A lot of East kids volunteer, either with SHARE or independently. So I’m guessing some of you have volunteered at a homeless shelter sometime this year. That’s good for you. But even if you’ve racked up the service hours in local homeless shelters, I promise I’ve got you beat.
After all, I lived in one just two months ago.
***
Middle school was a confusing time for me. My friends from elementary school separated into different groups and I seemed to be stuck in the middle. I was in a rut. I had no sense of belonging. I had made a few friends in middle school, but still something wasn’t right. All my life I’ve been a shy kid, but it got even worse in middle school.
With my timidity came self confidence issues. As much as I tried to be my own person, I still cared about what others thought of me. I was afraid of being judged for I was. What I looked like, the things I said. I didn’t love myself. I became secluded and alienated. Because I wasn’t accepted, I was uncomfortable: The few friends I had I didn’t have classes with. For most of the day I was by myself. In my own thoughts. No one talked to me, no one seemed to want to. I was alone. I was lost.
But then I got high for the first time. And through marijuana, I found myself. When I was high, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I didn’t care about my problems. I could do what I wanted to do and not think about others’ opinions of me. I felt in control. I fell in love with weed and every single thing about it; the texture when I rolled it, the crinkling it made when it burned and, of course, the feeling it gave me. Freedom.
Marijuana was a sweet escape, an enhanced reality. It helped me get by; get over the problems I faced on a daily basis. I no longer felt like a social outcast and for the first time in a long time, I was satisfied with the state of my life.
But while it improved my attitude, it began to take a toll on my relationship with my family.
After I was grounded for my bad grades, I started sneaking out of the house at night to smoke with my friends. I eventually got caught and was punished even more. No TV, no phone, no internet until my grades and attitude improved. Stuck at home alone, I felt helpless and saw no way out. Without weed I had no motivation to do anything. The high gave me something to look forward to at the end of the day. It was something I could depend on for happiness. Nothing else could give me that feeling.
I became depressed and even more alienated than I had been before. I no longer had access to what made me who I was; what set me free. I wasn’t truly happy until I smoked again six months later. It was worth the risk, even though I knew I would most likely get caught. So I smoked. And I smoked again. And again. My eighth grade year. My freshman year. My sophomore year. Weed stayed with me throughout.
I didn’t get away with it either. I got caught nearly a dozen times. The punishments got worse. But it never got through to me until my parents gave me the worst punishment of all.
On a Wednesday after school this October, I sat on my back porch smoking a joint. My parents had gone to the grocery store and I didn’t expect to get in any trouble. I was dead wrong. The first thing my dad said as he walked in the door was, “I can smell it.” Then he paused for a second.
“This can’t continue to happen. I’m finding a place for you.”
With that, he went upstairs to decide my fate. In the past, my parents had mentioned sending me to military school, but the final decision was to send me to live in a homeless shelter in Downtown Kansas City called Restart.
As they told me they were sending me away, I couldn’t process it. I was numb to the seriousness of the situation partly because I was high when they told me, but also because I was in shock. After the numbness there was nothing left but fear. Fear of the unfamiliar place I would be staying. Fear of the people I would encounter. Fear of what others would think.
***
They put me in the youth section of the shelter. Before I was allowed in, I was searched and asked a series of questions I could barely answer without sobbing. I was led to where I would be sleeping: a cot in a dismal room with three other boys.
One of them had been put out on the street by his mother because of his homosexuality. Another was there because his parents were heroin addicts. They weren’t like me and I couldn’t relate to them. But then there was Blaze. He was by far the most welcoming person there.
Instead of trying to scare me straight like the counselors did, he encouraged me.
He was seventeen. His girlfriend was in jail, he had a 9-month-old son who lived a thousand miles away and his father was a deadbeat. But despite all of this, he took the time to encourage me to embrace the positive things in my life rather than the negative.
“Walk with a purpose,” Blaze said. “Keep your head high.”
That was the best advice I’ve ever received. I ended up staying there for two awful weeks, but with Blaze it was a little more tolerable.
I despised ReStart, but I learned one important thing there: I never want to go back.
The emotional pain and suffering I went through in those two weeks is nothing I want to experience again. I cried every day thinking of my relationship with my family and if it would ever be repaired. In fact, my parents told me the next time I got caught smoking I wouldn’t come back to ReStart; my punishment would be worse. If I get caught again, I’ll go to a detention center until I turn 18. I finally accepted that my use of weed had been more than recreational. I had used it to deal with problems I was afraid to confront head on. Now, I’m going to confront my issues some other way.
I know now that I need to change. My future depends on it. I don’t want to end up on the corner nor do I want to be that awkward kid I was before I started smoking. It wouldn’t be fair to me or those who love me not to live up to my true potential. I realized that’s why they sent me away. They just wanted to save me from myself. Now I need to be the one to do that. I need to be satisfied with myself. I need to take Blaze’s advice and walk with a purpose, focus on the positive and be that person that my self doubting, old me wouldn’t have recognized.
Because if I can’t find myself without weed, I’ll find myself where I don’t want to be.
Leave a Reply