Gangs 4 Grace
About Me
Christian Testimonials

Gangs 4 Grace - About Me - Christian Testimonials

Welcome to Gangs 4 Grace. We hope you enjoy About Me - Christian Testimonial on overcoming struggles of being involved in a gang. With God all things are possible. Within is a message to enhance your Christian walk.

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Gangs 4 Grace

About Me - Christian Testimonials

I was jumped into an all male gang at 15. From there, I single handedly jumped in about 4 girls within the next few months. Violence was my claim to fame. As a child, I grew up in a pretty bad neighborhood where I was beat up on daily, robbed for my toys, and humiliated beyond belief.

When I turned 14, I got fed up and flashed on a school bully, who ended up in a head lock, crying for help as I punched her in the face until her eyebrow busted.

After that first experience with violence, I was hooked. Finally, I had a way to fend off the kind of people who had tortured me for years. After my 3rd fight in Junior high, I went before the school board and was deemed "A danger to other children." I was expelled.

From there on I was in and out of continuation schools, began using drugs, alcohol, and took on that whole gangster persona.

It was power to me. And I clicked up with girls and guys like me, I felt important, accepted and loved.

Each fight I got into was another notch on my belt. The nastier the beating I gave someone, the better. I didn't go around bullying anyone. When you're in a gang, the fights come to you.

By the time I was 16 I had gang investigators coming to my house, while my mom rolled her eyes at them and wouldn't believe I was dumb enough to be in a gang. Especially since I was raised in church, and was white. All my friends were Mexican, tatted up, and seedy. My mom was either very naive or in denial. However, she did move me away from that town, and my homies, but that only set me off more.

By the time I was 18 I had a record and thought I was unbeatable. I walked around like I owned the town and was quick to confront guys, girls, even groups of people.

But on July 10th,1997, a month after my 18th birthday, I got a wake up call. I got into the wrong car, and went to the wrong party that night. Too drunk to discern the guy I was with was setting me up, because of a confrontation I had with a friend of theirs.

Anyway, I get to this party, where everyone's on meth. Exactly 6 guys and 6 girls. The guy who brought me to the party set me down next to his girlfriend. I felt stares from all the girls. I was too drunk to hold a decent conversation with anyone, so I went outside to smoke a cigg.

As soon as I stepped out the door a tall evil looking girl follows me. She starts roughing me up verbally, testing me out I guess.

I set my 10th beer down and tell her "I don't know why you got a problem with me, I didn't disrespect anyone, but if you wanna go, lets throw down!"

From out of the blue, a small chick dressed like a guy runs from behind the door and clocks me. Surprised at this little chicks force, I hit her back, knocking her to the ground. By this time everyone's outside. I hear the men chanting "Choke her! Kick her ***!" I straddle her and begin knocking her head into the ground. Just as I figured I had finished her off, I feel a burning in my back and my head. I was catching blows from a few girls.

I get up, almost fall, then began taunting them all, like a drunk outnumbered idiot!

"Oh you guys wanna jump me huh? Aren't you guys gangstas? One on one, all of you!"

They blew me off and after I realized it was over, I started walking away, still talking mess.

When I rounded the corner, I heard a yell. I turn around and I see a girl walking alone towards me. She was shouting something about me not ever coming back to look for a fight, because that was her aunts house. Then 5 more girls round the corner, and I stop walking, thinking, "Bring it."

A girl comes up and hits me. We begin exchanging blows. Then another girl hits me from the side, I yell "One on one!" over and over again. But the more I yell, the more fists add to the beating. I fight my hardest, but I'm not match for these amped up broads.

I start being pulled to the ground when I hear a grunt. I look up to see a couple of the girls with 40 ounce beer bottles, and they're heading straight for my head.

I remember hearing a loud hollow sounding "thunk!" I was able to throw a few more blows to a pair of legs as I go down. A few more bottle shots to the head and I'm out.

I don't know how long I was out, or how long they continued beating me. But when I woke up, face down, no one was around. Blood was pouring from my face and head, soaking my shirt and the sidewalk I was laying on. It was so hard to stand to my feet. When I did start walking, blood dripped onto my shirt and left a trail on the walkway, soaking it and my white shoes were now red.

I drunkingly stumbled down the street, cars screeching to a halt to check me out, then taking off to call 9-1-1 I guess. Because a few moments later, an ambulance, fire truck and squad car arrived, thinking I had been shot at first.

I refused to go with them at all. I wasn't a victim! No way! I was undefeated! I didn't need any help!

The paramedic insisted, saying I had cuts on my head that required stitches. I still refused. He applied a white towel to my head, when he pulled it back it was soaked! It scared me that I was bleeding so profusely. I felt my head that was swollen twice the regular size, I could feel the cuts and my hair was matted with blood, and falling out in chunks.

Finally, I got into the ambulance, where I faded in and out of consciousness. I don't remember anything else except having my shirt taken off in the ER, and people questioning me. I told them I was in a fight and didn't remember where it happened, or who it was. Since I refused to give up any info, they assumed I was jumped into a gang and didn't treat me very compassionately. I didn't blame them.

My mom came to pick me up. She had been up all night getting prank calls. Some guy was telling her I was dead on some train tracks. So what happened to me was planned.

When I got home, my mom gently combed my hair, setting the bloody chunks aside. When I saw how much of my hair fell out, I cried.

I am so lucky so be alive. Those girls beat me until I was still, bleeding on the ground. I could have been dead for all they knew.

I never again was totally fearless. I went from being someone who walked down the streets of the ghetto with a prideful swagger, to someone who would rather go dancing, or mess around on the internet.

Next week my family and I are moving to a better area. My son starts school next year and I'll be darned if he's gonna be exposed to all the stuff I was! I am thankful I lived such a rough life. I wont be naive like my own parents were. I will use my street smarts to catch any sign of my son falling into bad company.

I am a regular on a web site called gang style. Its a website for gang members and X gang members to share stories, poems and knowledge. I was able to talk a 14 year old girl out of getting jumped into her local gang. When these young kids hear the stories about when I was jumped, stabbed, arrested, etc, they think twice. A lot of times, if someone shows they care, it can mean the difference between giving in to your surroundings or striving for a better life.

It's still a struggle to control my anger. A lot of people tease me and say it's my red hair that gives me this temper.

Inside I want to love people, see the good in them, not hurt them.

I have a son who looks to me for guidance. I don't want to teach him to solve everything by swinging. Sometimes it takes more of a woman to walk away than to stand there and act ghetto, throwing blows. Maybe one day I will be able to walk away, until then, Lord have mercy on me ...

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