Post by Steven C. Owensby on May 3, 2011 18:02:22 GMT -5
I was born in Southern California on Feb.28,1964, travelled around a lot as best as I can figure; though I don't remember much of that. I do remember living in Canada -at the base of the Canadia Rockies.
At some point we returned to CA., and then the red suitcase incident. I say it like that, because I remember seeing my little Red suitcase sitting on the front steps as I got off the school bus.
My first thoughts were those of excitement because I thought we were going on a trip when I seen that little Red suitcase. But as I ran toward the door, some thing made me stop. We weren't in the habit of leaving the front door open, and it was. So I slowed down, and as I got closer I heard my Mother crying.
Now, I've never considered myself a tough guy; but I wasn't a coward either. And I ran into that house ready to tear into whom ever I seen. As I did, I seen a woman standing in the kitchen doorway, and I headed for her, screaming: "What did you do to my Mom?!" I was heading right at her, and only a few feet away when I heard my Mom say that she was ok. That she was not hurt.
Hearing her voice stopped me. I looked at her and asked why she was crying then. She just called me over to her, with tears flowing from her eyes. She explained that:"The woman is here to take you to a new home, Steven!"
Naturally, my mind could not grasp what she was saying. "Take me"? "New home"? What in the world was she talking about? Why did I need to go to a new home? My mind was reeling and spinning out of control. All I could figure was that I had done some thing wrong, and began to plead with mom. Begging her to not do this. I promised with every thing in my Eight year old heart that I would be good. I didn't know what I had done, but I assured her that I would NEVER do it again, if she would not send me away. All my pleading fell on deaf ears.The woman took me by the hand and led me outside, grabbed my little red suitcase, and off I went. I was being taken from my home and being put up for adoption.
As we drove down the road, I remember thinking that I could jump out of the car as we were driving down the Highway, and I grabbed the door handle to jump. Ironically, just as I was preparing myself to do it, we passed over a bridge and I shrinked back. I was ready to die, but my terror of heights was even stronger than my fear of going to a 'new' home. And I believe that this terror was because I had been in a very bad accident that involved Mountains and extremely high cliffs that I was looking ovevr just before we wrecked.
If we did wreck, that is. I don't remember to be honest. All I do remember is waking up from a nap, seeing my oldest sister laying in the floor board, and hearing my Mom scream:"Get on the floor!" Then, looking out the window of the car and seeing a cliff; with a snow topped mountain in the far distance, and then looking ahead to see our car heading directly for a curve that went around the mountain,,, as we were spinning out of control and pass that curve was nothing but space.
The next thing I remember is being next to my Mother as she held my hand, and when I seen the car that we were in when we somehow went around that curve; and then, I totally flipped out and started screaming in horror. I tried to get away from that car, but my mom picked me up and held me firmly in her arms.
My next memories were of that little Red suitcase, and what I am sharing with you now.
Obviously I didn't make the jump. But there have been a lot of times, whenI wish I had of done it.
I was taken to a number of different foster homes, and the only one that I can remember that is worth mentioning in a positive light, was the very first one that I was taken to. But it was a temporary place. One that I wish I could have stayed at. Because the other places that I went to left a lot of room for improvement.
For the sake of time, I wont bore you with all the gory details of how I was beaten bloody, deprived of food, and forced to put tobasco sauce on my thumb and then suck it off because they wanted to 'break' me of it.
I was taken out of the 'homes' and put in childrens homes or boys ranches until I was Ten. That's when I met a lady whom had apparently knew my Mother, knew of my delimna, and wanted to save me.
Here, at this point in my life, is the beginning of when I can actually remember giving up on trying to do good. This lady had done what she could to help me. But she made one mistake as far as I was concerned. She spoke bad about my Mother, and I wasn't having any of it. Other things had taken place between us that made her return me to the DFS, but I'm not going to mention them because I really appreciate what she tried to do for me.
