Opinion: After Abusive, Neglected Childhood, He Struggled to Get Off Drugs In Prison

Looking back at my youth and trying to pinpoint where did I go wrong and how did I go wrong, I realized that the whole time I was trying to get my basic needs met. Needs such as love and a sense of belonging, survival and freedom. My earliest memory was around the age of 5 that I realized that we didn’t have enough food in our home.

My daily meal was a small bowl of dirty brown rice with maybe a small chunk of pork fat because we could not afford meat. Pork fat was cheaper than red meat. Dirty brown rice was cheaper than white rice. I remember having to spit out the shells from the brown rice and sorting out the shells as I ate. When there was no meat or rice, I’d scrape the bottom of the rice pot looking for leftover burnt rice to eat.

At this age I didn’t know that we were poor until I saw the neighbor’s kid had better food to eat, better clothes and a nicer home. Breakfast for us was eating whatever we could find until dinner came around. However, for the kid next door he was able to eat whenever he wanted. I was jealous and envious at the same time. 

In 1980, I was 7 years old. The Vietnam War had just ended. Fear of being sent to a re-education camp since my father was a South Vietnamese soldier, he had decided to escape on a small boat. My father, my older sister and myself escaped with 26 other people who also desperately wanted to leave a Communist regime.

Ultimately, we were stranded on the ocean for 10 days without food and eight days without water. I was forced by my father to drink my own urine to survive. We tried to cook the salt water and collect the moisture coming from the salt water. In the end, we each had a small spoon of water in an effort to survive. 

On the 10th day we were rescued by an Italian diesel ship. They brought us to a refugee camp in Palawan, Philippines where we stayed for two years for processing. Life in the Philippines developed my criminal behavior. Even though we were provided small rations of food daily that consisted of rice and fish, I was always hungry. 

I followed the adults into the jungle to steal fruits and trade it for more rice and fish. Eventually I went on my own into the jungle with a couple of friends and stole fruits ourselves. I became better at stealing and it became a normal daily thing throughout my stay in the Philippines. 

Still hungry in U.S.

I came to America in 1982, I was 9 years old. Me and my older sister lived with our sponsored family (cousins) in Beaumont, Texas, while my dad found employment in Houston.           

There were many restrictions living with my relatives. I couldn’t eat as much and I was always hungry. At times I stole food and ate behind a couch. I was caught and humiliated by the relative’s kids. I felt shame for the first time. I felt alone, bullied, less than and scared.

My cousins tried their best to distance themselves from me at home and at school. I spoke very little English and they were embarrassed to be seen with me. After some time, we found a small one-bedroom apartment in Houston. 

Eventually I made friends in the apartment complex and was introduced to criminal activities. I began to steal bikes, bike parts and shoplift. Again, I knew this was wrong, but because I wanted a bicycle I ignored the morals that I was taught at home. Soon I stole a bike for myself and instantly felt a sense of belonging. I now can ride my own bicycle without having to sit on the handlebars. 

Throughout my middle school years I did very well in school. Asking my dad for money to buy school supplies or new clothes wasn’t always easy. He made it seem like me and my sister were a burden to him. I remembered he took us to Target and gave us $50 to spend on clothes and school supplies. Even at that age, I knew it wasn't enough since we only get to shop once a year. 

I started working to be able to get my own things. Through selling newspapers I wanted to be like my friends. When my paycheck came, my father took my money and said that since he raised me, he’s entitled to it. Even though I didn’t agree with him, I thought that a good son would do the honorable thing.

I made $800 during one summer and my dad also took the money. Oftentimes I’d ask him for allowances to buy things I needed or just to have a few dollars in my pocket to buy snacks and Slurpees. 

My dad agreed to give me $5 for every A I earned, $3 for every B and I’d get a whooping for anything lower. That summer I came home and proudly showed my report card, with all As and two Bs. I was excited! I was already counting my money. I didn’t get a dime. He made up some excuses and I accepted it.

Happy start to criminal life

There was a lot of broken promises that angered me as a child. I didn’t have answers to many of the questions I wanted answers for. Like why does my dad spend so much money on his friends drinking and not on my needs? Or why is my family so different? I remembered looking into my friend’s apartment and saw that they were spending family time together. How come we don’t have family time at home? I envied the bond my friend has with his family. I could see that he was loved and cared for. He had both parents that loved him while I lived with a single parent who’s drunk and abusive.

I did my best to stay out of my father’s way. I can usually tell if my father is in a good mood or when he’s been drinking. That’s my cue to go into my room. My dad would hit me with whatever he can reach for. Sometimes he’ll allow me to pick out a stick to be hit with. 

After a while, I was smart enough not to pick a small stick because it hurts more. I’d bring him the biggest stick I could find and find a corner to hide myself because I learned that he couldn’t hit me in a small corner with a big stick. As I got older, I was able to defend myself and block some of his punches or I’d run away from him. He’d chase me and I’d stay away until he calmed down. 

