I have no idea why my family turned out to be criminals? Some morals and values might be twisted depending on your upbringing and in my case I believe that if my parents were more responsible I might have been able to live with them longer, resulting in better grades at school and me not having shit loads of depth from surviving on student loans half my life. In the end most sane people know what’s wrong and if you do break the law you know it and it’s not your mums fault. I don’t blame my parents for any stupid thing I’ve done.

Not all things was bad living at house no 32 and having hippies for parents. Music was something that should be enjoyed and I had no restrictions in enjoying it. My mum had a good stereo and some record collection and she happily gave me money when I discovered record shops and wanted to increase the collection. My first favourite track was the Beatles ”She loves me”. It was at house number 17 and I listened to that record fanatically. By the time we moved to house number 32 my sister that lived downstairs with her mum at house number 32 had discovered Alphaville and those melodies caught on with me immediately. She was my musical guide for some time from now. She used to record tapes from a radio station called Trax every week . And it was the beginning of 80’s heavy metal that started to be my favourite music, in particular Motley Crue. I listened to other bands and I had a lot of records for a 7- 8 –9 year old in the 80’s. My top bands were Accept, Wasp, Iron Maiden and of course Motley Crue.

I was obsess with Vince, Mick, Tommy and Nikki and I thought that I was their biggest fan and my love was the maximum one can have for a type of music and I still do think that, in a more humble way. I would say that without that band I probably would have a different view on music. It was Nikki that was the bass player and that sparked my interest in the bass and listening to baselines in heavy metal music is rather challenging, as everything is midrange with heavy guitars and squeaky voices. But this thought me how to separate the instruments and analyse the music. I looked like Vince, or at least I tried to with my long blonde hair with lots of volume. But, if I had dark hair I would have gone for the Nikki look as he was my idol. I saw them live twice but I never got a chance to meet them. Still when I think about their albums I get the same feeling of being a dedicated fan. Anyway, I got to meet KIZZ though, when I was too young to remember. That’s great I get to meet one of the biggest bands in the world and I have to be too young to appreciate it. I remember being told that I was going to meet them and that I just started to hear about this band we had the destroyer album but I didn’t like it when I listened to it. Than I remember being backstage in a bar with my uncles friend that worked with the band. And I do remember some hairy guys but not their faces, maybe cos they ware makeup on stage, and I remember the paper plates with the autographs. It took a few more years before I started to appreciate 70’s rock. I was brought up on rolling stones, Lou reed, some bob marled, rod Stewart and lots of other random tracks from different artists. My dad’s music was Jimi Hendrix and he named me after him. As I too love Jimi these days I also love my name. He also listened to Swedish political music and it helped me spark my political interest.

Later on in school I realised that there are a lot of different music that also sounds good. This didn’t go down well with my metal friends that I liked some tunes by some synth group. But this synth music triggered all these tight drum and percussion rhythms and sweet synth leads, how can one not like that?

When I reached my teens I started to buy electronic music and mixed LP’s and I started mixing my own tapes with dance music. Still loving Motley Crue and still went to another of their concerts when I was 13. but the dance music was something else and also the metal scene had become too political. Motley Crue V Guns’n’roses V poison V hairspray V glam rock V lipstick. I thought it was about riffs and solos? Dance music was about dance and 4/4.

Before I discovered the music that would take control over my life, change me as a person and become my best friend giving me immense happiness. I was in to the only thing that was available at the time. 90’s dance music. Technotronic, klf, 2 unlimited and so on. I was in a quite established gang no mostly Latinos and Iranians and me. I had a bit of a beard and was very left wing in my attitude, I read about Castro and che Guevara and talk ed about the revolution all the time so I was called Che. At this time the Latino gangster films were popular so we adapted our attitude and dress to those films. Beige chinos, white t-shirt and shirt with only the top button done. I was the first one putting on a hair net and our language was a mix of Swedish Spanish English and Farsi. Our main focus was to go clubbing and dominate wherever we went we didn’t tolerate any outsiders and we were fast in showing them who were in charge. If larger groups of boys turned up or if we travelled to another city the police had to be called in most of the time to stop ppl from being hurt. Except for that the police used their batons to hit us on the lags to clear the area. This music focus slowly turned towards a new style of music. Not dance at all. Straight edge. It was hard core punk music with very political messages about human right, vegetarianism. It was mainly a skate/snowboard style of music. But as me and some of my other friends were cross cultural in this since, Vatos locos Latino gang member that also snowboarded. We had access to this music and these parties too. We started listening to this straight edge music while training tkd and it gave us adrenaline and energy to train harder. This all changed when my friend who I lived with had visited another tkd player down in south of Sweden. He came back with a tape with goa trance. This was completely new and the year must have been 1994. I had one listen to that tape and I was hooked. All other music seemed fake, shallow, unworked and pointless in comparison. It didn’t take long until this music had taken over all the sub cultures in KD. It was only the commercial clubbers that still listened to the Euro trance, the straight edge ppl and now the goa trance ppl. I went to my first goa trance party in gbg and some friends took some lsd on the way down. I didn’t take drugs then, as my main focus was still tkd. But when we got to the club I was amassed. It was in a old warehouse no official signs no big windows with promotions. From the outside it looked grimy and unwelcoming and like nothing was going on there. The bouncers opened the big warehouse doors and I heard the thump of the kick drum and the smoky light coming through the drapes. The club was all about the dance floor and the dj. Every one faced the dj booth every one was friendly ppl carried jars of water and shared. Pretty girls carried plates of fruit that they distributed. There was no attitude problems and ppl gave way with a smile if you tried to walk past. I stood there for a few minutes listening to the music and observed how ppl danced. Then I stared copy what I had observed and the movements just worked with the music and I had found my true culture. Later when things got too much in kd I moved to Stockholm. There was a club in sthlm that made the headlines in the news papers frequently. Docklands. It was officially a club where children went to take drugs and the subculture there was harmful to the youth. In reality it was the best psytrance club in Europe at the time and the atmosphere was the same as I had experienced in gbg same friendliness. No alcohol served no fights yes there were some ppl taking drugs. But according to my experience from years of clubbing there were no more drugs there than anywhere else. And in the big commercial clubs in the city ppl took cocaine and ecstasy, in these Psy clubs ppl too lsd and ecstasy. The amount of fights and problems required police attention I seen in the commercial clubs was not seen in the Psy clubs. The police choose to come to these clubs on their own initiative. They were never called in due to some incident. Docklands created such a huge debate that the music and subculture was tried to be banned and a special unit at the police was created for this purpose they were called the rave commission. They stopped ppl playing Psy trance on their car stereo, they practised harassment and terror tactics. This is my personal experience with the rave commission.

My firs encounter was in sthlm while I was waiting in a cue to see a band from Israel called MFG. When I had paid and was about to enter the door a man stepped in front of me showing his badge telling me he was from the police and that he wanted to talk to me. There was a lot of ppl around and he was very polite. I might ad no that up to this point I had never taken any drugs. He led me down a corridor to a room. He opened the door and pushed me in the back in to the room. In the room was another 4 or 5 officers. Some of who I was to meet frequently over the next year or so. They surrounded me and the office who had led me in to the room put a flash light in my face. Now they started asking me questions like where is the drugs, what have you taken where did you buy it from and accusing me of selling drugs and telling me they knew everything about me so I might as well confess. And if I didn’t they would take me away from there and leave me in the middle of nowhere. These accusations, questions, demands and threats came from all directions and I was not given a chance to answer to any thing. Meanwhile the cunt with the flash light told me that yes he could see that I was on drugs. As I didn’t take drugs and as I was a student and had years of experience in studying human physiology and I was confident in my self I started laughing at them and told the guy (interrupting the surround accusations) that he did his examination wrong and if I did take any drugs he would not discover it by his methods.. he didn’t listen and when they realised they could not break me they told me that they would keep an eye on me and let me go in to the party.

So over the next year as soon as they spotted me or my brother or my friend they would shout stop police then separate us searching us and do the usual threats of how they could fuck us over. Eventually the politicians won and the club closed but the party scene just moved t other locations and still moving around. The next summer I was rather tired of Sweden and I had a friend that had moved to Italy so I wend down to visit him. He smoked a lot of hash but I was not interested as I believed I could not smoke as I had some asthma. He suggested that if I wanted to get stoned and I did he could make some tea for me. So I agreed he made a cup of tea with a chunk of hash that would today make me 3 pipes worth. While I was waiting for the delivery and the making of the tea I had 2 bottles of Chianti and some very nice pasta on his balcony over looking the mountains of perugia. When the tea was ready I downed it. I was probably never going to be that stoned ever again on hash. And it was brilliant and respect to my friend cos he took well care of me. I remember him leading me down a alley in to a bar where he I knew every one. He wanted to introduce me to a girl he thought I might hit it off with. If you have any experience with drugs you know that sometimes your alert and awake and can talk and giggle and then…. ZZZAANNNGGG your gone to la la land again for a bit. So here I was sitting at the bar the girl gave me cold drinks to keep me hydrated and refreshed. Then I came to it. She was very pretty. She was standing right in front of me and smiled. And I lifted my had pointed at her and burst out laughing my face off… she knew the score and didn’t take much offence but I had blew my chanced quite frankly. Then about a minute later I looked at the guy next to me and said “ OK SEE YOU IN A BIT” and boom I was gone again. I came to it again in another bar but this one was too crowded and busy so I could not handle it so I had to wait out side for a bit. Then apparently we had been to some party and some other bars but I had no memory of any of it. On the way home I started feeling sick. The red wine was not a good mix with the hash so when we got back to the flat I puked up for some time then my mate cleaned me up and tucked me in to his bed. There I hade the maddest hallucinations that I was in a cave and all I could see was woman’s legs. We talked for some time and he recorded the conversation and then I passed out.

