Who Are We?

Who are we?  I am not just talking about those of us in here.  But I am talking about you and I, those around us.  Many of ya’ll will know who you are.  Many don’t know who they are.  Others just don’t care… In everything, that I write is by experience and where life has taken me.  So who are we in general?  We use everyone around us, our family, children & friends as if their trust & love were expendable & meaningless.  We think of ourselves first & others second. “ We lie, cheat and steal in little ways, thinking it’s unimportant, justifying it by saying to ourselves that others do it, so it is okay that we do it too.  We almost trust no one.  We have no understanding nor patience with the wrongs and mistakes of others.  (BUT WE WANT ALL THE UNDERSTANDING & PATIENCE OF THE WORLD, WHEN IT COMES TO OUR WRONGS & MISTAKES) We have no empathy for their despair; we have no compassion for their suffering and misery.  The lost souls that roam the streets are not our concern; they are examples of our failure and our embarrassment to us.  It’s best to ignore them.  If they have nowhere to live it’s their own fault.  If they happen to disappear, it will provide us with space to live and breath, for they cause nothing but trouble”  

People all around us are fast to complain about prostitution, gang and criminal activity. Always expect for the police or those in authority to fix the problem(s). Always expecting someone else to fix the problem(s), when they themselves can try to fix the problem(s).  Or try to reach out to those lost souls.  Especially children or a child.

Most of us become lost souls as children.  For many different reasons.  When a child steps into the streets, within the first breath they inhale, they lose their innocence.  By the time they exhale, they are now twice as old. 

Many of us (You & I) know of a lost soul/child who is turning down the wrong road.  But do we try to reach out to that lost soul/child? NO, we complain, call the police and blame everyone else, starting with that lost souls/child parent(s).  We are fast to judge that lost soul/child, never knowing their story.  Instead, we are fast to hate this lost soul/child giving them dirty looks.  Teaching them to hate with a simple dirty look.  What I don’t understand is how can people stare at a lost soul and instantly hate that child/lost soul, because they have on ragged clothes.  What makes that child/lost soul (or poor people) so different?  Are we really not worth the air we breathe?

So, when these people who are fast to complain and judge, as soon as they see this lost soul/child do something wrong, they are fast to YELL for justice and for BLOOD.  It’s easy to wish me death simply because I am on death row.  It’s easy to read about me and judge me without knowing my story nor the law or the truth.  If it's death that you wish for me, that is okay.  But let me ask you this…how will my death solve anything?  Will my death prevent the possibility of lost souls taking innocent lives?  What will my death teach these lost souls & people?  Will all murders stop?  To really judge a lost soul on a personal level is a lot harder because you have to get to know the person.  So it’s easier to judge, hate and wish me dead.  Cause as humans we are faster to hate and kill.  But we are extremely slower to try to love and heal each other.  To hate & kill takes no skills.  But to love and heal, takes skills.

My point being is that the next time you see a lost soul/child, try reaching out to them.  Cause tomorrows wrong & mistakes will be done by our children.  So, if we can reach a child/lost soul and show them the right path of life, then chances are that we will not only save one life, but the lives of innocent people in the future.  I know that we can’t save all the lost souls.  But when one lost soul is saved, so is the possibility of innocent lives.  If you don’t wish to reach out to a lost soul/child, then don’t be so fast to judge, hate, kill and yell for justice/BLOOD when that lost soul does something wrong, especially when you had the chance to reach out to that lost soul…

My next thoughts life experiences will be about how we become lost souls, the reasons behind it…

Love and Blessings,

Carlos Treviño

Who I Am

Where did life start for me?  As I sit here on death row, I have thought about this over and over.  I believe it’s fair to say life started out hard for me and my family.  Our status never changed, and I question that a lot.  At first I didn’t think a blind person could change or that you could change a blind person. People who are blind can change.  For most they do not learn until it’s too late.

I am the oldest child of my family.  Then comes my brother, who is also in prison.  Then comes my sister.  When I was born it was only my mother and I.  My mother married this guy, sad to say, he was my father.  My father walked out of our lives before I was born.  What was the reason? I don’t know and I have never asked my mother.  I just know that I grew up without a father.

As far back as I could remember we were always on the streets.  When my father left, my mother struggled.  She was just 17 years old and never finished school.  Family members would turn her away when she asked for help.  I don’t know why and I never really asked.  After some time my mother met a man.  He pretty much took care of us and soon we had a place to live.  At first all was beautiful, but as always the devil comes out and shows his ugly face, planting his seeds of pain, sadness and hate with the love for destruction.  By this time my brother was born.  My mother wasn’t a nice lady and she wasn’t a small lady.  When she would get mad, she would beat up my brother and me.  Since I was the oldest, I always got the worst of it! She would hit me with anything and everything.  She would beat me up as if I were nothing more than an unwanted dog.  I can remember beatings when I was 5 years old.  To this day, I have always wondered why my mother would beat me as so.  I never really asked her.

