I never had a bad childhood. On the contrary, it was quite good. I had a nice family and good friends. As a kid growing up in Vero Beach, Florida, going to the beach all the time, going out on the family boat, roller skating all the time, I should have had it made right? I had friends, loads of toys, nice clothes. But something inside me still burned for more. The wolf was untamed and I was a thief. Now, a lot of kids steal little things every now and then but for me it was something I did and often. I don't know why. We weren't poor, my family could have bought me the things I stole but for me I didn't bother asking, I just took. It started as a kid under 10 years old. I would steal toys from friends houses and neighbors yards and would tell my mom I found them in the ditch down the street or that my friends just gave it to me. She always made me return them but I didn't. I would go hide them instead. When I was a teen living in Arkansas I stole money from my parents damn near daily. I would use it for the most petty cheap things they probably would have bought me if I asked, but I never asked. I never really spoke much to my parents as a teen. I was different in school. I was that band kid who wore all black or weird outfits. Had weird haircuts and dyed her hair hot pink. I had piercings and my world revolved around music and music only. In a tiny town of Arkansas, that was not acceptable and I was made fun of and bullied often, daily even. When I was 18 my thievery got so out of control I ended up in jail facing a very long prison term. I was homeless and was stealing money from people, my bosses, friends, family, anywhere I could get it. I never asked anyone for help. I was never the type to. But those cold several weeks in jail, not speaking to anyone, feeling abandoned by everyone I knew and loved was the real turning point for me. The desolation of my first and longest addiction.
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