When I came back to Stockholm I girl from my previous uni had tried to get me in bed for some time and as I was about to move to uk I didn’t have anywhere to live so I accepted her invitation. Some times I don’t know what’s wrong with me and it happened a few times before. I have a fairly nice girl trying to make me like her and I let her suck my dick but when it comes to actually fucking her I stand there with the dick touching the pussy but I cant bring my self to putting it in. and what does the girl do.. keep sucking my dick. This one did that twice and the most extreme case was in kd this one must have serviced me for about 14 hours and during that time I almost fucked her twice but the thought of putting my dick in this slag made me sick.

Anyway. I moved to the UK a few weeks later.

The End of episode number 1. Later on we might come up with the episode from England.

the autour is the son of former criminal father

exkriminell

My mum has a brother, I don’t like him. I can’t trust what my mum has told me about him. But I know that he didn’t care about his mum, when she was dying he only came on to the funeral to collect the money. After that he left everything for my mum to sort out. She gave her money to my sister and the things my grandma left for me; I was told that my mum’s brother took. It doesn’t matter really it’s just stuff, but what is important is how one is going about things. My mum’s methods are wrong from a moral point of view and he is a dickhead. I hope I don’t have to face him again, and if I do I hope that he doesn’t talk as I will probably put him on his arse.

My grandma used to live in the south of Sweden when we lived at house number 17 and 32. I and my mum were down there to visit occasionally. We used to go to Denmark from there for day trips. My mum used to take me to the Zoo and the amusement park. I liked those trips a lot. We also went to Christiania, a hippie ‘free zone’ in Copenhagen. I don’t remember much of that, but I do remember that a huge guy tried to sell me hash. I also remember that we went to a Pub that was so full of smoke that you couldn’t see the next table. My mum bought some hash before we left the free zone. Another time when we were visiting my grandma, they had an argument after I went to bed. Later that night the guy who later would break our kitchen windows with his fist, came to my grandma´s house. I don’t know what he was doing there because it’s quite a distance between grannies’ home and were we lived. Anyway, I was pretending sleeping and I heard my mum and the guy talking about starting taking drugs again. I would hear her admitting to have taken drugs before, but I would only hear her admitting to being a junkie two more times. Once when she again didn’t know I was hearing and once when she didn’t have no choice.

My grandma was clever with her money. She invested in properties and she had cash flow from pension as she used to work as a pharmacist. She dated artists (painters) when she was younger and after she got divorced, she again had two relationships both with artists. She had some nice paintings in her house, abstract art. I liked it and it inspired me. She used to take me travelling. We went to Spain, Belgium, France Denmark and Germany. I liked France the best as she showed her full potential in the country she loved and she showed me all the good art related sites.

Later she moved to Karlstad were we lived. She bought a flat in an upcoming area and she would buy another four properties in this area. She died in hospital of cancer. I came back from UK for three months to stay with her during this time.

When I was about four years old, I started to visit my dad on my own. My parents had a divorce when I was too young to remember. I can’t remember if there was a gap of a few years before I saw him again after the divorce, it feels like it was. Anyway, my first memories of my dad were good ones. I visited him at a drug rehabilitation place. We went on camping trips with his mates, travelling by canoe and sleeping in tents. We lighted up campfire and grilled food every night. Being in the wilderness automatically licenses me to carry a knife; witch is a big thing when you’re out in the wild with your dad. On this trip we survived on whatever we could get from the river and dad’s rucksack. It was one of my favourite holidays.

I began my interest in weapons in my early age, collecting weapons as a kid. It started with knifes, my uncle gave me nice knifes from Finland, the Mecca for knife users. I had a lot of different knifes, one Rambo survival knife, renown in Sweden for its sharpness and red wood handle, I had one bowie knife, one stiletto, one butterfly and a whole range of knifes of different sizes with no particular fame, but often with a nicely decorated holster. The knife collection expanded with other weapons like whips, ninja stars, and nunchuks a sword and an African spear and revolvers. I got the African spear from the guy that renovated house number 32.

My dad met his new wife to-be at that rehabilitation place. Some time later they moved to the north of Sweden and I started to visit them there on my own. I had to take a 40 min flight to Stockholm, then change flight to the final destination another hour or so away. I liked travelling on my own and I always had nice air stewardess who took good care of me. I had to ware a A4 sized plastic thing around my neck with all my details, in case I got lost. After a while I was a familiar face to the flight crew. I liked it at my dad’s new place. I fast made a lot of friends. Some older guy thought me games how to get kisses from girls. He taped bin liners over a big slide in a children’s playground, and then invited boys and girls to the exiting new event in the evening. As it was all dark inside the slide the girls were a bit nervous to enter. The warm summer evening created a nice romantic atmosphere so a hug and a kiss made the girls feel better and we all had a good time with this slide tunnel. It only worked as a treat one evening by the way. This older boy also showed me Rambo and other films. He was a good friend to me even if I was that young. There was another family that lived across the street from my dad. The boy in that family was hanging around me and my other friends but I don’t have any particular memory of him except that he was always there and

he had a sister. This sister had a friend and she became the first love of my life and she had long dark hair. That is sadly all I remember about her appearance. However this feature has been an important trait in the choice of other girlfriends later in my life. The strongest memory of time spent with this girl was when I was about to see her for the last time. Me and my dad was at some friends of his house and the two girls were there. We didn’t do much at first but closer to the time when it was time to say goodbye the girls decided that we should play in the dark. Basically the lights were switched off and the door to the bedroom we were in was closed and a duvet was thrown over me and my girl and another duvet over the other girl and a boy. Then we did what came natural in our own private space. I got my first kiss there, about 10 minutes later we left and I never saw that girl again. This traumatised me for many years. About 7 or 8 years later we had a new girl in our class, it was the friend to my first kiss. Our friend ship had faded away and I tried to talk about her friend but it didn’t lead anywhere. I tried again a few years later but she was not interested in sharing any information. Not even my dad or his second wife showed any interest in my questions. And when I couldn’t find any info on the internet either I finally gave up, this was about 3 years ago. Not that I think it would be amazing to meet up and talk about old memories I just wanted to find out what happened to her.

To be continued, the author is the son of former criminal father

exkriminell

My aunt lived a bout 20 min walk away from house number 32, we used to have Christmas there every year. She makes nice food, cookies, pies and sweets, I used to raid her cookie storage a lot. She didn’t visit a lot either but I spent quite a lot of time at her home, she has two boys and she never had a negative impact on my life ever. There is nothing special to write abut her at this time. This writing isn’t necessarily only about negative or bad things, even if it might appear so. But the fact that I have nothing so say about her now, is rather a good thing. She is just a good person with good spiritual values and with good taste in music and food. Her partner had a big influence on me in my political stand point. Even if he made it impossible to agree with him on any point, the general direction was the same for me as for him, as for my whole family in-fact. We are all socialists really; we all have socialist’s values. My aunts partner drank too much and I think from my point of view that this was the only bad thing in that side of the family, otherwise I think that my two cousins were very lucky. They are also good characters and I respect them a lot. The only person I had real disputes with was my aunt’s partner and I think it was political. If I wondered of in my political ideas, he was quick to discuss it from a hardcore working class point of view. Obviously my experience was limited to my age so I had nothing to argue back with, but I had integrity and I was not afraid to stand my ground and sometimes it ended in big arguments. These days I recognise my self in him in the way I see things. It’s funny how it turns out. As a family we have some other things in common except for being known by the police, being socialists and hippies. We can all cook great food and we all have good music taste.

When I was 15 years old I started training Taekwondo. I loved it from day one. It involved lots of training camps and one camp was in Russia.

I had a good relation ship with my first real girlfriend, we were going out for almost two years. She broke my heart once, after she came back from her confirmation camp some guy had chatted her up and she fell for it. She was confused for a few weeks but in the end she picked me. I think that gave me a big confidence boost, but I lost some respect for her after what happened and less than a year later I broke up with her. However she was a good girlfriend and I liked her family a lot. I had finished school and applied to collage. I was accepted to do a nurse qualification but I had to wait one term for my place. In the meanwhile I started working as PE teacher at my old school. I had no problem getting the job, even if I was only 16, as I had such good grades in the sport leadership class. I worked hard and made my own money that I saved to be able to go to the Russian training camp. The job involved teaching gymnastic techniques holding outdoor and indoor event, and coaching in regional championships in various games. I loved that job. However when the time had come to pay for the training camp I found my bank account cleared. My mum had taken all the money I saved. I never brought it up why she did it. I was very disappointed that I couldn’t go. But her finish boyfriend gave me some money so I could go in the end but it was bare minimum just to cover the basics. I had saved up so I would have lots of pocket money there but now I didn’t have any pocket money at all while in Russia.

I would stick with Taekwondo for a long time and it helped me a lot both in terms of keeping me occupied and getting my stress out of the system, but also in terms of the support I´ve got from our coach and other members of the club. It became like a new family and I will always be grateful to that club and the people there for supporting me.

One day when I came back from college my key wouldn’t open the door. As it turned out my mum hadn’t paid the rent for some time, so we had now been evicted. It was talk about me moving to a foster home or letting the social services take me. But my aunty offered to let me live with her. I lost all my material stuff as it was confiscated and sold to pay for my mums dept.

That year I stayed at my aunts was tough. It was good living arrangements and I got along well with my cousins and my aunty is an excellent mother. But I ended up in problems at college threatening and arguing with teachers causing major disturbances. They tried to give me counselling but it didn’t help so I was suspended and had to re take one year. The scholar situation as well as the gang situation, in combination with my trying´s to get a gun and having problems with the social services and no contact with my parents and on top of that, having to move out from my aunty in the end proved to much for my mental capacity and I started to think about suicide. The closest I came was holding the blade to the wrist but my escape thought was that I could not do this to the guy who had taken me in letting me stay at his flat. I have never considered that option again but that moment was very low and depressing. I had some girls but no relationship at this time. But I was soon to meet the best girl I ever meet to this date. Looking back she is the girl I should have married and I was the one who dumped her, big mistake but that is how faith is. I live here in England now, married with a daughter. She still lives in Karlstad, with a boyfriend and two kids with different fathers, I pray that she is happy and have a good life she deserves the best.

