I had tested the runaway lifestyle a few times before, so by the time I made my final escape, I had an idea of the resources I needed to survive.
I left home to live on the street at the age of nine. Life at home had become unfit for me on so many levels that I just couldn’t stay any longer. I tried to get help from adults of many walks of life, but my truth was so savage that no one believed me. I had tested the runaway lifestyle a few times before, so by the time I made my final escape, I had an idea of the resources I needed to survive.
I chose a sliding board with a landing on top that was covered with a bubble shield on three sides and over the top. It blocked the wind and allowed me to get warm as I slept on my trash bag full of clothes. This spot was behind a police station, so I knew I was safe from predators. I also held onto hope that someone might find me and finally believe me.
Breakfast and lunch at school were my main staples. At other times, I’d walk into Food Lion or Walmart and eat in the store. I only stole candy to sell to other kids at school or around the city. I snuck into the YMCA to swim for a bath. I had it all worked out. In the summer and winter, I spent hours in the library reading and staying out of the weather. Sometimes, I would sit in or walk around the hospital. In my heart, I was always waiting to be seen—but it was as if I were invisible.
The streets are ugly for an adult, but for a child, that ugly is intense and extreme. I lived in that world until I was thirteen. By then, I had amped up my survival tactics to petty crimes and was finally caught. I was assigned a court counselor named Terry Aiken. He was the first to see me, the first to believe me, and the first to try to help me. But by that time, I was stoic beyond measure. I was dead inside.
Those years on the streets shaped a belief system in me that still haunts me to this day. The world failed me as a child. This is not an opinion. This is a fact. There are so many other children it has failed—and continues to fail.
As I near the end of my sentence, I aim to build a support network focused on healing our youth, seeing them, and reaching out to them over and over again. Our youth are disappearing behind walls that have no space for their innocence, and it’s being corrupted. This is not a short- or long-term goal. It’s a lifetime goal. One I hope becomes a legacy.
We need transparent people with relevant voices and no hidden agendas. The need is overdue. North Carolina has sunk into despair in schools, prisons, ethics, and general care. Our South has lost its Southern hospitality. Neighbors are strangers. Communities have lost their hearts. Prisons have swallowed generations without notice.
I know I have a massive job ahead of me. But this is my pain turned into purpose. Prison is my grace under fire, because at the very least, I’m still alive.
Truth is not only violated by falsehood. It is equally outraged by silence.
