Names have been changed.

When I was 14 years old, many things happened all at once. I started high school in the middle of Manhattan. I became very curious, especially about the opposite sex. And I gained a lot of freedom. My father let me stay in the city after school and stay at home unsupervised. (My father and I lived with his sister in her house; my mother left when I was 2 years old.)

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Unbeknownst to my father and my aunt, I was meeting boys and even men on a social networking website. In my profile, I posted my picture and put my age as 16.

I soon got a message from a 20-year-old Brooklyn native. On his profile, he had pictures of himself throwing up gang signs; he listed his interests as watching basketball games and movies.

We got to know each other through text messaging. We started calling each other hubby and wifey. When I talked to him on the phone for the first time, we immediately clicked. He introduced himself to me as Killer (which was different from his screen name). I told him my name was Innocence. (Other fake names I used online were Angel and Star.)

He said that my voice was very soft and sweet, and that he could listen to it forever. He also told me that he was a Crip. I was shocked, but not scared. Then I was intrigued. He started to teach me the gang’s terminology and history.

I was attracted to things that were dangerous. I was angry and confused at this point in my life because I couldn’t understand why my mother abandoned me when I was 2 years old. My dad had been taking care of me; he had sole custody.

My mother had visitation rights, but she never came to see me and ended all contact with my father after she married someone else. I always had to deal with questions from school and my friends about where my mother was, why it was only my father at parent-teacher conferences.

So I may have been rebelling partly because of my mother, but I was also curious about life on the edge. And I wanted to belong. I was a freshman in high school, which meant eat or be eaten by seniors, juniors, and sophomores. I started hanging out with juniors and seniors. Girls would constantly talk about sex with their boyfriends and I felt out of the loop.

Face to Face

Killer and I finally met in late November, at my school. He was very attractive, with a chocolate complexion and a messed-up tooth from fighting. His swagger was on point too. He walked around as if nobody could touch him; he didn’t seem to care about anything.

When he came up to me, he held his camera phone up and looked back and forth from me to my picture on the phone. I said hi and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He said that I was much cuter in person. We conversed for a little while in front of Starbucks and then he walked me to the train station.

He told me again I was very pretty and asked me questions like “Why are your jeans so tight though?” I blushed. He sat down on the bench in front of the train and pulled me down onto his lap. I felt comfortable, as if I had known him a long time.

image by Freddy Bruce

After that, we made the relationship official. I met his mother and father, but I kept the relationship secret from my father and aunt. I was not allowed to date until I was 16.

I liked the attention a thug’s wife received and the feeling of being protected. His homies started calling me Lady Killer, and that gave me a sense of belonging. It was as if I had a family outside of my family.

Killer was extremely sweet and generous in the beginning. He took me to the nail salon and paid to get my nails done. He would buy me things, give me money, and spend time with me. He also used to pick me up from school and take me home to make sure I was safe. I thought that showed that he cared about me.

The first few months we made a great couple. I was always happy and bragging to my friends about my great boyfriend. I would flaunt the gifts from him and write I LOVE KILLER or MR. & MRS. KILLER LOC (lover of Crips) all over my notebooks and folders.

Turning Bad

But Killer and I had arguments that left me crying. He’d ask why I didn’t call him at a certain time or whether or not I was cheating on him. The fights were so pointless that I thought he was picking them just so I would break up with him.

He also cheated on me, and didn’t even try to hide it. Girls were calling my house telling me to leave their baby’s father alone or else they were going to come beat me up. That set me off and I started responding to their threats.

I fought the girls instead of him because I loved him. Although he was cheating on me, I just could not break up with him; my heart was stuck. But the pain and frustration caused a deep depression and anger. I wanted to fight all the time.

Killer encouraged the violence in me, too. I got into a fight at school once with a girl named Neeshell. When the two of us went outside, Killer was waiting for me with a group of Crips. We locked eyes and Killer instantly knew I was mad. He asked what was wrong and I told him.

