequences outweighed the risk that I finally came to the realization that I truly “was not going to do this anymore”. Prison can do that. If you don’t believe me, continue on the path that you’re on. Life, liberty and the pursuit of any type of happiness will then be “stolen” from you and those that you love, and that love you will never been the same…ever.

Who I am now hates who I’ve been, and my psyche and mental and emotional well-being are all the better for it. My family may remember the tough times, but they concentrate and encourage who I am now. Without this encouragement and love, I might have not gotten the chance to hate who I’ve been, but I love who I am now.