I will say this though. As we stood before the Judge and she presented her case to him, I was waiting for him to ask me my side of the story. And when he didn't, I determined in my heart that I would never ever allow my heart to care about anythng again. If he didn't care about me, then why should I care about listening to 'them'.
How could I trust them with my heart, when I had done every thing that they ahd asked me to do and then when things go bad they turn their back on me and not even ask me my side of the story? They could have asked me!
It was at this hearing that I was classified as "Incorrigible" and remanded over as a "Ward of the State." And as such I remained until I was 38 years old. So, in essence, I was a ward of the state for 30 years.
So my life of incarceration began. Running away became the norm for me. I ran away from every place that I can remember after that 'sentencing.' If I could see out, then I was getting out. Pereiod!
Without giving a seconds thought to what I was doing, or what my life would become, I went forward as a child possessed and intent on raising hell. So it should surprise nobody that I directly served over 20 years in the 'System'; that I became the oil that lubricated the doors as they swung open and closed for me.
Drugs, sex and violence became a part of my daily life.
There was absolutely no thought given to my future. None! I would fight at the slightest provocation; do any drug just because it was available; and get intimately involved with anyone just because it felt good. I hid behind my fears behind these mediums, and I had a lot of them, so I felt justified in doing it.
So it went. In and out of juvenile detention centers, to youth authority facilities, to county jails and eventually prison. Wow, what a journey. What a waste of life. Thrity years in The System with nothing to show for it but a lot of physical and emotional scars. Oh, and a very deep 'file'.... Is it any wonder that attempted suicide several times?
Once I tried to choking myself to death by wrapping a few pieces of sheet that I had tied to the bars and wrapped around my neck; then rolling over and over ,and over, and over, making the strands tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until I started to lose conscienciousness. At which point I knew that it was just a matter of time when I would die for lack of oxygen. And I nearly accomplished it too.
I was going in and out of consciousness when a guard came up, cut the sheet strands, and had me taken to the psych ward. Where I stayed for seven days.
The next attempt on taking my own life came many years later. And this was an attempt that I new would be successful. Or so I thought.
Having gotten a new razor, I broke itopen and started to carve my wrist up. I was cutting "along the track" to make certian that I would did it right. But as I was carving, I had a thought of stories about how deeply suicide victims had hurt their loved ones left behind. And beng as I loved my sisters very much, I called up my older sister...as I was carving my wrist up.
We spoke for a little bit, but she picked up on something in my voice I guess, because she stareted asking me what I was doing. And all I could do was tearfully say that I was tired...and hang the phone up on her....
She never knew my exact address, so I felt confident in being able to finish what I had started. So you can imagine my surprise when the police showed up at my door 15 minutes later.
Of course I wasn't in my right mind and didn't think that they would just kick the door open if I didn't answer. So I just remained quiet as I sat on the floor of my bathroom.
There was blood all over the bathroom floor, and I was so weak I couldn;t evern stand. So when they kicked in the front door, I slid over to the bathroom door and put my back against the tub and my feet against the door to keep them out for just a few more minutes.
A few more minutes is all I needed, and I knew it. I was fading fast. Not even able to understand what they were saying just on the otherside of that door.
All I can is that I am grateful that the Grandview, MO police Dept. responding officers literally kicked that door off of the hinges. Because if they had of waited or tried to negotiate me out, I would have died.
The Doctor that sewed me up said that it was a miracle that it was a miracle I had made it; that my artery was so carved up that he had to totally replace it because there was no way that he could have sewn it closed.
I am going to end this part of my testimony here. But I want to say this before I do.
If you are reading this and have been thinking about just taking yourself out of the equation by committing suicide-by killing yourself; please, DON'T DO IT!
I'm not just saying this as some solve all statement, but I want to know that God loves you! It does not matter what you have done; He loves YOU!
Your future may seem futile as you look in to it; but you have my word as someone who has felt as you do; that it will get better!