I pointed Neeshell out and Killer told me to do what I felt. I waited for her to come over to where I was standing. When she came close to me, I hit her in the face. She fought back, and school safety guards and the police broke up the fight.

The anger and confusion I had toward my mother mixed with my rage at Killer and his other girls led me to confront everyone. I had verbal confrontations with my teachers, cursing them out, and even threatening a few. It made me feel powerful to be a gangster. I was a goddess with an iron fist.

Being Killer’s girlfriend gave me the status of “sapphire” in the gang. But I also proved myself worthy through my fighting ability. At first I would bang (fight, rob, recruit) only with Killer. Then I turned Crip because I liked it. Fighting and getting in trouble released some of my stress and anger. I was constantly getting suspended from school, shoplifting, fighting, and getting arrested.

I lost a lot of trust from my father and my aunt. They took my cell phone away and I could not see my best friend. I was grounded for the whole summer.

image by Freddy Bruce

Left With Only Anger

Meanwhile, Killer had to do four months in prison for robbery, and our only contact was through mail. When he was released, he called me and immediately accused me of cheating: “The homies is telling me that you talking to this b-tch ass n-gga Crank.”

I told him I had not talked to Crank at all, but he did not believe me. The next thing I heard, Killer was in my neighborhood, looking to kill me because I was not loyal enough. Fortunately, some of my friends in the gang called him off.

Eventually, my father and aunt got so worried that they transferred me to another school. Changing schools helped a little bit by keeping my mind focused on academics and being on the varsity tennis team, but I just could not leave banging alone. I had stopped seeing Killer, but I was still in the gang.

I kept lashing out, until my aunt kicked me out of her house and put a restraining order on me. I ended up in a shelter for teenagers. I stayed at the shelter for three weeks, then went to an assessment program for six months. I was placed in a residential treatment center (RTC) because I was considered dangerous and a negative influence.

My father always called or came to visit me and he gave me unconditional love. This gave me the strength to keep pushing myself and not give up. However, I was extremely depressed. I wanted to run away but the thought of disappointing my father made me stay and try.

He and I had many conversations about how I should pick up the pieces of my life. He said, “I believe in you, but you have to believe in yourself. Do the right thing.” He refused to give up on me. His encouragement, patience, and persistence helped me change my attitude. I realized that doing what I wanted all the time was just getting me into trouble.

A Second Chance

I have been at the RTC for six months and I am pulling the pieces of my life back together. I no longer go AWOL and I do not run away from my problems. I do not drink or smoke to ease my pain anymore; instead, I channel all of my feelings into a pen and pour out my heart on paper.

I still have anger issues and I’m still easily triggered, but my weapon of choice now is sarcasm instead of my fists. That annoys others, and I admit it sometimes makes me happy that I got them mad.

Before, stress and hate for everything blocked out my vision of ever achieving anything, but it is different now. Writing poetry and composing music has become my stress reliever. Now that I get to broadcast my talents and get positive feedback at school, my mind is more at ease.

I go to school every day on time. I want to graduate high school, and then pursue my writing career in college. I get to do what I love, and now there aren’t bad consequences because it’s not illegal, thank God.

Don’t get me wrong: Being Lady Killer meant a lot to me, and I miss it sometimes. However, that path was going to end up with me behind bars or dead. And looking back, I realize I first got into beating people up and robbing them just to impress Killer. (We broke up, so I guess I did a lot in vain.) I now see that it’s foolish to do things that endanger yourself or others just for approval.

These days, I am trying to surround myself with better influences. I have a new boyfriend who cares a lot about me, and wants me to make better choices. He encourages me to stay on track and to keep my mood swings and attitude under control. He is also a writer and he supports my career goals of writing and broadcast journalism.

I still feel like a goddess, but now I am trying to use my powers for good. I am about to graduate from high school six months early and I hope to go to college. I am happy now and I see myself walking into the light of a second chance.