Criminal Rebilitation part I

I am living proof that criminals can be rehabilitated even years after there crimes have been tried, settled and time has bee served. The first time I was in trouble with the law I was a minor; breaking entering. I got two years  probation. I swore to myself that I would never get in trouble again. But like the first time alcohol played a significant role in my criminal behavior. As a child of severe sexual, physical and mental abuse and raised without any direction or guidance or even a moral compass; it seemed natural that my future was to drop out of high school and live as a career criminal. Was that really my destiny, a national statistic.
Fully dysfunctional family, divorced parents, alcoholic parents; a father who was not there and a violent mother who did not care, raise on welfare and food stamps. Growing up I never knew when we would eat a decent meal, or when she would be in a good mood. I could definitely count on one thing; I was going to be beaten sometime very soon, or dragged out of at 3:00 a.m. by my drunk mother beating us (us being me and my siblings). A year before my 20 year old brother died when I was 10 years old he sodomized me in the middle of the night when nobody was home (of course).
I have a serious sleeping disorder PTSD, Depressive Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, Cognitive Disorder, and last but not least Impulse Control Disorder. By the time I was thirteen years old I begin to show serious mental illness and anxiety issues. I was not very long be I the booze and drugs found me. I ran away from my grandmothers where my auntie abused me as well. I took off to Tacoma, Washington with some older run away teenagers.
Looks like the streets of any city anywhere are safer than home. At least if some one rapes and murders me I will at least expect it. But the truth was I found refuge on those streets with the other street kids. I was pretty street wise myself, a little gullible too and a little too trusting. But I managed to feed my self  find shelter with the other kids and soon discovering my homosexuality. I was young and pretty; the older kids were attracted to me and taught me that sex was a means of survival. The more tricks I turned the more I was valued in the group. I was a money machine. My johns were usually dirty old mean that smelled, and occasional priest, aristocrat, or politician. I was fourteen years old but I was safe on the streets of Tacoma and soon L.A.
The city of angels really rolls out the red carpet for pretty sixteen year old boy. I was given a car, apartment and the third day I was there I was on yacht cruising to Catalina. Amazing is; I had arrived so I thought.