So, do your family and yourself a favor; get off of this computer and go to the hospital. Call 911. There there for you! One last thing; to those Officers who kicked that door down:"Thank you!" To my sister who called them:"I love you, and cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me, And I am so very sorry!"
At some point we returned to CA., and then the red suitcase incident. I say it like that, because I remember seeing my little Red suitcase sitting on the front steps as I got off the school bus.
My first thoughts were those of excitement because I thought we were going on a trip when I seen that little Red suitcase. But as I ran toward the door, some thing made me stop. We weren't in the habit of leaving the front door open, and it was. So I slowed down, and as I got closer I heard my Mother crying.
Now, I've never considered myself a tough guy; but I wasn't a coward either. And I ran into that house ready to tear into whom ever I seen. As I did, I seen a woman standing in the kitchen doorway, and I headed for her, screaming: "What did you do to my Mom?!" I was heading right at her, and only a few feet away when I heard my Mom say that she was ok. That she was not hurt.
Hearing her voice stopped me. I looked at her and asked why she was crying then. She just called me over to her, with tears flowing from her eyes. She explained that:"The woman is here to take you to a new home, Steven!"
Naturally, my mind could not grasp what she was saying. "Take me"? "New home"? What in the world was she talking about? Why did I need to go to a new home? My mind was reeling and spinning out of control. All I could figure was that I had done some thing wrong, and began to plead with mom. Begging her to not do this. I promised with every thing in my Eight year old heart that I would be good. I didn't know what I had done, but I assured her that I would NEVER do it again, if she would not send me away. All my pleading fell on deaf ears.The woman took me by the hand and led me outside, grabbed my little red suitcase, and off I went. I was being taken from my home and being put up for adoption.
As we drove down the road, I remember thinking that I could jump out of the car as we were driving down the Highway, and I grabbed the door handle to jump. Ironically, just as I was preparing myself to do it, we passed over a bridge and I shrinked back. I was ready to die, but my terror of heights was even stronger than my fear of going to a 'new' home. And I believe that this terror was because I had been in a very bad accident that involved Mountains and extremely high cliffs that I was looking ovevr just before we wrecked.
If we did wreck, that is. I don't remember to be honest. All I do remember is waking up from a nap, seeing my oldest sister laying in the floor board, and hearing my Mom scream:"Get on the floor!" Then, looking out the window of the car and seeing a cliff; with a snow topped mountain in the far distance, and then looking ahead to see our car heading directly for a curve that went around the mountain,,, as we were spinning out of control and pass that curve was nothing but space.
The next thing I remember is being next to my Mother as she held my hand, and when I seen the car that we were in when we somehow went around that curve; and then, I totally flipped out and started screaming in horror. I tried to get away from that car, but my mom picked me up and held me firmly in her arms.
My next memories were of that little Red suitcase, and what I am sharing with you now.
Obviously I didn't make the jump. But there have been a lot of times, whenI wish I had of done it.
I was taken to a number of different foster homes, and the only one that I can remember that is worth mentioning in a positive light, was the very first one that I was taken to. But it was a temporary place. One that I wish I could have stayed at. Because the other places that I went to left a lot of room for improvement.
For the sake of time, I wont bore you with all the gory details of how I was beaten bloody, deprived of food, and forced to put tobasco sauce on my thumb and then suck it off because they wanted to 'break' me of it.
I was taken out of the 'homes' and put in childrens homes or boys ranches until I was Ten. That's when I met a lady whom had apparently knew my Mother, knew of my delimna, and wanted to save me.
Here, at this point in my life, is the beginning of when I can actually remember giving up on trying to do good. This lady had done what she could to help me. But she made one mistake as far as I was concerned. She spoke bad about my Mother, and I wasn't having any of it. Other things had taken place between us that made her return me to the DFS, but I'm not going to mention them because I really appreciate what she tried to do for me.
I will say this though. As we stood before the Judge and she presented her case to him, I was waiting for him to ask me my side of the story. And when he didn't, I determined in my heart that I would never ever allow my heart to care about anythng again. If he didn't care about me, then why should I care about listening to 'them'.
