You hear about serial killers, and they had normal families. Or they didn’t. I mean it goes both ways.

Why do some people take their bad and cling to it and use it as chains? Did I just hurt you a little? Im sorry!

Remember when I said we were poor growing up? Let’s dive into that.

I was born, and then we moved to Daytona Beach, Florida. Because I mean, doesn’t everyone who lives in Ohio once live in Florida? It feels like it. We lived there until I was in the 3rd grade. I remember 4 houses in that time.

I remember good times. I remember going to Downtown Disney (Disney Springs now) and the beach often because it was free. But it was also where my parents met their dealer. But I mean, I enjoyed the outing.

I remember getting weekly goodie boxes from my grandparents. I had clothes, snacks, food, and a letter. I looked forward to getting those. I thought it was because they loved me, it was…but it was because otherwise I wouldn’t have had those things. But I didn’t know that until I was older

We moved the night of my tap dance recital. I didn’t get to go because we had to go ASAP. We threw everything into the blue truck we had. And drove straight to Ohio. No stopping, no passing go. I didn’t know why, but it was because we hadn’t paid rent in MONTHS, and we were running from the repo man on that truck. And if he took it, we had no vehicle. Is it wrong that I get it? I mean it is stupid, but I get it.

We moved into these apartments in Troy. I went to Troy schools for maybe 3 months, and then we were kicked out of there. I don’t remember where we went in the meantime. Maybe we did go from apartment to house. But I don’t remember. That is when we moved to Piqua.

I was in 3rd grade (still lol. I had gone to now 3 different 3rd grades). I had my grandparents in the same town. So that was neat. I never had that. We lived in the shittiest house. Like truly. The bathroom I remember the most. The walls were slimy. Not in like they needed to be cleaned sort of way, but in a way that they grew like that. And my dad cut milk crates that he stole in half, and we had to stand on the crates because the floor was slimy, too. You didn’t touch the wall when you showered. It was like the shower was an afterthought. Like, Oh, we have this toilet and sink, I guess we need a shower.

It was low-income, HUD housing. It didn’t phase me. All my friends lived the same. A few a smidge better. But for the most we were all like that. The furnace would go out ALL the time. Sometimes because my dad didn’t pay the rent, sometimes because the pilot light went out and no one would light it again. I remember doing homework by candlelight because we didn’t pay the electric bill.

I would get embarrassed when my mom would use food stamps (they were like paper money back then) at the grocery store. We always had Kix cereal, cheese and milk, we had those because we also had WIC. You name the assistance, we had it. Free school lunches, school gave me extra food at the end of the day to take home. But this is NOT a whoa is Amber story.

The neighborhood. Goodness. So right next door, I could open my window and put my hand in their window close, was a pretty decent gang leader in the town. I just knew him by his name. Sure, of course, I knew who he was and what he did. But he was nice to me. He always hooked my parents up with drugs. But he was nice to me. And sure, I saw things a 4th-5th grader shouldn’t see. But I mean, that was my life. I didn’t think anything of it. He always said I made kool aid better than he did and asked me to make it for him. I also remember him coming home one day covered in blood. I didn’t ask questions. I just remember it and him asking me how to start his washer. Didn’t you grow up that way?

The house on the other side was a two-story apartment. There were always people in and out. I remember one night, everyone was outside on the street. because, well, it was that street you didn’t go down just because. It was sketchy, if sketchy had an older brother. So we were all outside, kids running, parents sitting outside doing well, you can probably guess. I remember hearing the guy in that apartment upstairs just beating his wife. I remember it so vividly. Everyone sort of stopped and looked. It was nothing new, I mean you heard that from every house on that block. No one did anything. They just went back to the night. I remember the ambulance came. I’m not sure who called them, because you didn’t do that on that street. And there were no cells back then. The ambulance came, the cops came, and I remember again, not thinking anything because I mean it was kinda normal. Not the ambulance, but the cops. They never came back, and I found out later, she died that night. Wild, right? I mean that could mess up a person, but as sad as it is to say, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just how I lived.

I remember standing over this dude with a friend, and we watched him take, I’m not sure what, have a reaction or OD, again, not sure, and just walk away like just another day. Yes, you can now look at me and think I’m a horrible person. I’m ok with that.

I lived a life where brothers, uncles, dads, moms, my mom, my dad, and other boys thought they could do those things to you that they shouldn’t. Lots would try, some would succeed. I’m poor trash, so I mean we were free game, right? You knew which friends to stay the night with and what friends didn’t. I look back and I remember staying at certain friends’ houses when no parents were home because they were at the bar, or just out for the night, because none of us had to worry.

My gang leader neighbor went to jail. I got subpoenaed as an adult for his trial, which thankfully I didn’t have to testify in, but talk about a whoa moment.

My parents got divorced when I was in the 5th grade. I’ll talk about that next time lol.

We lived in this house until I was in high school. This is how I grew up. And I honestly, as crazy as it sounds, I wouldn’t give it up. I have good memories. Messed up memories and some would look at them and go, ummm that wasn’t good. But I mean, what else do I got.

Would I be as stubborn and determined if I hadn’t lived that life? Probably not. I know for sure that’s why, when my kids ask for something, I get it for them—because I remember what it was like not to have it. I know what the actual bottom looks like. Some people think they know. I lived it.

And honestly? I have every reason to be bitter. Angry. Jaded. Mad at the world for letting a kid live like that. No one told me I could be more than what I came from. Not once. I was told, “Look around—this is your future.” .

And I could’ve believed that. A lot of people would have. And a lot of people did
But I didn’t. Thanks to my hubby ( I know that is sappy and gross lol). As I grew up and got better, they (my family) essentially got mad at me “you think you are better than us” is what I heard for YEARS

I wouldn’t change what I went through. I mean… yeah, I’ve got trust issues, control issues, probably some stuff I haven’t even unpacked yet. But I also have grit. Real, deep-down grit. I’ve seen what it means to survive. And I’ve seen people who had it “perfect” growing up, and they don’t have that same grit. Is it because they never had to fight? Never saw the bottom?

It just makes me wonder:
Why do some people take their past and wear it like chains, while others build with it like bricks?

I guess that’s the question I’ll leave you with.
Because I don’t have the answer.
But I know which one I chose.

xoxo Amber G