My life changed during my freshman year in high school. I jumped into a stolen 280ZX convertible with no understanding of the consequences of being in a stolen car. I knew it was stolen because the guy used a screwdriver to turn the ignition on. I thought it was cool being in a car with sunroofs and so I didn’t care if the car was stolen or not. 

He took me to an apartment full of kids my age without any adult supervision. Everyone seems free to do whatever they wanted. There was even girls my age smoking, drinking and partying all night.

I instantly felt a sense of freedom for the first time in my life. There was no more fear. I didn’t have worries. I didn’t go home that night. I thought about going home the next day but the fear of getting beat up kept me from going home. That was the first time I ran away from home and the beginning of my criminal life.

Angry but people pleaser

Eventually, I learned how to steal cars, commit burglaries and carried guns. I felt validated, accepted and FREE. Free from the abuse and free from the constant fear of my dad. I now had my own money and spent it as I pleased. I didn't need to ask anyone for money anymore. The ability to provide for myself gave me a sense of pride and independence. 

Through the abuse, neglect and abandonment, I truly felt alone, not loved and unwanted. I was angry at the world. I had hate and resentment in my heart. I carried those pains with me and use it to cause pain to others. From the age of 14 to 21, I was constantly in and out of juvenile halls (and other forms of incarceration). I was a menace to society. Since no one cared for me, why should I care for anyone? That was my core beliefs. 

On April 9, 1995, I committed my crime of robbery and kidnapping. I was sentenced to 53 years, eight months to life in state prison. 

Since there was no hope of ever getting out, I gave myself permission to sabotage and destroy everything in my path. There was not a law I didn’t want to break. There was not a drug I didn’t want to try. I injected my veins with drugs because my belief was, “Life’s too short, you only live once.” I lived by that destructive beliefs for the most part of my incarceration. I was also a people pleaser. I had low self-esteem and I was afraid that once people know the real me, they wouldn’t like me.

By 2014, I had been incarcerated for 19 years because of a drug addiction. Drugs gave me confidence in myself and I was happier. I was able to be myself without feeling judged and I no longer felt the daily stress in prison. It was an escape and I chased that high every chance I get. I didn’t want to deal with my reality. Whenever I came down on drugs, I couldn’t look myself in the mirror. I was disgusted at what I see on the other side. 

Seeing the patterns

Around this time, the seed of CHANGE started to take its form. It was painful to change, but it was even more painful staying the same. At the time I didn’t have any reasons and motivations to change but I couldn’t continue living in hell any longer. I started slowing down on using drugs from three times a week to once a month. I stopped selling drugs and supported myself though working in the main kitchen and the PIA Laundry. I stopped pushing prison politics and only spoke up to avoid racial riots. I was slowly changing, but I was still straddling the fence.

Not until March 3, 2017 at my first psych hearing, I was informed that I will have a board hearing coming up because I was a youth offender. The psychologist found me to be high risk at reoffending and going back to my criminal ways. During the hearing, I admitted to using drugs. I wanted to come clean and be as honest as I can. It was an opportunity for me to start a new chapter in my life. I was excited for the opportunity. That day I experienced HOPE for the first time in 22 years of incarceration.

At my Initial hearing, I was denied five years for not having enough clean time and recovery time. Although I wasn’t found suitable, I walked away with valuable information and things I need to work on. Since my hearing, I made every effort to educate myself but mostly to understand who I was that made it OK to hurt others.

As I worked on myself and the things I was resistant to change, I realized the same denial patterns that got me in trouble from the start. Through education and self-help classes, I began to see my self-worth and my full potential. I began to build confidence in myself and I didn’t care much what others thought of me. I knew I was on the right path and they were on the wrong path. It was MY RECOVERY, not theirs.

In addition, I have forgiven myself and made amends with my late father. I now understand that he had his own baggage he’d been carrying all his life. My dad was an orphan and sold to several families. It’s obvious he didn’t have a healthy childhood. He did his best to raise me and my sister the best way he knew how. Not to mention he may have suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder as the result of the Vietnam War. He just didn’t know how to cope with his pain.

I wish I could have a moment with him. My father passed away from a heart attack in 2000. He was just 55 years old.

Today my new pay value is helping those who are struggling from addiction and my new belief is doing the right thing even when it’s uncomfortable.

Binh Nguyen is serving a 46-year sentence in the California State Prison Solano for kidnapping for the purpose of robbery.

The Beat Within, a publication of writing and art from incarcerated youth, was founded by David Inocencio in San Francisco in 1996. Weekly writing and conversation workshops are held in California, six other states and Washington, D.C. Submissions and new partners are welcomed. Write to him at dinocencio@thebeatwithin.org.