When I lived with her I was training tkd 6 days a week. I was keeping stolen goods for my thief friends and I had lots of money from selling stuff and stealing stuff. I dumped the girlfriend and stayed in that penthouse apartment for some time and having some random girls around. I regret all that now. When I had to move my grandmother bailed me out and bought me a flat in a new developed posh part of town. I got in to another relationship with a girl that turned out to be psycho. When I lived at this address, it was that time when I had the issues with the MC gangs and when I got my elf to the gun.

A friend and I went to Stockholm to try to get some weapons. We go some maze and a telescope baton and a replica pistol. When we took the train back to Karlstad, I had the pistol in my inside pocket on my bomber jacket. In front of me, was a middle aged lady? She was looking rather uncomfortable, sitting next to my friend and in front of me. Anyway, when I leaned forward at on point the gun fell out of my pocket and landed right in front of her feet. The woman’s jaw just dropped, then she looked at me, I could only smile and shocked my head in disbelief. My friend tried to suffocate his laughter. The woman left the carriage and there were luckily no complications from this.

After I dumped my existing psycho girlfriend, I was taken on by a social worker at the youth unit. This unit I actually trusted and they seemed to care, then I really tried to calm my self down. In Sweden at that time it was popular to spend tax money on problem kids in form of travelling and trips. I was sent on one of those trips and it involved counselling sessions in the evening and house arrest from afternoon to mid morning.

Daytime could be spent with some activity, in our case snowboarding.

After this I had enough of my criminal activities and intents, so I got rid of the gun, got another girlfriend and spent all my time exercising. After getting more serious about taekwondo competitions, I moved in with my friend so we could spend all our waking hours talking, watching and training. We went to Denmark, Norway, France and Spain to train. This sport activity brought some local fame and some more respect. We got VIP passes to the hottest clubs and the bouncers were fairly lenient with our behaviour. This resulted in boosting the street confidence, and demanding more respect, getting more friends resulting in more fame, and so on. One example of bigheaded actions: One night I was pissed as hell in the hottest night club, as a VIP I could come and go as I pleased in any condition and in any clothing. I decided I needed a burger so a stumbled out of the club and headed for McD. I sat down there on my own eating my burger, and then suddenly, I was hit on my shoulder by a half eaten burger. I decided that some one had thrown that at me on purpose, and this someone needed a beating. I stood up and scanned the restaurant, diagonally behind me a saw about 5 lads sitting. I decided that it was all of them that threw the burger, so I walked over to them declared that I will smash all their faces, if not first tell me who threw the burger! They denied the accusation and stood up to leave. I called them pussys for leaving and not telling me who threw the burger. They got in to a car outside and I followed them out and threw my coke in the back window of the car. This pissed them off majorly and all of them came at me at once. I know I kicked the first one that came up to me and I know I gave someone a low kick but the next thing I remember is that I am lying on the hood of the car laughing my face off and the bouncer from McD is telling the guys to clear off. I had some pain in my jaw the next day so some one must have hit me but I can’t remember any of it. By the way, it was easy to get girls and we got lots of attention, we did a underwear catwalk show and we were on TV, as one of the guys just made it to the national team. Later that guy fucked my girlfriend, and after that life in Karlstad didn’t worked out so I moved to Stockholm.

to be continued, the author is the son of former criminal father

Exkriminell

Ever since I was a young kid at house number 17 I always wanted to learn new things, how things worked, why things were like they were. I don’t think I realised then that it was a spiritual thing. I was just interested. My mum gave me a series of books. They were science books for children. They were called “how does it work” followed by a topic. I had one about Tellus, one about mechanics and one about human body. I loved those books, specially the one about the body. I think it put me on an academic journey that is still continuing today. At school we had the choice of choosing language, cooking and “home chore class” something, and sports leadership. I picked French cos my blood sister studied French and my grandmother loved France and she spoke some French, she was really proud when my sister past the finals. So I thought I go down the same route. Yes sure, I just wanted to strangle the teacher, not that she was a bitch or any thing. Just that I didn’t get to know her. She walked in to the classroom going bonjour class, over enthusiastically, and I thought “oh my god”, and then she was going on. I only lasted 80 min of that, and then I changed to Sport leader ship. That was a good choice. I stared that class, the grade system was 1-5 and the teachers told me that if they could give me a 6 they would. For reference I was in the 8^th year out of 9 at the time. My friends started to talk about confirmation; I didn’t know what it was cos my family are from the hippie culture so we didn’t talk about mainstream spiritualism. Anyway, everyone in my year had received an invitation. My mum didn’t tell me about this or I didn’t receive one, this pissed me of, cos again I had to be different from every one else. I was baptised in the central church when I was 1 year old so I was registered. I went to the local church and told them that I was to be confirmed too. I only did it to rebel, If they didn’t invite me but I have the right I should do it anyway even if they don’t like me or judging me. I joined and didn’t miss a session. I didn’t learn anything but there was a camp included and all the fit girls was doing the confirmation too so I paid more attention to them. The priest was cool. Not dry at all. Young and fit and I think all the mums loved him. I liked him too. There fore it was rather embarrassing when he found me in bed with one of the girls at the camp. He was cool about it, al he said was “Clarke go to your room” and the day after he arranged a meeting with all of us trying to explain that all of us need to behave. None of us listened as we were talking and ignoring him. Then he shouted, in Swedish equivalent to, “Shut the fuck up”. We did, but that quote became a catch phrase and lost its power. I got my confirmation. I didn’t feel like I achieved anything spiritually or politically.

My dad has one brother and one sister. I like them very much

My grandfather was from England everyone loved him, I did too. I have always felt like an outsider in almost everything including my family. Maybe because there was nothing “normal” going on at house number 17 or 32 so people didn’t want to come around. I had to go to my family if I wanted to see them. My grandpa only came to visit two or three times, as I can remember, and it was on “not taking of the jacket” terms. I don’t think my grandmother ever visited, but she had bad health so I completely understand. I visited her a lot. She was nice to me and I liked being there. But when my cousin came to me to tell me that she past away I didn’t really feel anything. The same with my grandpa, I wanted to be upset and I wondered what was wrong with me. I do wish that my grandfather was still alive now when I live in UK, maybe we would have a stronger connection and maybe then I would have cried on the funeral. I miss him.

My uncle was a wild one, his reputation even affected me with the police and mothers having daughters I was interested in. Every time the police questioned me the first thing they would always say was “Jimi, are you your uncles son”? I would say no, knowing what’s coming next, “ok, so you are your father’s son”? I say yes and they would look at each other or fill the younger generation copper in on the history, then pull a facial expression saying you little shit do we have to deal with you from now on. First time I thought it was cool that they knew me even if I didn’t know them. I was questioned for something I hadn’t done and I thought I was being helpful and polite in order for them to get to the bottom of the crime they were investigating. But as soon as I said my name I had already lost. So that just reminded me of the axe incident and I concluded that coppers are arseholes and its better not to show any kind of need to help them. I later found out, from a member of the Tae Kwon Do club, he also was involved in youth programmes and running a gym. The police had told him that they had been using the resources from the spy department following me and keeping records since I was living at house number 32. They had told him that I was a lost cause, and that he should not bother too much with me. This was three years after I moved from house number 32.

But it was not only the police I had to deal with. Some mums didn’t like me either, as soon as they heard my family name. I was on the bus once with a friend, then I spotted a very cute girl and she got of at a rich area. I really wanted to talk to her, so my friend and I got of after her and followed her to the house and rang her doorbell. Her mum opened the door. I asked to speak with the girl and she said. “I recognise you what’s your name”? “Jimi family name” with a smile. Are you your uncle’s son? She asked. I was thinking “what the fuck man” and my friend were laughing. After concluding that I was my dad’s son I could speak to her daughter. It turned out that the mum was an old girl friend to my uncle and obviously her heart was broken and she didn’t want the same thing happen to her daughter. The same thing happened again a few years later a girl was all over me. She took me home, I was in her bed and her mum had asked her whom she was with. Jimi so and so, she said. Then the girl told me that her mum doesn’t allow any of that family in her house. But all respect to my uncle player. He’s got a couple of kids, a girl who has three of her own kids now, a son whose about 20 years, and a teenager son here in England.

author is the son of former criminal father

to be continued

exkriminell

By this time I had no contact with my mum and I was working on renewing the reputation of our family name to the next generation of coppers.

My own lack of respect for the law started as early as when I was six years old. When I think back on this picture now, it’s a weird feeling of pride for where I’m from. Kronoparken had the reputation of being dangerous and people from other parts of town didn’t go there and later when we were teenagers we were not allowed go to other “nicer“ parts outside town. If we got spotted they called the cops on us. Anyway I remember one day me and my friend, the one that moved to Gothenburg, decided to trash a car that no one had used for a few weeks. My mum’s boyfriend had already taken the petrol from this car. So my friend started to jump the roof in on this car and I took a metal spear from a building site from across the road and rammed it in to the windscreen. At that time a car drove past. Nothing happened but when I see this picture I have to laugh. Welcome to Kronoparken! You can take the kid out of the ghetto but you can’t take the ghetto out of the kid. It was mainly normal games we played as a kid. It was very popular to pick over ripe “fruit” from the rose bushes and throw them at windows, spray concentrated garlic extract through letterboxed in to people’s apartments and go to the posh area and steal fruit, tools, bikes and anything else that they left outside after dark.

I think I was acting as a currier out of my knowledge. One evening my mum asked me to go up to her friend and drop a bag of. The friend’s nickname was the robber, cos he did armed robberies. In the bag was a landline phone. This was before the time of mobile telephones. I’m convinced now that there were drugs (heroin to be specific) under the cover on that phone. I know there is space as I’ve seen it opened before and those guys in that flat didn’t have a landline. When I left their flat there neighbour stuck his head out saying, “Dear little boy, what are you doing in that flat?” I said “nothing”.

A few years later my friends and me found that some storage rooms had the same locks and that our flat keys could open some of these locks if you fiddled a bit. And we managed to get in to a storage room for the local council. We started a club there where we played with fire. We had a logo that we wrote with glue and then lit the glue so our club name was in flames. When the glue burned out it left a burn mark with our club name. Later on we moved on to burning containers with paper. The next few summers were exiting in Kronoparken. We could get alcohol easy. You could go out at any time, day or night and it would always be someone out. There were a lot of arsonists around and the fire brigade were there almost every weekend.

