Key Moments Turning Points: Amy Gingrich

At 6 years old, I was a friendly, outgoing child. I loved horses, and I talked a lot. People tell me even now that I have good “people skills.” In elementary school, I got A’s and was really good in math.

My parents divorced when I was 3, but my mom did a good job raising us kids alone. One time a boyfriend she moved in with told her she had to choose between him and her kids. She chose us, but she had to sell my horse to afford a place for us to live.

In seventh grade, things changed. I developed early, and looked older than my age. I felt fat. I noticed I was in the nerd crowd. I wasn’t pretty enough to be a cheerleader, and I wasn’t good in sports.

I started drinking a lot at 12. I babysat for a woman whose friend, a 23-year-old man, hung around when I was there. He told me I was pretty. We drank for about two months together. I knew I shouldn’t be doing it, but I liked it. I thought it was cool, and I was getting away with something. One day, he got me high on acid, and we had sex. I remember thinking afterward, “Oh my God! What have I done?”

I got dressed, and I ran away from home. I hitchhiked from Kirkland, Wash., to Tacoma. I left because I thought if anyone in my family knew what I’d done with that 23-year-old man, they would think I was a slut. It wasn’t rape.

My life since then has been filled with alcohol, drugs, prostitution and crime. I’ve been in prison nine times on drug-related charges, some very serious charges. I have a 14-year-old son. He lives with my mom, and he has attention deficit disorder. I screwed up his life pretty bad.

During my teen years on the street, caring adults did try to help me. My mom was always there for me, no matter what. She always said, “You are better than this.” One woman named Linda, an outreach worker in Tacoma, would see me all beaten up and offer to place me in crisis residential homes. She kept telling me, “You don’t have to get beat up.”

I don’t know why I didn’t listen. I just never felt I deserved anything.

I’m always hopeful that my life will get better. I’m always hopeful in prison. I was trained in the construction field my time in prison before this. I moved to a halfway house and got a great union job that paid $15 an hour. One day, though, I walked away with my paycheck and went on an alcohol and drug binge. That’s why I’m back in again. I’m in the prison’s therapeutic community now and receiving counseling.

Until I can forgive myself for all the things I’ve done that are so awful, I’ll either end up dying or be in prison the rest of my life.

It’s easy for me to do time. Give me a bed and three meals, and I’m cool. Prison seems safe for me, and it’s the only time I’m clean.