I believe that I was around 8 years old when the seeds were starting to grow out of my heart.  I was beginning to hate my mother.  I never realized that till I landed in jail in 1993 when I was 18 years old.  I hated the way my mother would beat up my brother and me.  I hated it cause I was just a helpless child.  I also wonder if she realized that.  My mother and her man would love to go out drinking and partying all night.  Since we were kids they couldn’t always leave us at home by ourselves, so they took us to bars.  Sometimes we would go in and other times we would stay outside in the car.  Of course most of the time we would stay at home by ourselves.  At this time I was around 8 years old and my brother was 6.  Being children many times we would end up at our neighbor’s house.  Cause when night came, everything looked so scary!  We were scared and ran to our neighbor’s house and of course they would take us in.  But that came with a price.  My mother always told us to stay in the house.  When my mother came home and didn’t find us at home, she knew exactly where to find us.  She would pick us up and when we got home we would get a beat down for not staying home.

My mother had a love for going out by herself.  She would leave and be gone for days leaving us kids with her boyfriend.  Her boyfriend would go crazy and mad. So, like a mad man he would look for my mother everywhere and he would take us with him.  I can remember one time when her boyfriend spotted my mother in a car.  It was late at night and we were in a truck.  My brother and I were asleep in the back.  He started chasing my mother all over the street.  My brother and I were rolling all over in the back of the truck trying to hang on to something. Luckily the truck had a camper.  When he would catch my mother, he would beat her extremely bad.  Watching this with my own eyes would really scare me to death.  How could a person lose so much blood and turn so many colors and still live?  I was an 8 year old child and I was scared to death.  Many times as my mother lay on the floor with her eyes swollen shut and busted lips and blood all around her, I honestly thought that she wouldn’t get up.  She did get up.  She would just clean up the mess and pretend nothing happened and protect her boyfriend when people would see and ask about what happened.  I hated that man for beating my mother, and so another branch of hate grew out of my heart.  I lost count as to how many times this happened.  One night he started hitting my mother and she ended up calling the cops.  They took him away and my mother ended the relationship.  She packed what she could and we were on the street again.  My sister was already born by then. My siblings have different fathers.  I don’t think I was 9 yet when all of this had taken place.

We stayed with relatives and a lot of times I could see it in their eyes they really didn’t want us to stay with them.  I could see the hate in their eyes, and so another branch of hate grew from my heart. We moved a lot because one knows when they are not welcome.  We also moved a lot because we had no money, only what the government provides, which in Texas isn’t much.  So, we moved from one bad neighborhood to another.  From one housing project to another.  Finally we settled down in the projects, but during all of this not much changed.  My brother and I were left alone at home.  My mother left with my sister and took her everywhere. Every once in a while she stayed with us.  My brother and I pretty much did what we wanted.  At a very young age we learned to handle our disagreements and problems with violence, especially against each other.

Life really kicked off for me around the age of 11.  I was already smoking marijuana.  Being in the streets, by the age of 12 I was already sexually active, and getting into more and more trouble.  At 13, I was arrested for the first time and it never ended.  I think around the age of 14, my mother saw there was no changing me.  But it was through her and the man she was with that I learned of violence.  My mother loved fighting and she fought like a man.  She was always beating up other women and she loved it.  It was also through her and her friends that I learned about drugs.  As my mother looked at me and tried to tell me about not getting into so much trouble, I believe that she saw it in my eyes there was no changing me.  She could tell me not to do something, yet I would still do it.  I will never forget the words that she told me that day.  She told me “If I knew you were gonna turn out this way, I would have never sold myself for you when you were a baby.”  I guess she would have let me die. She was telling me that I wasn’t worth anything, that I was a nobody.  So my life jumped to a life of destruction.  Those words never left my mind or heart.  I was a child who didn’t know any better nor was I too bright.

I never knew how much I hated and loved my mother until Thanksgiving 1992.  My mother tried to hit my brother and of course we were all drinking and partying.  But when I saw that, I lost it.  Things got very ugly, but watching my mother trying to hit my brother…… all the years of abuse came rushing out of me.  I had bottled it all up inside.  I wasn’t that helpless child anymore.  That day I whispered in my mother’s ear, for her to never hit my brother again.  I knew my mother was scared of me.  She had stopped hitting me when I turned 12.  I had become this young man with no conscience.  Everything that I had been through made me this person.  The violence that I was so scared of as a young child was now just a way of life.  I hate that part of my life.  I wish that I had become a better person when my mother told me those words, but I only got worse.  My life started in a broken home where violence was the answer.  A home where hate grew.  Where pain and hurt come before LOVE.  Where I thought I was a real man.  But I was only an emotionally unbalanced child with no guidance nor understanding of what love or life was and what a real family should be.  Of course my life nor story ends here.  This is just what my broken home was like.

Now let me tell you what the streets were like and how most of my fellow prisoners and friends minds were formed…

Love and Blessings,

Carlos Treviño

Broken Social Skills

I can sit here and tell you the stories of many many many lost souls and how they/we end up in prison or even death row.  Throughout my time of being in prison, and on death row, most of the stories I hear are just about the same.  On a rare occasion I find someone who had everything and yet still ended up in here.  And so it’s easy to fall into this place.  But for most of us in here never had that chance at life….