We also found out from a gang in the next suburb how to get in to and start any Opel car with a simple bicycle lock key. We did that a few times but this gang had already established a name for them self’s so we hadn’t much interest.

It was not the firs time I set fire to things. I have a sister that is not my sister by blood but I known her my whole life and we were neighbours during my first 16-17 years. She always took care of me as a sister. We set fire to her mums flat once. The whole building burnt down. My mum was sleeping in the room where the closet was. Her mum was sleeping in a different room. First we started to burn the edges on a stack of magazines and then we turned to the big teddy bear. It only took half a second before the whole teddy bear was on fire and then another 30 sec for the rest of the closet to spark up. We didn’t dare to wake my mum up so we crawled very quietly to where here mum was sleeping and woke her up very gently. By the time her mum got to wake my mum up my mums hair was on fire. I was on my mums arm and my sister on her mum’s arm they were running out from the house bare foot in the snow as the windows exploded. They only had their night guans on. We went to the neighbours across the street and called the fire brigade. My sister and me were running around the neighbour’s house making noise like sirens on the fire truck.

We started drinking early. It was easy to get spirit as home made vodka is made in a lot of houses and stealing from drunk parents is easy. I was drunk first time when I was 1 years old. I had half a can of lager when my parents were not watching. But then I was dry until I was 12 lol, just joking. Iv had been to a party with some of my older friends. They were 14-17 years. I got really pissed there and I grabbed a few cans and went back to central Kronoparken. There I shared the drink with my other friends. At about 10:30 I was passed out on the street. I could not move so my friends dragged me home and put me to bed. All I remember from the journey home was my toes on my trainers dragging behind me. From that day there was a lot of drinking for the next 10 years. I started hanging out with older friends more and I also started getting attention from 16-17 year old girls when I was 12-13. When I was 13 I had a fling with my sisters best friend. She was 5 years older than me. We had been to a party one night and when we got back I didn’t want to go home so I slept in-between my sister and the friend. She came on to me and we started to touch each other and she started moaning and turning. I was shit scared that my sister should wake up and I was too young and felt too insecure in front of a 5 year older woman so I didn’t try to have sex with her even if that is what she tried..

. I had friends with cars at this time so a lot of time was spent in a car drinking and driving around I didn’t sleep much for a while and was drinking a lot and I was only 13 so my mum started to think that I was on drugs. I was not on drugs ever.

My sister moved to Stockholm and I visited her sometimes. She started to take me to nightclubs there and my friends became even older. One time I was in a club. I had a lot of hot shots (Galliano and coffee toped with whipped cream) before the club so I was quite drunk when I got in. the guys bought me pints. I was only little then so it didn’t take long before I was passed out in the toilet. The bouncers found me at closing time and chucked me out. I was 14 years old pissed like hell. I could not see 2 meters. And I didn’t know where my sister lived. The bus driver would not let me on the bus. A guy paid for a taxi if I would let him sleep on the sofa at my sisters. We managed to find the way but my sister told him to fuck off. I had the worst hangover ever the day after. If I moved a muscle I threw up.

to be continued

author is the son of former criminal father

Anyway lets back up a few years

My mum was dating another idiot while in house number 32. He did karate as well and was developing his own philosophical style. He also wanted to practise and then he used to punched me in the face. When my mum half enthusiastically asked why he was doing that? He said; that I should be prepared. This guy had a history of mental illness, and later on he ended up running about in animal skin and makeup, talking to aliens. But before he reached that stage, he managed to turn our flat in to a smoking den. Frequently beating up my mum and kept us under constant treat and pressure. One morning before school I was having my breakfast. He was in the living room next to the kitchen. I was facing the door so I could see in to the living room. But he was standing to the right in there so I could not see him. He called my mum in there, there was no shouting but I could tell that the situation was not good. Then I heard his fist hitting my mum’s head and she fell to the floor. The only thing I could see, was her leg and her high heel shoes through the door. He, the idiot, left the flat quietly. I couldn’t finish the food and´, I didn’t cry. All I did was to take my bag and leave the flat to go to school. I think that particular idiot is dead now, if not – I hope he is really suffering in his illness.

Eventually after many other violent events and drunken nights in house number 32, he finally left, only to be replaced by an even worse “boyfriend”!

This guy was a proper hash head, and my mum had to supply him with the smoke. I know because I went with her, many many times to pick it up from her dealer friends.

At this time I could not bring friends home, in fear that the flat would be full of people lying on our sofa, either being too drunk or too high to move. Or the flat would smell of cannabis. Or my mum being in bed, and that she might come to open the door half naked. And I had enough with the kids from the posher areas, and their patronising parents as it was. I could see how they looked down on my mum. The worst was when we got food vouchers from the welfare office. Then we filled the shopping trolley with what food we needed. After that, the shop manager took us in to his office where the groceries was added up, and then put it back into the trolley. When counted, we had to walk past the cues with the food, without paying to leave the shop.

I started to hit other students at school during this time. Not unprovoked but I had zero tolerance for comments, or disrespectful behaviour to me, or to people I considered being victims of bullying. I never had problem with kids with the similar background as myself, only with overprotected spoilt boys with their big mouths. And I didn’t have any problems with girls, they all loved me. Later on when we reached puberty, they would all try to get a piece.

During the final years in school we had camping trips and school trips where we had to sleep in tents. In my class we had the fittest girls at school, they all had boyfriends in years above or that had finished school. On one of the trips one of these girls made it clear that she wanted me to stay in her tent. But, in that tent were two other girls. I didn’t object and when I went over to their tent late at night, after the teachers were asleep, I slipped in to her sleeping bag and started cuddling her. She was lying in the middle, and for some reason the girl to the right also wanted her share. I started feeling her hands all over me. then she pushed the first girl off me. So I thought, what to now? Then disided, I just turned around and slipped in to her sleeping bag instead, then that girl and me had a proper smelly and wet session. A few weeks later we had another camping trip and the girl who had invited me, tried again. This time she had borrowed a tent from some one else to make sure we were to be alone so I did visit her in the tent. However I could not do anything as her boyfriend were about 5 meters away and he would have killed me and I could not have done anything about that so I had to let this one slip through my fingers. I still regret it to this day, as this girl was the prettiest girl in the history of that school. But it was with great satisfaction I spotted the girls with their boyfriends later. The boyfriends were ok with me but they still had the attitude that I’m older and cooler that you. But I knew better. Anyway I ended up having my first proper girlfriend later. She was extremely good looking and all the boys tried it on, but she wouldn’t have them, I´ve got her too.

At house number 32 it was all getting worse. One evening when I was home alone someone knocked on the door. When I opened, this man that I know I knew my mum, stood there with his hand inside the jacket. He asked to see my mum but I told him she wasn’t at home. He demanded some money he claimed she had borrowed. It was only about £10 and when I could not give him the money he pulled out an axe and raised it. He threatened to use it if she didn’t pay. I was in chock and he walked off. The police came but made it out to be my fault and my mum got pissed off and thy left. The guy got away with threatening a boy with an axe, but it made the news at least. Another day, my mum was yet again beaten blue, I ran down to a couple that lived in the next block. They were friends with my mum and the man in that family had a reputation of dealing with people physically. Neither the police or security companies confronted this guy, but he wouldn´t go over to our flat to put an end to what was going on. After that I confronted the boyfriend one night when my mum was on a pickup mission. I told him that what he is doing has to stop but he was not paying any attention to me. The TV was on so I took the remote to turn it off. He told me that if I did what I was about to do I would regret it. So I turned the TV off. I ended up being thrown around the flat for a bit and then while I was on my back with him holding me down with his fists on my chest and throat he told me that basically me and my mum would suffer if I pulled a stunt like that again. One day my mum broke her leg when she fell of a chair while hanging up new curtains. A few weeks later we would do our last trip to Gothenburg together. My friend and I were playing a game on the new Nintendo console, when I overheard my mum telling my friends mum that the boyfriend had beaten her up. He had slashed her head through a door and kicked her leg so it got fractured. Later I confronted her about this, and I could tell from the reaction that things would change soon.

We moved in to a new flat in the next block. It was a nice place newly renovated by a friend to my mum that lived there before us. I liked him and his family. He used to be a UN soldier and a security guard. I did Karate at this time and he used to do karate too so we practised sometimes. He told me stories about his wild nights out and people he knocked out with bottles. Sometimes the people he beat up were from the social class that made my life less good so he became a bit of a hero for me. They also had money, only cos he was working doing business. His wife was fit and they had a Doberman that liked me. I watched the dog a lot and we spent a lot of time with them. It was a good time. Then they moved and we moved in to their flat in house number 32. Later he lost the kid and girlfriend to alcohol, the usual stuff.

