I have walked with sobriety for 44 years. During this time, I've reclaimed my inner voice and inner child, which were lost after 11 years at the Kamloops residential school. I use my voice to write stories and poems, including one called “The Monster" about my devastating experiences at residential school. I've also written a book, and am writing another. I'm known as “The Word Warrior."
When you're a child you have no idea why they're [residential school staff] treating you like a dog. They hit you with their fists or open hands. They kick you in the butt or in the ribs. They punish you severely even if you're innocent. They strap you with thick leather on the palm of your hands, then turn your hand downwards. They strap you on the knuckles. They strap you on your bare behind.
I was sexually abused. I told the school principal, but he told me I was telling lies about a good man. My mom told me I was her beautiful boy and a mean nun said I was “an ugly boy." The word “ugly" really hurt me. I didn't know the federal government and the Catholic church had a policy, “to kill the Indian in the child." But I created my own policy to keep the Indian alive.
I left residential school and went home. Would you believe I didn't know what a dream was? I didn't know what hope was. I didn't know how to be a father or an uncle. I didn't have any life skills. I didn't know how to work. Feeling hopeless, I turned to drinking and doing drugs. I was a weekend drinker at first, and then it got worse. I became a wino and a druggie.
I did anything for a drink. I was blind to the hurt I was causing my family and friends. I drank every day. I would get up at five in the morning and start drinking. My drinking got worse. I started drinking Lysol. I slept in the back alleys beside the dumpsters. I ate food from the dumpsters. In my mind, I was a drunken Indian. I was living in darkness for a long time.
I hit bottom. It seemed to me that no one loved me. I was in a living hell. I took a knife and stabbed myself, attempting suicide. When that didn't work, I put a loaded rifle under my chin. “Take the easy way out," I figured. I could picture my sexual abuser and the residential school staff laughing at me. Coaxing me to pull the trigger. “Go ahead pull the trigger. We want to see you die. We want you to go to hell."
Anger stirred in me. My mind spoke! “No! I'm not going to pull the trigger. I don't want to die. I'm not going to give the satisfaction to my sex abuser that I died. I'm not going to give the satisfaction to the residential school that I died." I put the rifle away.
It was so hard to change my life. I had to start at the beginning. I was afraid of change. I was afraid to enter the new me. I had to discover myself, throw out the garbage, and replace it with honour and respect. One day I went back to the residential school. I gave back the shame, the hurt, the rage and fear – it didn't belong to me. It never belonged to me.
For some years I've been invited to numerous events to share my stories of residential school, my experience of drugs and alcohol, and my healing. Today I'm proud to say that I am still here. I am the leader of my own choices. I am a mountain, and I teach others to look up and touch the sky.
Read Wellness Champion Shannon Alec's story:
https://www.fnha.ca/about/news-and-events/news/wellness-champion-shannon-alec-shares-her-courageous-story-of-recovery
Read the stories of last year's recovery wellness champions:
https://www.fnha.ca/about/news-and-events/news/two-fnha-recovery-wellness-champions-share-their-stories
If you or somebody you care about is looking for more information about treatment centres, including referrals, locations and descriptions, visit our Treatment Centres webpage.