Growing up most of us grew up in a bad neighborhoods, ghettos, projects, government housing or whatever you wish to call them.  Where most people wouldn’t step into, unless they lived there.  Unfortunately most of us here had no where else to go.  And stepping out of our hoods wasn’t sunshine either.  For people were fast to let you know you didn’t belong outside of your hood.  You would get funny stares, pointing the fingers at you, whispering something about you.  Or simply giving you a look of pure hate.  I hated going places with my mother when I was a child.  I could always feel those stares from people.  But it was those same stares that planted another see of hate in my heart.  Lord only knew how fast that would grow.  Even as you read this, its happening to some child out there….

It all begins at home.  Most of us come from broken families.  Where most of the time there is only one parent, the mother.  Which is very hard for her.  She probably works, comes home, cooks, clean wash clothes and by the time she knows it it’s the following day.  Being a single parent of one child.  And being this busy you can’t keep your eyes on your child at all times, much less when there is more than one child.  And so because life demands money, a parent or parents are hardly at home.  Then we come from families that are abusive mentally, physically, and sexually.  These abuses happen on a daily basis.  Then you have parent(s) with drug addictions.  As children we live through this.  It becomes a way of life.  We start off emotionally unbalanced.  We hide & never speak of the things going on in our homes.  But if a person would only see with a heart, the signs would be everywhere.  Instead those stares of hate, brings out another leaf of hate within the heart……

As we turn to the streets, we meet other children just like us in our hoods.  These children become our new family, they fill in the void we carry in our hearts.  The love we don’t get at home.  And so a street gang begins.  If it has not already formed.  That comes with a price.  We are instantly introduced to drugs, if we aren’t already doing them since we learn it from home.  In these drugs we find an answer to our problems.  To forget what really happens around us.  But as children we don’t have a clue that drugs are only a temporary solution.  And so a greater problem begins, “addiction”.  What began as something cool or as a solution, ends up controlling your life.  In one form or another…..

Violence is almost started as soon as we learn to walk.  Violence is our daily bread.  I can’t remember ever being in the hood, at someone’s house and someone was not fighting.  As children we were taught, as most Americans, that if someone hits you, you hit them back.  As children we fight with our brothers and sisters, with our neighbors etc… Violence would start instantly when a child is emotionally unbalanced.  We find violence is the answer to life.  Never realizing that at home we are taught to handle our problems with violence.  Almost immediately when we hang around with other children violence starts.  One, we fight to prove ourselves to our new family.  (That’s the price) And it’s a cycle.  Those older kids were put through the same test.  Today tomorrow next month next year the younger children will be put through the same test.  The blind leads the blind…

At some point other children from different hoods come and beat us up.  Sometimes we are stabbed, sometimes shot.  And many times children don’t make it to see another sunrise.  When any of this happens.  The following day, weeks, months or even years, more children are hurt or killed for retaliation never falls short and many times the price is very high.  We never stop to think that all we do is hurt and kill each other.  We defend and protect our hoods, territories when we own nothing in them.  We never stop and realize that those kids in the other hoods are just like us.  We only destroy what little we have.  And we never build anything positive.  Nothing! 

While all of this is happening we steal and rob violently, to get drugs.  We sell drugs to stay high, make ends meet or for weapons for our new family.  Everyday we wake up to this environment as children we are taught these social skills.  So life itself becomes a way of survival.  It becomes a survival like the wild.  The animals prey on each other.  The young animals are taught right away of predators.  The young animals grow up learning how to survive.  And all it knows is what its taught, survival.  It’s the way of the wild.  If you were to see a young bear caught in a bear trap, and you were trying to help this bear.  When you got near this bear, chances are it will try to get away from you.  Or the bear will attack you.  The bear is using his survival instincts.  And doesn’t know any better that you’re trying to help it.  And so as children we adapt to our environment.  The social skills we learn around become our survival. 

Many times our parent(s) at home grew up in the same environment.  Their parent(s) grew up in the same hood. So they don’t know any better.  So, it is okay that their kid of 12, 13, 14, 15 years old to have a girlfriend or boyfriend.  It is okay for them to have sex.  It is okay for them to act violently.  It is okay for them to do drugs.  For them to be in and out of juvenile facilities…

This is just a summary as to where many of us come from, not all, but most of us.  All you have to do is open a newspaper or watch the news.  And you’ll see that the cycle continues.  In the hood we are made to believe that this is the only way of life.  Which is a lie.  For some of us we learn a little too late.  Some of us die before seeing our 21st birthday.  Some of us end up in prison for the rest of our lives.  The rest of us wait to be executed.  How does one break the cycle? How does one change a lost soul, or how does one change? I am not sure, but one thing I know for sure, there is nothing in prison for no one!  And only death awaits you on death row.  Anyone living this life.  It’s never too late to change.  Don’t wait till it’s too late.  Get help anyway you can.  Make a change….

Love & Blessings,

Carlos Treviño


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