Life in house number 17 would turn out to be comparatively brilliant to life in number 32. My best friend Dan lived in the tower block on the next street. We grew up together from before I can remember and spent all the time together. When we were about 8 his mum moved to Gothenburg (gbg). His mum, long-term friend to my mum, was a heroin addict but she had a stable boyfriend and not too much violent incidences in her home. She also managed to keep a job. But occasionally she flipped out running about screaming and shouting. Her son was a wild one. I was quite quiet and reserved. But he was full of energy and wanted to be heard. He was born on my predicted birthday and I was born 3weeks late on his predicted birthday. He had an older brother that lived with their dad in Gothenburg. When they moved my life was quite empty. My mum and me visited them frequently but it would end in a huge argument and my mum stopped visiting them. I kept going to gbg quite frequently I got interested in martial arts there as all the kids I was hanging out with trained some sort of martial art and it was for the purpose of beating ppl up and fight in general. A few years later I had established a group of friends there and at this time we also carried weapons, knifes, teargas, telescope batons and nunchuks, the gang, my friends, had already started hanging out in parks beating up gay men or ppl they thought were gay at least, and committees a few robberies. My first visit to the park with them was intended to rob and harm someone with the motive that he was going to be gay. I hade a knife that you pushed the blade out from the handle. One of the guys liked it and asked if he could carry it and I took his telescope baton as a trade for the evening. We all were clothes suitable for kicking and fighting and running and we were all warmed up and stretched so we could kick ppl in the head. After about 20 min looking for a victim we got stopped by the police, a van with 5 officers. The guy who carried my knife got arrested, they confiscated the rest of the weapons and I got a warning that if they saw me in gbg again I would be arrested. By this time I had a girlfriend in gbg so I visited almost every weekend. But the intention to rob and fight ppl slowly turned to burglary and vandalism instead. Every weekend we tried to break in some where or steel some thing. Mostly cigarettes and things that could be sold easily. The last few times I visited gbg the focus had turned to drugs. I was not interested in taking drugs at this time as I had started training Tae KwonDo (tkd) in Karlstad and it was going well. However I brought with me from gbg the drive and ideas of crime and burglary. For a few years it was a fine line between committing crimes and taking that rout on a more serious level and training tkd and trying to get an education. I think thanks to the tkd club and some of its members I managed to stay away from major problems. I was involved in some gang activity causing some issues in the city doing some burglary, steeling things and keeping stolen gods but at the same time social services had their eyes on me and I believe that they really did care at this stage. Their unit was called the youth unit and some of the staff there was really good to me.. some were proper arseholes and pushed me in to vandalism and threats to premises and staff. One member of staff fell in love with me and when she couldn’t see me any more she was crying. All I was thinking then was what the fuck are you insane woman?? I was in the process of getting a gun then and I managed to get a replica that I was going to use to rob and scare the shit out of some one. All I really wanted to do was to put the gun in some knobs face and make him piss him self the money would only be a bonus. That summer the violence in Karlstad vas incredible… every weekend there was fights and ppl bleeding on every street and that is no exaggeration. And biker gangs got involved and skinheads from whole Europe came to Karlstad to cause problems and to fight.

I was standing next to my mate who threw a brick at one biker members face. Only minutes before I tried to kick him in the head but he pulled a blade in my face so I had to retreat The problem with that was that that gang wanted to be part of hells angels so they had to do something about that situation. One of my friends ended up with a shotgun in his face and I had two of them making it clear to me, with ppl around, that we should back the fuck off. I think that I got away with a warning cos of my surname. My mum knew all the bikers and my sister (non biological) knew ppl from another big respected mc gang. I don’t know for sure that my family reputation saved my arse but it sure seem like it as my friends had weapons pulled at them.

to be continued

author, the eldest son of former criminal

This is the story  my eldest son tells about growing up in a family environment with heavy violence, illicit drugs and criminal people, all around him. When I first read it I was shaken, I was chocked and I whished, for the first time in my life, I could change history. But I cant, hopefully this story can help someone change their way of behaviors. The story starts in the mid 70s, in Sweden.

Kronoparken, in the newly built estate area. The red house blocks were a poor attempt to improve the image of this suburb. There were some “normal” people living there but the image and reputation is made by the people that are seen and heard. Alcoholics, junkies, thieves, robbers, drug dealers, murderers and a lot of other incompetent parents. We lived in house number 17. I smoked a cigg first time when I was about 4ish, I didn’t like it and I think that is why I don’t smoke tobacco today. I was always showing interest in cigarettes so my mum said do you want to smoke? Smoke then, here. She showed me what to do. I thought I was going to die so I lost interest in cigarettes. I don’t know, what else do you learn from having parents and family socialising with members from all these excentric professions? How to make a good pipe with nicely crumbled hash and the right amount of tobacco? How to forge a identity card? That your mum is getting enough sex? Or when she is about to get a good beating? How to hide drugs and take drugs, where to buy it, whos got it and how much does it cost? Or that the police and social service is not on your side, ever? I think being able to compartmentalize feelings of terror and shame, was one of the biggest lessons to learn as a pre school child.

Those Hippies, just don’t want to stop partying. Having kids doesn’t change anything. But the party is only a good experience for so long. When the drug and alcohol consumption continues, while a “boyfriend” isn’t let in one night and in rage, standing outside the kitchen, smashing the windows in with his hands. The Kid is crying and screaming with fear, knowing that if this man manages to get in, his mum will not recover for a long time. Again, and yet again the kid have to go to the shop, post office, or where ever, with his mum being Blue in the face. All events like this do not lead to a change in lifestyle. It only leads to learning how to swallow it and face the same people and similar situations over and over again.

We only lived in that flat for 2 or 3 years. But during that time our family established it self in this place as People that have/can get the drugs, and where there were always something going on. If I look back now thinking about it, if I was a neighbour to these people, I know what I would think. Fucking space wasters, get a job and that the social service should take their kids.

My sister was apprehended by social services before I was born, she is 9 years older than me. Someone found a syringe outside our door and reported it. She had to move to a foster home and I didn’t see her much. I missed her a lot. We don’t have much contact but I always feel close to her when I meet her. I feel like she doesn’t see me as a family member and that she sees me as part of the family that abandoned her. I wish it wasn’t like that and I think I tried to make efforts with her but it’s a one-way thing so I feel like im beginning to give up a bit. But people always feel more important than they are. Events that happen in our life’s mean fuck all to other people. Only the people intimately involved in ones life might be affected and or concerned or involved. But if your not that tight linked then you can live or die doesn’t matter. It seem like a harsh comment and emotionally incorrect and something that one wouldn’t agree on but realistically from an ego point of view, you would like to have more of an impact on other people in good and bad ways. Think about it with your own people that you call family/friends when was the last time they visited you, rang you, did something good for you just cos they cared or wanted to show how much they care about you. There is usually one or 2 that meet the standards and bless them but most people suck! The ones that don’t, love them the rest love them too and don’t let it get to you. Now when was the last time you called, visited or did something for someone except your best friend or the person you want to fuck! (Yes ! it wasn’t a “?” it was a statement) Before her, my sister that is, my mum was pregnant with a son, but he died during birth. I don’t know why. It makes me sad thinking about that I could have had a sister and a brother while growing up taking care of me. But I did it my self I guess. I don’t know the details of the life my mum had then and what happened. Only that she lost a lot of blood and they managed to save her but not the baby. Or perhaps these stories Im telling you now are just fabrications and lies as so many other things are, anyway its what I was led to believe happened to my siblings but maybe the reality is a lot worse. Its already quite bad so I cant see why the story actually should be any more positive in its nature.

To be continued:

author, the eldest son of former criminal father

Nu är det slut, nu är det äntligen över, nu får det vara nog, jag har ingen känsla kvar för dig längre. Jag har älskat dig över allt på denna jord, du har varit den eldigaste och mest kåta älskarinna jag någonsin har haft. Men det är kanske inte så konstigt, du har ju gjort mig blind för alla annat.

Nu är jag nyfiken på hur livet skall bli utan dig.

Vi har levat tillsammans i nästan 40 år och det har varit ett stormigt förhållande. Nu orkar jag inte längre, jag måste börja tänka på mig själv. Om du och jag fortsätter leva tillsammans kommer jag att dö, men du kommer klara dig utan mig. Du är ju odödlig och kommer alltid dra till dig nya förälskelser och nya kärleksrelationer. Jag vet jag kommer sakna dig och att jag alltid kommer försöka ljuga för mig själv för åter få inleda ett förhållande. Men då ska jag tänka på de gångerna när jag levde i misär och alla de hemska konsekvenser som min relation med dig har fört med sig för mig, mina kära och för en mängd andra människor som råkat komma i min närhet.

I början 1966 när vi var förälskade då levde vi livet, du och jag kunde försätta berg. Ingen eller ingenting kunde stå emot oss, vi var oövervinnliga.

Jag kommer ihåg stunder då jag kunde färdas 30 mil eller mer för att ha en kort seans med dig, det var tider det. Du konkurerade ut alla mina andra förhållanden, det var ju dig jag var kär i. Fy fan, hur dum kan man bli egentligen. Du har ju så otroligt många älskare och älskarinnor och alla tror de att de kan ha kontroll över dig. Lika jäkla dum var jag, jag kunde hantera dig det var min övertygelse i alla dessa år.

Men så kom det en dag då jag insåg, det var du som bestämde allt i mitt liv. Att jag inte fattade det långt tidigare övergår mitt förstånd. Du gjorde mig blind för allt som inte passade dig, du bestämde över mina val. Inte bara ibland, utan alltid – alltid. Gjorde jag inte som du sa, hypnotiserade du mig och intalade mig att du visste bäst vad som var bra för mig. Jag hade inte insett jag förlorat kontrollen över mitt liv, förrän den dagen.

Det låter som jag skyller ifrån mig, men jag var maktlös. Till råga på allt så blev du ju också sämre och sämre, jag gick omkring de senaste 20 åren och väntade på att allt skulle bli som förr. Men också då lurade du mig och sa, det berodde på mig själv, antingen att jag tog för lite eller att jag tog för mycket. När jag började tvivla på det så sa du att jag skulle ta en sväng till Holland, eller Polen eller Tyskland då skulle allt bli bättre. Javisst jag trodde på de lögnerna också, när jag började tvivla igen, då sa du receptet hade blivit lite fel och nästa gång skulle du bli bättre. Tvivlet kom tillbaka och då sa du jag skulle hälsa på hos A, eller B, eller X, eller Y och så vidare.

OK du får vara hur effektiv du vill för mig i fortsättningen, men jag ska göra allt jag kan för inte hamna i ditt garn igen. Jag har insett vi växt ifrån varandra och att du bara är ett gammalt vrak, precis så som jag själv var på god väg att bli. Du är inte vacker längre, du har inte åldrats med charm, du har ingen klass och du är ful i mina ögon.

Du har styrt allt i mitt liv, trots det kan jag inte säga, jag ångrar mig. Vem kan ångra ett så långt kärleksförhållande. Du har öppnat mina ögon för svårigheterna i livet, du har härdat mig, du har gjort mig tolerant, du har sopat bort många av mina fördomar och du har visat mig livets svåra sidor. Jag skulle aldrig ha kommit hit där jag är idag utan dig och för det älskar jag dig. Alla sensationer och extraordinära verklighetstillstånd som vi upplevt tillsammans, det är nog dessa jag kommer sakna allra mest. Min övertygelse, att det endast var genom dig jag kunde få tillgång till dem, jag har förstått du lurat mig där också. Jag tror de finns kvar i mitt hjärta någonstans och någon gång när jag minst anar det, kan de säkert visa sig utan dig.

