I was attending community college and carefully hiding from classmates the fact that I lived in a children’s home for orphans and delinquents. After receiving my GED at age 17, I had finessed my case manager into thinking I had big dreams for my future. I told her I wanted to be a social worker to help at-risk kids like me. The truth? I petitioned to take a class in hopes of bumming cigarettes and slurping down contraband sodas purchased with change I’d scavenged from the group home’s grounds. The first thing I learned from living in state institutions was how to manipulate my custodians.
At age 15, I was arrested for stealing a car and was sentenced to juvenile prison until my 21st birthday. In mid-90s Illinois, the sole female juvenile prison was located in a Chicago suburb, five hours north of my rural town. Visitations were held weekly, but without public transit options, my single mother — who bicycled to work — was unable to come.
What I didn't realize was that Vic's isolating me from friends was typical behavior for abusers, a red flag I mistook for endearment. My vulnerability made me a prime target for a man seeking to control his partner. At the time though, I thought it was adorable that he wanted to be the center of my universe.
Okay, fair enough. This isn’t a clip—but it does capture what evolved after I published the clips in Salon, Daily News, and Vice. Sharing my story lead to me starting a program inside Rikers island for youth and adults whose lives are impacted by the injustice system. This was from November 2018—we’re still going and are now in several additional detention centers across the city. Check the kite tab for more details or click here to check our site.
