Original post 4/2014
I’m writing the post with the outcome first. It made sense to me when reliving it.
The tides turn
It’s beyond comprehension why my probation officer saw hope in me. I gave her no reason, I had lost hope in myself, in life for that matter. I didn’t speak one word to her for seven months. I attended weekly meetings for possession of a handgun. I was a bad ass in my mind. I had to see a psychiatrist several times. I was smarter than my age at 12 years old. The psychiatrist asked me how many children I wanted. Without blinking I said none. “I wouldn’t take a chance on beating my children”. She said statics show abused people are less likely to abuse their children. I’d been sexually abused and beaten all my life. Stats meant nothing to me. The State wanted me in a boot camp type facility. My probation officer fought hard to find a less destructive facility. She felt a boot camp style would make me worse. She was right, I was wound very tight. If I can plan my father’s death what stops you from hurting a stranger. My grandmother knew about a convent that was for bad girls when she was younger. My probation officer Ruth Barrier agreed it was a better environment. I might reform in this setting. The down side, it cost $2,000 a month back in 1975 and my grandparents didn’t have the money.
I don’t know the details. I became a Ward of the State who would pay the monthly fees. My grandparents had to buy all my uniforms, towels, a very specific list of items required and not allowed. I know giving custody to The State was the hardest decision my grandparents had to make. I arrived on February 10,1975, my brother’s birthday. For the first three months you are a minnow. No privileges, random room checks, reading your mail, no phone calls and you can’t go home for three months. Only allowed 10 cigarettes per night, a coke and candy bar. The risk of harassment from established girls was a given. I stayed for a year, a year of hard lessons, one’s that made me the person I am today. I am forever grateful, counting my blessing often. I saw the alternative. I have to thank Ruth Barrier, she set the bar high. She was a strict but caring with me, teaching me respect and other ways to live. I will be forever grateful for the Nuns who gave me positive reinforcement and the rewards of doing the right thing.
Why the above happened
I moved in with my father in the summer and didn’t know anyone. My father knew everyone hung out at the 7-11 down the street. He went there daily to call his girlfriend. One night he dropped me off at the 7-11 to get to know the gang. That is a proper word for the bunch. They were a gang of drug addicts, only a couple were close to my age. I fell for the 21-year-old dealer, lucky me. The first night I met Sterling, he went to jail. Doing drugs was not new, I took my first pills at 8-9 years old and smoking pot shortly after. In junior high we would cross the street to huff paint before school.
In 8th grade I was selling pot to my friends right in the classroom. The timer on a bomb started counting down. The relationship with my father was toxic. I spent several nights in juvenile hall for skipping 38 days of school. One night while riding home with some friends, we got pulled over. Lucky me, the driver had several stolen credit cards. Off to jail we went. I was free to go home but my father would not come get me until noon the next day. I’m so broken by this time, thinking only death sooth me.
It didn’t matter if it was me or my father. One evening we were at home watching a movie. My father comes over unprovoked pointing the 357 mag at my head. He told my boyfriend to leave there was a restraining order on him. I ran away. He drives around pulling the gun on my friends. He had sexually abused me several times by this time. Tick..Tick.. I met with Sterling the next day and we made plans how to kill my father. We had a perfect plan. I was dead inside from the years of abuse from both parents. He deserved to die. Something clicked in my head, I realized how far gone I was. I was a difficult child to handle due to the circumstances. I wasn’t a killer. The next meeting with my probation officer, my first words where “get me out of here”.