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My Story
I was born at 8:30 on August 30th of 1983. In Deer River, MN, the stars were lined up just right for someone like me to be born.
My childhood was somewhat normal. I guess. Not much happened in my life, me and three sisters, besides the split of my mother and biological father. It happened at like 6 or 7. He was a very abusive person. Never laid a hand on me but everyone else got it. He was a dickhead. After he left my grandparents stepped in to help raise me. I’m so grateful for them.
My earliest memories were family thinking I was lost, I was feeding baby chipmunks, I was like three or like three?
Five or Six
Being mad all day at the Mashkose Pow Wow because I couldn’t go fishing and at the end of the day my Grandpa asked the neighbors for some fish. They gave him a walleye, and we roasted it the old way. I felt loved.
Seven or Eight
Sitting at my cousin’s wake before his funeral with my mother and my uncle and my grandparents. I remember not feeling really sad. I looked at my grandparents and asked for a cig. They paid no attention to me, my mom and uncle laughed, but I was serious. So, in Anishinabemowin, I asked, “Nim buckad aseema?” My grandmother looked at Grampa and nodded. He gave me a cig. Everyone around us was silent.
I broke the cigarette and took the tobacco, threw the filter and paper in the garbage, went outside and prayed, came back and sat down.
My grandmother asked what I did so I told her. I put out tobacco because I didn’t say goodbye and tried singing the Traveling Song, but I didn’t remember it at that point. My aunt and mother started crying. Then I felt sad because I realized I’d never see him aging.
I bring them up because not knowing it, they helped me into who I am.
Around Nine or Ten
My life was turning upside down. Two cousins were molesting me.
I didn’t even know what it was. I told one of my sisters. She made me keep it a secret, so it kept on happening for a couple of years.
I told my oldest sister, and she beat the living hell out of them, got in trouble for it. I thought it was my fault she put one in the hospital. So, I told my mom why she did it. My cousins were shipped off to Washington to live with family out there.
Around Thirteen
I had my first drink. I loved it. I could chill out with the older guys in my uncle’s truck garage and catch a buzz. Really not long until like 14-ish my stepdad didn’t like how free I was. He was a recovering addict. So, I couldn’t drink anymore. I was pissed at him forever. I started running away at 15-ish. Not really knowing it, my uncles were tweakers and caused a lot of chaos. I learned a lot of things, bad things.
Fifteen to Twenty-ish
Selling, partying, lots of drinking. My stepdad finally caught up to me at a powwow. Sat me down and had a long ass talk with me. He felt my pain and talked me into treatment. At that point he wasn’t my stepdad. He became my father.
After my first treatment, life has gotten a lot harder. I have slipped and fallen a lot, six treatments.
The program was hell. Mostly because of God. Christ.
My last treatment, shit started to click.
The reason I started with my memories. They changed the way I looked at everything.
Family, trust, love, tradition.
To close:
I don’t know if I will ever get the program and stay sober.
But I hope with the hope I can muster up that I will break the cycle.