Nu när jag förstått, jag saknar kontroll och är maktlös, har jag blivit övertygad om att det finns en annan kraft som är starkare än din. Nu har jag lagt mitt liv i denna krafts händer.

Från och med nu är det bara dåliga repriser du kan erbjuda mig. Jag skulle inte orka se mig själv i en spegel om jag skulle ta dig igen, jag skulle få svår ångest och börja tycka illa om mig själv om jag tog dig. Allt jag byggt upp under tiden jag varit ifrån dig skulle rasa samman. Alla goda krafter som samlats runt mig, för att skydda och stötta mig, skulle för alltid dra sig tillbaka. Jag skulle få så svåra konsekvenser av dig, att du förmodligen skulle ta mig med i min grav och det vill jag inte.

Jag vill leva resten av mitt liv i lugn ro. Jag vill utvecklas till den människa, jag vet är annorlunda, utan din påverkan. Jag är nyfiken på den människan. Jag vill lära känna mig själv och mina kära på ett sätt jag vet kommer bli annorlunda, än det sätt som hittills varit. Jag är nyfiken och kan knappt bärga mig. Jag vill inleda vänskaps relationer med ”vanliga” människor, men också med människor som liksom jag, tröttnat på dig. Jag vill utan dig utforska den goda världen som jag vet finns där, för att upptäckas. Jag vill att mitt fortsatta liv utan dig, ska vara värt att levas. Jag är nyfiken på varje ny dag och jag vill leva det värdiga livet. Jag vet mitt liv har varit, och är värt att levas.

Du har hindrat mig från det värdiga livet tidigare, du har till och med fått mig ta till vapen, bli beskjuten och skjuta tillbaka för att skydda dig. Jag har setat i fängelse under många år, när jag stulit, rånat och bedragit för få mer av dig. Det är inte det livet jag vill fortsätta leva. Jag vill upptäcka det livet jag inte tidigare, tillsammans med dig, har upptäckt.

Men jag vet du kommer alltid lägga ut snaror för att få mig fast igen och därför ska jag aldrig mer ha bråttom. Jag ska ha dig i minnet som den som fick mig dit där jag är idag och jag ska alltid veta, jag inte kunde komma längre tillsammans med dig.

Därför min älskade säger jag farväl. Och - trots allt ont – tack också för det goda. Tack för att du inte skadade mig mycket värre än du kunde ha gjort. Du tog nästan allt, men du sparade i alla fall mitt förstånd och du tog inte mitt liv.

exkriminell

 Även om jag hade ett seriöst och ärligt uppsåt att lägga av med kriminaliteten och amfetaminet, gällde det att kunna övertyga min omgivning om detta. Omgivningen var i detta fall frivården, personalen på fängelset, kriminalvårdsregionen som skulle bevilja utslussen (P56 vård utanför anstalt) samt kostnaden för denna och socialtjänsten som skulle teckna ansvarsförbindelsen, för tiden efter villkorlig frigivning (i regel ett år).

Samt, det kanske viktigaste, ens nära och kära. Utan deras stöd skulle det bli mycket svårt.

Jag som skriver denna artikel, har erfarenheter av hela kedjan av instanser som ska övertygas. Men trots att jag har mina nära och kära och ett gott socialt nätverk som stöttar mig, trots att jag har en utbildning att falla tillbaka på och trots att jag är fokuserad, målinriktad och ytterst seriös i mitt uppsåt – att lyckas – är det inte lätt.

Mitt arbete att avhålla mig från droger och kriminalitet, är ständigt pågående. I snart fyra år har jag varje morgon knutit min näve och lovat mig själv, idag ska bli en bra dag.

Men i morgon är en ny dag.

 Här är min berättelse.

Det tog 40 år av kriminalitet och missbruk innan jag bestämde mig, nu får det vara nog. Jag gjorde ett val, jag hade tröttnat. Nu fick det vara nog.

Jag hade suttit av tre kortare fängelsestraff under 2000-talet. Jag hade dessutom ett straff kvar som jag skulle avtjäna, 14 månader. Det straffet låg hos Hovrätten och jag förstod att det skulle bli fastställt.

När jag bestämde att nu får det vara nog, förstod jag att av myndigheterna måste jag kräva min rätt att få hjälp.  Jag förstod att jag var tvungen att synliggöra mig för att alla ovan nämnda parter skulle förstå, att denna man ska vi satsa på.

Av mina nära kunde jag bara önska att de ville ge mig tillit.

Mitt första steg var att visa mina nära och kära att jag hade ett ärligt och uppriktigt uppsåt. De trodde de på mig, fullt ut och gav mig sitt fulla stöd.

Steg två var att engagera mig i en organisation – KRIS – som arbetar för att hjälpa kriminella som vill lägga av.  De välkomnade mig.

Steg tre var att med hjälp av organisationen få en tillfällig bostad.  De hjälpte mig.

Steg fyra var att varje dag gå på NA-möten.  Där cementerades mitt beslut.

Steg fem var att  formulera en plan för hur jag skulle lyckas hålla fast vid mitt val också under verkställigheten.  Denna plan presenterade jag för Frivården. Vi tog gemensamt de nödvändiga kontakterna vid dels det fängelse jag skulle avtjäna straffet, dels Socialförvaltningen, dels de tänkbara p 56 placeringarna, dels sysselsättning och öppenvård under p 56an och slutligen, ett stödboende efter den villkorliga frigivningen.  Frivården, engagerade sig och gav mig fullt stöd.

Efter mitt val att förändra mitt liv, ställde jag in mig på ett fängelse utanför Södertälje för att påbörja min verkställighet. Väl där lämnade jag omedelbart in en anhållan om att få en plats vid behandlingsavdelningen. Jag blev intervjuad av personal från avdelningen och presenterade min plan. Reaktionen blev omedelbart positiv.

– Jag har aldrig tidigare träffat någon klient som presenterat en så konkret, fokuserad och realistisk verkställighetsplanering. I vanliga fall har klienterna en onyanserad och orealistisk bild av hur de vill ha det, sade min handledare.  En vecka efter intervjun, var jag på behandlingsavdelningen.  Min inställning under hela verkställigheten var fokuserad, målinriktad och seriös. Därför gavs jag också ett oreserverat stöd.  Min handledare hjälpte mig att hitta rätt i djungeln av behandlingsalternativ.

Under hela tiden jag satt inne finslipade vi tillsammans den planering jag hade haft med mig.

Med den här berättelsen vill jag säga att jag fick det stöd jag kunde kräva av Frivården och av Kriminalvården. Utan deras aktiva medverkan hade jag kanske inte lyckats så väl som jag gjort. Men de e för jävligt att man måste kräva att få stödet. Och man måste vara jävligt inriktad på målet hela tiden. 

Men jag vill också framhålla att jag anser mig själv vara privilegierad. Jag menar att en mycket stor andel av fångarna inte har de förutsättningarna som jag har. Många saknar ett socialt nätverk, de saknar utbildning, de saknar i princip förutsättningar för att kunna klara sig. Här vilar ett enormt ansvar på Kriminalvården att ge dem som saknar förutsättningarna, men som vill en förändring, chansen.

Men det är framförallt det egna valet som är avgörande. Och man måste hitta något som väger upp – det trots allt ansvarslösa fria livet som kriminell/narkoman – Något som är mera lockande.

 Sensmoral; Man måste vara jävligt frisk för att lyckas!!!

Exkriminell; är utbildad journalist vid Journalisthögskolan i Stockholm 1986-87. Har arbetat som freelance och varit anställd vid tidningsredaktioner. Numera sysselsätter han sig med freelance journalistik och ideellt stöd för privatpersoner, organisationer och föreningar.

Vad är en gangster?       Medlem i en subkultur bestående av löst sammansatta grupperingar av människor, med ett gemensamt arbete/intresse av kriminalitet och droger. Medlemmarna byter med jämna intervaller grupperingar och bygger på så sätt ett stort kontaktnät av människor med de gemensamma intressena som värdegrund. De tillbringar dessutom många långa gemensamma år på institutioner/fängelser, där nätverket knyts samman och utvecklas.

Jag är född någon gång på 1950-talet i en liten stad i västra Sverige. Det första minnet jag har av någon kriminell var min morbror, min Gudfar; han höll mig när jag döptes.  

Han var i den tidens kriminella kretsar (fängelsekunder dömda till internering) känd som ”Baronen”, anledningen till det var att han gjorde en omfattande bedrägeriserie mot ”högreståndsfamiljer” i Sverige. Bedrägerierna gick till som så att han tillsammans med ett koppel flickor – dessa flickor skulle liksom ”smörja” hans blivande långivare – reste runt i landet. Han presenterade sig som en tysk Baron som under andra världskriget flytt från Tyskland. Anledningen till flykten var att han inte sympatiserade med nazisterna.    Detta tema var alldeles utmärkt väl formulerat och den svenska adeln föll som käglor för den väl artikulerande rysk/finska gangstern, som dessutom hade; den rätta preussiska högreståndsaccenten, i sitt tyska uttal.      Han behövde låna medel för att kunna återvända till det krigshärjade Tyskland för att ta sitt arv, familjens gods, i ”besittning”. 

