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On the 2nd of May, 1987 I was born in England in the United Kingdom. My parents named me Jonathan Beale. My father’s name was John Mason
but I had to have my mother’s name as it allowed them to claim more benefits.
My parents were both heroin addicts, I had witnessed my
dad beating my mother up many times and he would bring other women around our
house sometimes. I was regularly climbing over needles and seeing strange
people come into our council flat.
Growing up wasn’t easy for me, but soon the social
services were intervening and I was placed in a foster home temporarily.
Somehow, I had at times heard of the concept of God, my mother’s
family was large and I had come across the concept of death many times. My
country is “civilized”, but my grandfather came from a more difficult time
during the Second World War.
He was incredibly shell-shocked as his friends had all
been killed, and he himself had been shot on two occasions. He had been a
paratrooper, and had landed in Nazi-occupied territory many times.
After the war, he and my grandmother had 7 children.
They were religious in their own way, but they had nothing after the war and my
grandfather had beaten his children regularly, or at least, that’s what my
mother tells me.
Either way, something triggered a huge epidemic of
mental illness in my family. My mother was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic,
and as a child I regularly needed to persuade her that people weren’t plotting
against us, although she did some crazy things that got her into the newspapers
many times. I got bullied in school for this.
My grandfather sadly passed away when I was 4 years
old. This was the first time I heard of “God”. My grandfather was actually
always a really nice man from what I remember, so I have difficulty knowing
whether what I hear is true.
So I took comfort knowing he was in heaven, and from
this point on, I always felt God was with me. When my mom and dad had some bad
times and I went temporarily in foster homes, I began to pray. I had never
been shown how, but in my own way, I always knew God really was there and He could
hear me.
My cousin committed suicide by an overdose of
paracetamol when I was young, and this was the first time I cried at a
funeral. My uncle also died, although it’s unclear how, I know that man had
severe mental illness and his life was hard, so I hoped that he had gone to a better
place.
But through all this, the belief of God was firmly
routed into my soul. At the age of seven, I was sent to my grandmother,
because the social services had deemed the environment too unstable for me
after my dad flipped out and smashed up our flat.
My mom then gave birth to my sister Sally. At this
time, I was still regularly visiting home and I was overjoyed to see my
sister. A lot of siblings have rivalry but I really liked my sister, I felt
that we were in it together, only she didn’t know it yet because she had only
just been born. Unfortunately the social services deemed the environment too
risky and they sent her to a foster home as well.
Then my grandmother was asked to adopt me permanently
and I was staying at her house. When my sister turned one, the social services
decided that it was best if my family weren’t allowed to see her, so she was
placed under a closed adoption to a family far away and I haven’t seen her
since.
I was very sad and I often think about her and wonder if
she will try and get in contact with me. I think we would have been close,
although I would have been an overprotective big brother. She is now 15 so
Insha’Allah, I might yet still have time when she is 18, and I plan to make up
for lost time.
At eleven I was sent to a boarding school. I was
slightly bullied because of my poor background, but all in all, I would say it
was a good experience. I was clearly a troubled youth and started becoming
obsessed with drugs and alcohol and I was suspended 4 times.
I was lucky I wasn’t expelled because I achieved 5 Cs
and 3 Bs in my exams. No one knew how, because I never turned up for lessons,
but these grades would be important later.
Although troubled, my belief in God was still there. I
chose to become Roman Catholic at the age of 12, and my school arranged
lessons. I rarely paid attention to the lessons, but I loved the concept of
God. I loved going to church.
After I left school, my troubles escalated. When I
started smoking cannabis, I never thought I would try anything harder, but then
I tried cocaine, and ecstasy and speed, and it very soon became my whole life.
I would say I was addicted, but it was so good that I
wanted to live that life. I was often drinking, and becoming violent against
the police force. My friends and I would smash cars up and sell drugs and do
whatever we wanted. The criminal justice system in England is so liberal, that
there was no such thing as punishment!
Finally, after threatening to stab somebody, I was sent
to prison. This changed my life. It was a holiday camp, but at heart, I
didn’t want to be a criminal. I just needed to be taken out of the environment
I was in.
Three good meals a day, a TV in my room, gym training
every day, college, church every Sunday, it was one of the best times in my
life and I was finally away from my family who caused me so much stress.
I had always been envious of normal families. Seeing
them shopping together, or going for tea at someone’s house, I would always be
happy at the sight of it, and deep down I longed for this.
Alcohol was my main problem. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but
every time I drank, I would get in trouble. I would wake up with a hangover
and sometimes be in a police cell, and sometimes I could be covered in cuts and
bruises from fighting.
But being in prison, I was also kept away from this (and
smoking) and I was in great shape. I wanted to keep this up on the outside.
Unfortunately, when I got out, I had another court
hearing about causing grievous bodily harm. I could have been looking at 4
years for something I didn’t do.
My “friend” had blood and skin cells all over his
trainers and eventually pleaded guilty. When I was in court I was asked if he
did it. As he had already admitted to it, I thought there was no harm in
saying “yes”, as my solicitor advised me that saying “no” would not save my
friend as he had already admitted to it, and why spend 4 years in jail? I
phoned my friend and explained to him and he said “ok”.
I was going out with a beautiful girl called Mellissa
who stuck by me through all this. After the court case, my “friend’s” family
decided I was responsible for him getting sent to prison, and the word spread
and I was constantly getting into fights and getting attacked.
My girlfriend told me I should make a fresh start
elsewhere and I actually took to the idea. I started planning the move. Our
relationship was strained though, and she didn’t want to be with me anymore, so
I left with very few ties to my hometown.
I had some friends who I immediately decided I should
distance myself from. They were still up to the same old things, and I wanted
to make a new start.
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