Letter 4.

Dear Mr. BreakingPoint, 

The chaos of the inmate reception center was palpable on the day we met.  When you came and sat by my desk, it was visible in your eyes.  You were a young man (I mean you really looked 12 years old) with eyes that told a story before you spoke a word.  Instinctively, I asked and mostly stated “Man, why are you here?!”  When your eyes welled with tears, I could sense your fear but also saw how hard you were trying to keep it together.   So I gave you a moment to swallow your tears and then jumped into describing my role.

I didn’t expect you to have many complaints or medical issues being a 21-year-old healthy-appearing man.  When I asked you about your medical history, you disclosed that you were recently diagnosed with HIV.  I didn’t flinch because, it’s 2019 and you will live a full life as long as you take your medications.  But unexpectedly, you shared how you were diagnosed 6 months ago and had not told anyone and that’s how you ended up in jail.  Perhaps it was my perplexed facial expression but, without much probing you shared a lot and I wasn’t prepared for it. 

At the age of 3 you were adopted.  You grew up in a household with parents who fostered several children from different walks of life. Throughout your teenage years, you were discovering yourself as most kids do and uncertain about your sexuality.  You had sex for the first time with another man, a few months later you got the diagnosis of HIV and it changed your whole life.  You couldn’t tell your friends or family because you were afraid.  While managing your new appointments and medications, you were simultaneously trying to navigate college and work as a young man.  As you unloaded, I felt a tremendous amount of privilege that you felt comfortable enough to unload your burden.  I knew that I wasn’t going to do anything but start you back on your medications so the least that I could do was listen.  I could feel your pain as you spoke.  Then the tears started to fall from your eyes as the story continued.  A few days before being arrested, your adopted parents found out about your diagnosis after going through your room and your father kicked you out.  This all reaffirmed the reasons why you kept your diagnosis a secret. 

The day of your arrest, you returned home to pick up your Taco Bell uniform so you could go to work; it was your only means of supporting yourself now that you were a homeless college student.  To avoid any issues while picking up your stuff, you drove with a friend to your adopted parents’ home when you thought they would not be there.  But your father walked into the house as you were on your way out. With his voice raised he charged towards you, so you ran to your car in the driveway.  He ran after you and threw a garbage can at the car windshield as you backed out.  That’s when you stopped your story and kept repeating, “I don’t know what happened… everything went black… and I hit the gas”.  You broke down in tears with your face in your palms and said, “I wasn’t trying to kill him… I just didn’t want to lose my job.” 

I got it.  I believed you.  You ran into your father with your car because you reached your breaking point.  Fear of uncertainty, had resulted in a number of unimaginable thoughts that just piled on your shoulders. Now, I recognize that you made some choices that may have resulted in how your story unfolded, but your pain was honest and pure.  Unlike the many other young black men in the jail, this was your first time in the criminal justice system in spite of your experience in the foster care system and later being adopted by parents who cared for other kids in that system.  Now you were charged with assault with a deadly weapon, your father was in the hospital, you were uncertain of what was going to happen and frankly your whole life had changed.  I am sure the world seemed dim when you got the diagnosis of HIV and seemed even darker inside of the jail.  I had no words to bring you comfort.  So I held your hand and acknowledged the hell you were in.  I looked you in the eyes, told you that everything happens for a reason, and that the powers that be wouldn’t give you anything you couldn’t handle.  Speaking your truth was setting you free and who knows why your journey is what it is.   I hope I gave you the ear you needed to feel heard and empowered you to use your voice.  I’ll never know how your story ended but I am fearful that the system will see you as you were charged and never give you the chance to tell the story that I heard on that day.  

Speaking up for you always,

Dr. A