The Day I Picked up my Mugshots

Let’s go back to the day I picked up my mugshots. Holy shit my heart was pounding. Seeing pictures with dates and charges pertaining to the arrests. Rewind back to the day it was so random but I heard police kept all mugshots on file so I went down to the local station and asked if they kept all mugshots. She said yes. They made me fill out a request form Describing exactly what I wanted and why. I wrote a request for any mugshot you have a record of including dates and charges pertaining to. She said if there’s anything they’ll call you. All the while I could barely write it. My hands were shaking and I was having a panic attack.

You see, when I was a kid it was different. We didn’t have Iphones taking tons of pictures or facebook where u literally have a digital bank of your life since birth like kids nowadays. Plus I didn’t spend much time with my family as a teen and young adult any belongings I had growing up would just get lost moving place to place or going in and out of jail so I had very min pictures of myself or memorabilia from age 13 to 23. This was huge so ya..i was panicing over even the thought of myself seeing them let alone showing my family and being able to use them as a positive in my book or blogs showing true before and after pics. Like who has mugshot as their before pics lol. But that’s me my story right.

For me thats what’s different. Its not a scrawny to brawny success story its a… I was a fucking criminal … and now I am living the opposite lifestyle I never thought I would live. A few weeks goes by and no call I was like I guess they can’t release the info, that sucks. The very next day I was walking out of the house and there was a big brown envelope in my mailbox with my name on it from the local police station. My heart dropped. I thought this was it. Even writing about it my heart pounds. I got in the car and told my daughter (17) to open it, but she didn’t want to. Maybe cause I said holy shit this is crazy I’m gonna cry. She said ya well that’s why I don’t wanna open it. It’s like I was about to meet my old self.

I get that everyone has memories but when u look at your criminal record and cry cause u can’t even remember doing half of the shit let alone getting arrested and going to court it gets pretty traumatic.So she opened it and said, it just says you have to pick it up at the police station. My heart was beating out of my chest so hard I could feel my shirt move. Pure panic mode. This is REAL SHIT.

What the fuck. I am actually gonna get to see what I looked like during that time in my life.Again total opposite of the guy I am now. So I went to pick up the envelope and I took it back to my car, I took a deep breath and opened the envelope. There were only 8 pages so right away I knew it wasn’t everything. (Not glorifying)First pic was of me at 15 years old arrested October 18th 1995. Not my first arrest but either way I didn’t remember it. “Break and enter and possession of stolen property obtained by crime”

No clue what the fuck I did but either way I didn’t do it right. All the pics stemmed from 1995 to 2001. Man I looked fuckin horrible and ruthless and angry and sad…so sad. I looked so driven with hate it’s all in my eyes. Writing this is emotional cause you see.. the guy in the 2001 picture by then had 2 kids from different girls and he had that same fuckin “I DONT GIVE A FUCK” look on his face as the guy in the first picture in 1995. This alone made me cry.

Looking into the eyes of the guy who robbed me of my youth. This is so emotional. I could have been somebody I could have had good friends I could have been there for my family when my Mom past away. I could have had a relationship with my father and my brother and sister, I could have met Michelle and had kids when I was ready. But would it have happened? Was it meant to be? Was I supposed to live like that so I could be this? Did some get hurt to help the masses?

I guess that’s only if I actually do something with it. Let it not be for nothing right! My writings are a true example of a love/hate thing. Me teaching life lessons through my own experience is something I wanted to do and I am finally doing it, but on the same notion it hurts. I have to re-live the pain every time I write, but it’s much worse than that because the motherfucker that did all this had no recollection of even doing half this stuff so he didn’t have to feel that pain.

Now I’m stuck taking all that on cause I’m reliving it and the worst part is..it was ME. That’s even more painful. You wanna talk regrets, try writing about all the pain you ever caused everyone you love most without crying and hating yourself.

I write with love and I am forever grateful for my second chance at life.

With Love

Jimmy