Opinion: No Longer a ‘Monster,’ But I Feel Like a Fraud

As I write these words, I am overcome with a rush of nostalgia. Although my time at the Youth Guidance Center Juvenile Facility (YGC) in San Francisco was anything but joyful, I found solace in the streaks of graphite that marked my paper as I wrote for The Beat Within. 

Growing up in the heart of San Francisco’s Mission District, which was plagued by crime, drugs and alcohol, along with being raised by immigrant Spanish-speaking parents who did not fully grasp the consequences of our environment, evidently shifted my path from the American Dream they sought for me into a path of violence, depression and alcohol abuse. 

It was not a surprise when I found myself within the white bricked walls of YGC at the young age of 14 for robbery with an added charge of conspiracy. This was only the beginning, as I would find myself staring out of the graffiti-carved plexiglass surrounded by the coldness of the stainless steel at least 15 more times within a four-year span. 

To this day, the feeling of claustrophobia creeps in during the most unexpected times of my adult life, bringing me back to the reality of my broken childhood. 

During my fifth visit to YGC for assault I was officially made a ward of the court and sent to my first group home. I ran away and eventually found myself back in YGC. I found myself revolving through the same doors of the courts, from group homes to juvenile detention, a never-ending cycle. An empty soul drifting through the turbulence of the California juvenile court system. 

What will life be like for me, I always imagined. What will become of me? 

My last arrest I was charged and found guilty of an assault with a deadly weapon. By this time my family moved to Oakland, California, and although I was a ward of the court, my case was transferred to Alameda County. The judge stared down at me, disdain in his eyes. “Monster.” This name was given to me. As insignificant as it may have sounded in that very moment to my juvenile mind, I could never forget it. 

A new road

Out of leniency, I was sent to Camp Wilmont Sweeney on the hills overlooking San Leandro, California. It was here that I felt I could no longer go down this road, this empty road I sacrificed a majority of my life to. This road that drained my childhood, my teenage-hood. I was 17; the next mistake could land me in prison, I was sure of it. 

I found support in camp through the several programs they offered. During my last months at camp, I reluctantly joined an Emergency Medical Responder (EMR) course. 

I fell in love. 

Upon my release I quickly contacted the program so that I could have a chance to apply for their Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) program. I got in. It felt as if I had a new chance, a new beginning. 

I spent my whole life hurting myself and the people around me. I spent my whole life in pain and allowing pain onto others. This was my chance of redemption. My chance to prove to myself and others that I was not that monster that stood in those courts months ago. 

I found inspiration in that very idea, that I could be something good in this world, something I did not know I was capable of. It was hard. It was tough. Being out of school for so long showed very clearly. 

Days of poor studying skills along with the thought of my past life was like a cloud that never went away. But just as I did when I was behind those cell doors for all those years, I pushed through. I persevered. I fought. I battled and for once in my life, I won. 

I made it past the program and began my career as an EMT. My fight was hardly over. To be honest I felt like a fraud. Like I did not deserve to be where I was because of my past and because of the things that I had done. I did not feel like the uniform I wore belonged to me. Still, I pushed through day in and day out. 

I looked at my city, my town, my people. I couldn't help but think back to my community and how it shaped the path of trouble for me. Why was I the only one from my family or friends to find a path away from the streets? Things had to change, things had to be different. Through trial and error, I made up my mind to become something larger in life. 

What I didn’t know

To be in a position to make those changes within my community. I decided to go to college to pursue a career in nursing. I spent the next two years fighting every day through school the thoughts of not being enough and the demons of doubt. I didn’t belong here. Deep in my gut I felt out of place sitting in a college classroom trying to compete in all the classes that I needed to even apply for a nursing program. 

Two years of classes is what I needed to enter a university for a nursing degree. I continued to fight. I fought through every class, knowing I didn’t belong there. I felt like a cheat to my past. I felt like I was a cheat to my people, my community, my family. 

Emotional situations occurred to me just as they do everyone else. The difference was that I did not know what these emotions were or how to handle them. The juvenile justice system failed to teach me how to control my emotions and control my behavior, rather it only confined it. 

For more information on Re-entry, go to JJIE Resource Hub | Re-entry

There were many times in which I could have ruined my career. Ruined any chance to get into a nursing program and ruin any chance to rise from my past. In these moments, I knew my past still haunted me. Regret, shame, self-hate. It’s what the streets and the juvenile system grows. 

I found an anchor. My anchor was that I would keep pushing through this so that one day I could save a youth like me. I could educate the youth, advocate for them. Show them that no matter what they have gone through, there is still a way out. 

I have to admit that I had some outside help and influences. I sought advice from an old staffer from camp and an old staffer from my group home who is a nurse herself. I found inspiration in the admiration they shared for me. As much as we think we can uplift from the suffering of this world alone, we simply can’t. 

Within the last year I have gotten to spend my life with the dearest person to me. 

The demons of my past were evident to her, but still she chose to invest in me. She is truly a guide and an inspiration in my life. A nursing student herself from the East Coast, she has allowed me to see that my past does not define me. My past does not decide if I deserve things in this life. She has shown me that it is possible to love myself and to truly love others. I owe more than my life to her. 

In April 2020 I was accepted into a prestigious nursing program in San Francisco with a 4.0 GPA. In three years I will have my bachelor of science nursing degree and I will be able to become a registered nurse.

I am not where I want to be yet and truthfully, I will always have a battle to fight. 

I think that the chance I have to stop someone from following my troubled path as a kid is truly an inspiration for me. 

There’s a motto I learned during my EMT program, “All that I am I owe.” Meaning all that I have today and all that I will ever have is because someone before me paved that road for me, or helped me find that road. I am still on that road, but this road is a good one. I owe it to all those in my life who were a positive change and support for me. 

I thank The Beat Within for allowing me to share my story with you all and for being there with me throughout my journey. If I could ask for one thing, it would be to those young minds reading my words today. Believe in yourself, you are meant for greatness. Pull yourself up and allow help from others. There is a way out and it starts with you. 

Josue V. is an emergency medical technician and is in college for a bachelor of science in nursing.

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.