Tillbaka till mitt minne: Jag var fyra år och höll min far och min Gudfar i handen. Vi väntade på att ett tåg skulle anlända till stadens Centralstation. I en del av tågets vagnar fanns finska flickor, de hade kommit till Sverige för att arbeta i stadens textilindustri.      Vid de samtal som följde kunde jag fatta så pass mycket att somliga flickor erbjöds en ”bättre” tillvaro än att arbeta skift på en skitig textilfabrik. Jag frågade min morbror ”varför har du så många fruar …”? Han svarade, ”det är för att jag bara har en lunga och kan inte arbeta, därför arbetar mina fruar åt mig …”    

Den typen av frågor upprepades under årens lopp och den typen av kryptiska svar återupprepades likaså. Enkelt och koncist, men det tog många år innan jag så småningom förstod innebörden i vad han egentligen menade?  En långsam inlärning,  Det finns inga genvägar!   Detta är den uråldriga modellen i denna subkulturs metodik för inlärning. Det finns inga genvägar! Du måste själv finna din väg, den ”rätta” vägen i denna värld av kriminalitet. Går du snett där, då går du vilse och då stoppas din bana. Det finns inga genvägar! 

Frihetsberövanden, åren gick fort, jag förhärdades och växte in i den kriminella världen. Jag fick hela tiden göra mina lärosteg, ett misstag leder till eget fängelsestraff.       Misstag som drabbar den egna kretsen är inte accepterade. Jag var väldigt vaken och fokuserad, jag hade tur eller så hade jag ”änglavakt”. Mina fel och brister drabbade ingen i min krets. Jag fick göra min tid på ”ungdomsvårdsskola”, drygt ett år. Jag fick göra mina ”fängelsevoltor”, sammanlagt cirka sju år. Jag förhärdades ännu mer och hade hela tiden en plats i den kriminella hierarkin. 

Knarket, centralstimulerande medel, det började på 60-talet med Preludin, därefter Fenmetralin och sedan Amfetamin. Knark, en metod att stimulera kriminaliteten och att ytterligare legitimera livsstilen och ta sin plats i den kriminella subkulturen.  

Brotten, på 60-talet inbrott, stölder, bedrägerier och narkotikabrott. På 1960-70talen ”bombades” trakten där jag bodde av narkotika, centralstimulerande medel. Det fanns hur mycket som helst. Jag hade i princip ”fri tillgång”.     Det blev ”krig” mellan olika rivaliserande grupper. Det blev otäckt, det hittades döda människor i skogarna. Somliga var inte ens ”saknade”.  

Dags att byta bransch. 70-tal, vi kände till varenda skogsväg i trakterna. Bank/Postrån, det var enkelt det gav snabba cash, det blev ett antal tills vi närapå ”torskade”.  

Dags att byta bransch. Sälja narkotika, det fanns en marknad, men man fick inte bli för ”stor”. Lagom tolererades. Bra med flera lokala aktörer med leverantörer från andra avlägsna orter. Svårare för polisen att hålla ”koll”. Blev för stor.  

Dags att byta bransch. Flera grova stölder, tillsammans med kriminella som jag presenterades för. ”Hej de e Baby, jag vill presentera dig för en förmåga. Han rör sig vant både bland katter å hermeliner”. Det blev flera stora stötar, vi åkte på turné tillsammans med turnéledare för beställda ”arbetsuppgifter”.   Åk dit, bryt, spräng och/eller packa det som ska hämtas, leverera och få betalt. Lätt som en plätt.  Torskade, har aldrig haft en målskamrat, då behöver man inte vara orolig för att det ska bli fel. Tog mitt straff, det ingår i den kriminella livsstilen. De e bara å vissla, bita ihop och se glad ut.

Dags att byta bransch. Bedrägerier, grova sådana. Mycket pengar, cash varje månad under flera års tid. Ingen att dela med, tappade fokus och knarkade alldeles för mycket. Månad efter månad, år efter år fyllde jag i en blankett, signerade den och väntade på avin med pengarna.        Det blev kaos och förfallet eskalerade. Jag var fast i min tro på min egen fullkomlighet, jag var torsk både på mig själv och på knarket. Ensam, totalt nerknarkad allt jag tog i mat, cigg allt smakade tjack, mitt svett som alltid rann ur mina porer var rent tjack. Jag var smal, fladdrig och hade inte ens förstånd att vara ”nojig”. Men en enda sak förstod jag, att; snart torskar jag.   

Garderade mig och mycket riktigt, blev hämtad av polis. Tidigt en morgon, två Ekopoliser med dragna vapen, med orden: ”God morgon …, nu har vi dig på minst fyra år så de e bara å packa å följa me här”. Garderingen lyckades, jag gick loss.   

Dags att byta bransch. Försökte, försökte och försökte igen, men inget fungerade längre. Alla sensationer hade tagit slut. De extraordinära verklighetstillstånden infann sig inte längre.            

Dessutom, mina nära och kära hade börjat tröttna på mig.   

Började leta efter nåt, men jag visste inte vad. Kanske, var det en möjlighet att kunna sluta?  Jag  hade precis muckat, påtänd och fulladdad med tjack och ytterligare 14 månader att göra, som låg hos Hovrätten, för tjack och vapen.   

Bara en tidsfråga innan jag ”flög” på nytt. Saknade beredskap, totalt nerknarkad, kaos och helt   utan framförhållning. Ett hekto tjack, en timme i taget och ytterligare år på kåken var vad som väntade. ­      DÅ;  kom ”Kusin” …  med en ny sensation!!  HÄHÄHÄ  -Tjjjenaaaa, kusiiin! Va faaan håller du på me? Åk å lämna tillbaka tjacket, Gå å lägg dig å sov, å sen kommer du ner till KRIS.   

Den stora, starka, elaka, tokiga, galna och superkriminelle gangstern …, en mycket god gammal vän i gangstervärlden. Jag kände inte igen honom, lugn, stabil, trygg och nyktert leende sa han; ”kan jag så kan du”.         Då slog det mig plötsligt, det är detta jag har letat efter. Nu har jag chansen, tar jag den inte nu kommer den aldrig igen.                                               Jag frågade?      Han berättade!       Jag nappade.   

Jag slutade att vara gangster december 2005. 

exkriminell

Tja, jag är född i en förort till en stad någonstans i Sverige, nån gång i slutet av 1970-talet. Min morsa var bara 20 år när jag föddes och hon hade väl inte lekt färdigt själv. Hon fick det i alla fall jävligt jobbigt med mig. Jag var mycket ensam de första åren i mitt liv, jag började elda och rymma hemifrån, jag klottrade och protesterade genom att göra saker jag inte fick göra. Jag hade väldigt svårt för att sitta stilla och det gjorde att lärarna inte visste vad de skulle göra med mig, deras metod för att få mig lugnare var att flytta mig från 1:a klass till en 4:e klass där jag skulle sitta och ha lektioner. Å de funka ju inte alls, mellan 1:a och 3:e klass flyttades jag runt mellan sex olika skolor i och runt förorten där jag bodde.

De enda gångerna då jag var lugn och harmonisk under min uppväxt var när jag fick vara hos mormor och morfar. Hos dem fick jag mycket kärlek och värme det är så jag mindes det att vara som en del i en familj. Min morfar och jag var mycket ute och fiskade och de visade mig hur det skulle kunna vara att ha en familj.

När jag var nio år orkade morsan inte med mig mera. Jag placerades i en fosterfamilj, och det var tungt. Jag åkte ifrån betongförorten och hamnade i ett radhusområde, hos en familj som hade tre egna barn. De gjorde säkert sitt bästa för att jag skulle ha det bra men det var svårt att se dem som min familj, jag hade svårt att slappna av. Men jag lyckades i alla fall stanna hos dem tills jag var 15 år och hade då klarat av grundskolan hyfsat. När jag bodde hos dem tog jag mig min första fylla, då kände jag mig avslappnad för första gången sen jag kom dit och det var lättare att snacka med tjejer.

Jag flyttade hem till morsan igen och började på gymnasiet, jag skulle bli kock. Det var bra på gymnasiet tyckte jag, men där började jag röka hasch och umgås med äldre kamrater. Vi slogs mycket, var med tjejer, höll på mycket med skadegörelser och så söp vi. Jag blev för det mesta dyngrak.

Jag flyttade hemifrån när jag var 16 år, hyrde en lägenhet tillsammans med en polare. Men jag fortsatte att begå en massa brott och det dröjde inte länge innan jag vart kickad från skolan. Sen träffade jag en annan grupp polare, vi var fyra stycken och jag var väl den som var drivande i den gruppen. Jag tyckte att vi hade en schysst sammanhållning, men efter ett tag när vi hade gjort en del brott och ett rån tillsammans, visade det sig att det bara var jag som gick vidare in i kriminaliteten.

Rånet ja, mitt första. Vi planerade det tillsammans, en livsmedelsbutik, och när vi gjorde det var jag livrädd. Det var väl adrenalinet som gav den känslan, men när vi hade klarade av det ”kickade” jag rejält. Jag blev kung, hade pengar och bestämde mig där och då för att jag skulle bli kriminell. Ja, det var väl där jag bytte inriktning i livet. Jag började planera för mina brott. Jag åkte fast första gången för grov stöld och misshandel. Jag hade snott nycklarna till ett kassaskåp och senare så gick jag in och rensade det. Men som sagt, jag torskade. Anhållen och häktad i två veckor, jag var 17 år då och upplevde det som jävligt tufft. Jag beslutade mig för att detta vill jag inte ha i fortsättningen. Jag fick inget frihetsberövande straff och det tog bara en halv dag så var jag ute med polarna igen. Det går snabbt att glömma eländet av att sitta häktad och de löften man ger sig själv. Men jag visste inget annat.

Sen gick det snabbt att gå in i den tunga kriminaliteten. Jag började med amfetamin höll på ett halvt år sen bytte jag drog till ”roppar” (Rohypnol) i ett halvår, sen extacy och jag ”kickade fett” på drogerna. Men drogerna gjorde att jag drog mig undan från de sociala kontakterna, jag kände mig rädd och otrygg och fick en känsla av avund på människor som hade bra sociala relationer. Men jag slutade inte knarka och gick vidare in i kriminaliteten.

Det blev flera grova rån, postkontor, banker och värdetransporter. Jag var bara 21 år och hade mer pengar än jag klarade av att göra av med. Jag var kung, gick på krogen och levde rövare. Min tjej fick uppleva en hel del elände, hon fick se mycket skit. Men jag var fast i den kriminella världen och tyckte att det var en schysst sammanhållning. Jag fortsatte och körde på stenhårt och när jag åkte fast så var det rejält. Tre grova rån.  