How could I trust them with my heart, when I had done every thing that they ahd asked me to do and then when things go bad they turn their back on me and not even ask me my side of the story? They could have asked me!
It was at this hearing that I was classified as "Incorrigible" and remanded over as a "Ward of the State." And as such I remained until I was 38 years old. So, in essence, I was a ward of the state for 30 years.
So my life of incarceration began. Running away became the norm for me. I ran away from every place that I can remember after that 'sentencing.' If I could see out, then I was getting out. Pereiod!
Without giving a seconds thought to what I was doing, or what my life would become, I went forward as a child possessed and intent on raising hell. So it should surprise nobody that I directly served over 20 years in the 'System'; that I became the oil that lubricated the doors as they swung open and closed for me.
Drugs, sex and violence became a part of my daily life.
There was absolutely no thought given to my future. None! I would fight at the slightest provocation; do any drug just because it was available; and get intimately involved with anyone just because it felt good. I hid behind my fears behind these mediums, and I had a lot of them, so I felt justified in doing it.
So it went. In and out of juvenile detention centers, to youth authority facilities, to county jails and eventually prison. Wow, what a journey. What a waste of life. Thrity years in The System with nothing to show for it but a lot of physical and emotional scars. Oh, and a very deep 'file'.... Is it any wonder that attempted suicide several times?
Once I tried to choking myself to death by wrapping a few pieces of sheet that I had tied to the bars and wrapped around my neck; then rolling over and over ,and over, and over, making the strands tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until I started to lose conscienciousness. At which point I knew that it was just a matter of time when I would die for lack of oxygen. And I nearly accomplished it too.
I was going in and out of consciousness when a guard came up, cut the sheet strands, and had me taken to the psych ward. Where I stayed for seven days.
The next attempt on taking my own life came many years later. And this was an attempt that I new would be successful. Or so I thought.
Having gotten a new razor, I broke itopen and started to carve my wrist up. I was cutting "along the track" to make certian that I would did it right. But as I was carving, I had a thought of stories about how deeply suicide victims had hurt their loved ones left behind. And beng as I loved my sisters very much, I called up my older sister...as I was carving my wrist up.
We spoke for a little bit, but she picked up on something in my voice I guess, because she stareted asking me what I was doing. And all I could do was tearfully say that I was tired...and hang the phone up on her....
She never knew my exact address, so I felt confident in being able to finish what I had started. So you can imagine my surprise when the police showed up at my door 15 minutes later.
Of course I wasn't in my right mind and didn't think that they would just kick the door open if I didn't answer. So I just remained quiet as I sat on the floor of my bathroom.
There was blood all over the bathroom floor, and I was so weak I couldn;t evern stand. So when they kicked in the front door, I slid over to the bathroom door and put my back against the tub and my feet against the door to keep them out for just a few more minutes.
A few more minutes is all I needed, and I knew it. I was fading fast. Not even able to understand what they were saying just on the otherside of that door.
All I can is that I am grateful that the Grandview, MO police Dept. responding officers literally kicked that door off of the hinges. Because if they had of waited or tried to negotiate me out, I would have died.
The Doctor that sewed me up said that it was a miracle that it was a miracle I had made it; that my artery was so carved up that he had to totally replace it because there was no way that he could have sewn it closed.
I am going to end this part of my testimony here. But I want to say this before I do.
If you are reading this and have been thinking about just taking yourself out of the equation by committing suicide-by killing yourself; please, DON'T DO IT!
I'm not just saying this as some solve all statement, but I want to know that God loves you! It does not matter what you have done; He loves YOU!
Your future may seem futile as you look in to it; but you have my word as someone who has felt as you do; that it will get better!
So, do your family and yourself a favor; get off of this computer and go to the hospital. Call 911. There there for you! One last thing; to those Officers who kicked that door down:"Thank you!" To my sister who called them:"I love you, and cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me, And I am so very sorry!"