I Wonder, Why

by Blanca Martinez
January 2009


From age nine to 12, I began inhaling Freon spray and that’s when my mom kicked me out. Then, at age 13, I started drinking and using cocaine, because I didn’t want to feel any of the pain from when my mom threw me out. I already had a boyfriend, so I moved in with him. I really thought he was the one, but I was wrong. He would always beat me, and I didn’t understand why. All I wanted was for him to love me, but it didn’t happen that way, and so I eventually left him.

One day he asked me to leave with him. He told me we were going to his homeboy’s house to kick it, but it was a lie. He had actually planned on stealing from some people’s house that he didn’t know.

On this day we parked in front of the people’s house in our truck, and he told me to look out. As I sat in the truck wondering why he was taking so long, this woman in a car pulled up behind me.

She got out of the car and approached me in the truck, asking me what was I doing? I told her my boyfriend was in his friend’s house. The lady figured out what was going on, but had already told me that the same house belonged to her mom. She then told me that all she wanted was her mom’s belongings back.

I got out of the truck and got in the car; by that time, the woman stood between the truck and the car.

I was very nervous and scared, since I’d asked the woman to move numerous times, but she wouldn’t move. After asking her for the last time, she still did not move. I accidentally hit the gas pedal and hit her.

Instead of leaving, I don’t know why, but I wanted the police to arrive. When they did arrive, they put me in the back seat of their cruiser. The police later told me that I was being charged with aggravated assault and burglary. I was scared and crying because it was my first time going to jail at the age of 13 – and after doing two years in juvenile detention. I was now being tried as an adult.

Not one time did I receive a letter from my so-called boyfriend. Once again, I thought he really loved me, but I knew that is was too good to be true. I did get placed on probation after doing time.

When I got out, I went and reported to my probation officer. He informed me of my stipulations and one was that I couldn’t be around my so-called boyfriend, one stipulation to which I agreed. He then told me the reason for my doing so much time was that my so-called boyfriend had written a statement blaming everything on me. That he’d be man enough to take the blame for what he had done – that would’ve been something, at the original time, I would’ve been cool with. I was hurt so bad because not one time did I hear from my mom and family. That tore me up even more because all I wanted was to hear her voice and I couldn’t even get that.

After that happened to me, I didn’t care about reporting to my probation officer, so I quit going to see him. I ended up hooking up with my brother and sister’s best friend, someone named R. He took care of me, and he loved me like I wanted and deserved to be loved. I was very happy with R.

One day I woke up and saw R. shooting up heroin, something I knew nothing about. I told R. that I wasn’t feeling good, so I asked him to go to the store to get me a 7-Up. That was just an excuse for me to get him to leave, because I wanted to do what I knew he would not let me do. Before he left, I had already seen where he had placed the needle which was on a mirror in the bathroom. When he finally left, I went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, put the needle in my arm, and shot up the heroin. It had me feeling as if I was going to die, because, soon after I shot it in my arm’s vein, I had a down feeling. I tried to stand but I couldn’t: I was too weak.

When R. came back, he began calling my name. When I didn’t answer, his instincts told him to check the restroom, and there I was, wasted, not being able to answer him as he called my name. All I could remember was waking up in a cold shower, but I knew I wanted some more. I started out with five units of heroin; then, I knew I was hooked on heroin.

This went on for two years. The 15 units went up to 80 units.

What made me stop was, one day I shot up too much. I thought I was going to die. But, I thank God that I am still alive.

Now, I sit here in prison so lonely and wondering, “Why?” I look around and all I see are the walls surrounding me. On my bed I sit and think, “How lonely am I, really?” I came from a big family. Now, I can’t call them, and neither do I get any mail from them. I get a visit with my son once a month, but I still feel lonely sometimes. I wonder why. I can’t explain because it’s too hard. What’s really hard is being away from my husband, R., and kids. I don’t want to go through this again.