Jag hade ju aldrig setat i fängelse och häktad hade jag bara varit en gång tidigare. Jag tyckte att det var jävligt jobbigt och tog nya beslut där uppe på häktet. Jag var ju häktad med restriktioner och på sätt och vis tyckte jag att det samtidigt var skönt, kunde äntligen plocka av mig den där stenhårda ”masken” som jag ständigt gick omkring och bar på. Jag tog ett nytt beslut att; nu får det vara nog.

När jag kom till fängelset, domen blev 3 år, klarade jag inte av att hålla mitt beslut. Det blev ”mask på” och tuffa attityden, allt vi snackade om under de där två åren jag satt var gamla brott och att planera för nya brott.

Det var jävligt ”beige” att sitta inne och för att kunna hålla upp varvet var de, det snacket som gällde. Under tiden som jag satt lyckades jag komma in i permissionsgång. Jag blev också far till en son. Lagom till förlossningen lyckades jag få en särskild permission och var med när min son föddes.

   Men jag fattade inte allvaret med att jag blivit far. Jag tyckte att jag var jävligt duktig och att jag skötte mina permissioner bra, när jag i själva verket bara var hos min son en timma. Resten av permissionstiden var jag ute och planerade för nya rån. När jag kom tillbaka till fängelset var jag fulladdad med knark, men jag lyckades trots allt få till en paragraf 34 placering som det hette på den tiden. (P56, vård utanför anstalt, vårdvistelse).

På behandlingshemmet skulle jag börja snacka om mina känslor, det var jävligt svårt, jag var för det mesta bara tyst. Men jag märkte något hos mina kamrater som var där, det fanns något i deras ögon. Jag tror att det var ärlighet, lycka och harmoni, kanske ville de verkligen lägga av? Men jag fattade inte. Jag var så full av hat mot samhället, och auktoriteter.

 Jag muckade och lämnade behandlingshemmet. När jag gick sa min behandlingsassistent att det skulle gå åt helvete, hon visste ju att jag inte var redo.  Mina polare och jag körde på med nya rån, det blev mycket våld också. Jag sökte upp problemen och jag var väldigt lättkränkt, då vart lösningen våld. Egentligen var det bara jag som var väldigt liten.

Jag var ute sex månader och det var knark och rån hela tiden. Vi hade ju polisen efter oss som spanade och så slog de till när vi skulle göra ett nytt rån.   Jag fick tre och ett halv nya år plus att jag hade ett år kvar på det gamla straffet. Efter den domen blev jag häktad igen, misstänkt för ytterligare rån, då blev det häktning med restriktioner och jag kunde äntligen släppa av mig ”masken” igen. Jag rannsakade mig själv och kom återigen fram till att det inte var det här jag ville. Jag fick ytterligare tre och ett halvt år.

Åtta år, jag hamnade på Kumla först, sedan Mariefred, Hall och Malmö kåkarna. Jag hade det jävligt jobbigt och i vanlig ordning dövade jag med knark. Det blev en hel del våld på anstalterna också. Sista året var verkligen mörkt, jag kände mig kränkt och funderade hela tiden på hur jag skulle kunna hämnas.

Jag fick också suicidtankar, vad innebar mitt liv? Då började jag prata med en psykolog och gå några av de program Kriminalvården erbjuder. Men det var halvhjärtat, halva jag ville leva som en bandit och resten ville inte.   Jag funderade mycket om vad jag egentligen ville med mitt liv och i den vevan kom jag ihåg ögonen och det ärliga uppsåtet jag tyckt mig se hos mina kamrater på behandlingshemmet jag varit på. Åtskilliga av dessa hade ju faktiskt lyckats med att förändra sina liv.

Jag sökte och fick en ny P34:a till en behandling. När jag var där gick jag in med 100 procent för en förändring och mina kamrater ville verkligen att det skulle gå bra för mig.     Jag märkte att de började lita på mig, tillit är något som stavas på samma sätt åt båda hållen och jag började lita på dem. De gav mig en chans och jag började kunna prata om mina känslor.

   Självhjälpsgrupperna AA, NA och DAA var något jag tvingade mig att gå på första gången på behandlingshemmet men nu gick jag in och lyssnade och fattade att det var ärliga människor som satt där och berättade om sina känslor.  Jag gick på flera möten om dagen de första sex månaderna, nu går jag ungefär tre gånger i veckan. Mötena och mitt jobb på den KRISavdelning, någonstans i Sverige som jag arbetar på, är väl huvudorsaken till att jag fortfarande efter drygt ett och ett halv år fortfarande är drogfri och ärlig/hederlig.

   Nu vet jag vem jag är och känner mig själv. Jag gottgör dagligen för att kunna betala av den skuld och skam jag orsakat i mitt tidigare liv, jag träffar min son och han är verkligen ett lyft för mig.

   Jag jobbar med mig själv som fan och går på massor av anstalts- och häktesbesök, håller föreläsningar och tar mitt ansvar för att hjälpa andra som vill ha en förändring i sina liv. Att kunna gå på anstalter och berätta för de frihetsberövade när de är som mest motiverade är något som jag av erfarenhet vet är väldigt effektivt. Det är när man är häktad som man är redo för en förändring och det är då jag gör mitt viktigaste jobb både för dem och för mig själv.

Exkriminell

Det har hänt två gånger den senaste veckan att en person i min närhet har stövlat in i min tillvaro och rört upp i mitt inre så att kaos nära på inträffat. Nu i eftertankens kranka blekhet och efter en veckas ingående analys av den första händelsen inträffade det idag igen. Personen stövlar åter in i min tillvaro och rör upp ett hav av imorse ännu ej helt klarlagda känslor.

Nu har jag förstått att det handlar om en rädsla, hos personen i fråga, att hamna utanför en gemenskap. En rädsla att jag ska få tillgång till för mycket tid i en gemenskap där den rädde tror sig bli ställd utanför. Men denna analys av dessa händelser kan inte jag kommunicera med personen ifråga, därför att personen reagerar på min ton i mitt uttal i stället för att lyssna på vad jag har att säga. Personen ifråga hör bara mitt tonfall och inget mer, då blir jag osäker.

I detta läge, för att skydda mig själv, kapitulerar jag och beter mig som jag gjorde för 20 år sedan. Jag blir frustrerad därför att de kloka saker jag försöker förmedla inte tas emot, utan upplevs som ett påhopp. Även positiv kritik upplevs av personen som ett påhopp. Då blir jag elak och säger saker jag inte vill säga!!

Sedan blir jag ledsen, arg och rädd och ska försöka förklara för mig själv varför personen beter sig så emot mig. Det är då de kommer; förklaringarna! Det jag tror är avsikten? Och då vet jag ju helt plötsligt att det är mig det är fel på och börjar tvivla på mitt eget uppsåt? Beter jag mig som en otrevlig gammal gubbe? Är jag en elak person? Vill jag egentligen inte vara hederlig och drogfri? Dessa och andra destruktiva negativa energislukande känslor och tankar snurrar runt i kroppen och om jag inte är väldigt fokuserad och medveten just då så kan det dra iväg med mig till där jag var för knappt fyra år sedan. Knark och kriminalitet, det vill jag inte.

Då ere bara å bita ihop, vissla o se glad ut! Så jag tog med mig Techno min 54 kg varghybrid och gick en terapeutisk promenad med honom i skogen. Rensade ut alla tankar ur huvudet och bara fokuserade på nu, skog, hund, omgivning och att alltid vara den tiondels sekunden före hunden i nuet. Då går det inte att ha några snurriga destruktiva energislöseri känslor och tankar, varken i kroppen eller medvetandet. Då är det nu som gäller.

Klart medvetande, fokuserad realism, inga sårade känslor och en ny analys av läget. Jepp, de va nära ögat, men fokus på vad som är det viktigaste för mig gjorde att; De blev en bra da ida me. Dessutom, idag är jag en sådan egoist när jag prioriterar och gör mina val; min drogfrihet går före allt annat. Och, idag tog jag inget knark och imorgon lovar jag mig själv att inte ta något då heller. En dag i taget och det viktigaste först!

Exkriminell

Han förstår varenda gest eller signal min kropp signalerar, om han inte förstår allt jag säger lägger han huvudet på sned och tittar uppmärksamt på mig. Då har jag en chans att förhålla mig till mig själv på ett sådant sätt att han förstår. Det är helt och hållet upp till mig att prata med honom, han bara signalerar på sitt o-dramatiska och omedelbara sätt att han har förstått.

Om jag behöver prata av mig då lyssnar han. Sedan är det upp till mig att tolka det jag har berättat för honom, eftertanke ger en ypperlig chans att omvärdera. Om jag märker att han fnyser åt mig då är jag fel ute.

Det allra bästa med min egen privata terapeut är att jag kan lita på honom till 100 procent, han för aldrig nåt jag har sagt vidare. Han är inte lösmynt och han är definitivt inte speciellt pratglad. Ibland skäller han på mig och det har hänt att jag fått värsta utskällningen, men det är då av den anledningen att jag struntat i hans signaler. Då tittar han snett på mig och undrar om jag inte är med längre. Han tvingar mig att hålla fokus, jag får aldrig släppa uppmärksamheten på de viktigaste bitarna.

Ja det är jäkligt skönt att ha en så bra och omtänksam terapeut, han tjatar aldrig och han är tolerant och älskar den frihet jag ger honom i hans arbete. Jag älskar den frihet han ger mig i mitt arbete. Ja, vi kompletterar varandra helt enkelt. Han ger mig stöd i det arbete jag varje dag måste uträtta för att hålla fokus på att inte falla tillbaka i missbruk och kriminalitet.

Ja, det är härligt med den omedelbara enkla terapin. Den ögonblickliga förståelsen av de enkla saker som tidigare varit så jävla svåra,  komplicerade och fullständigt omöjliga att förstå. Det räcker med en blick och en liten gnutta positiv energi för att förstå att; Vafan, va de så jävla enkelt?!

Exkriminell/Techno