Saved By Art

Hello... My name is whatever you wish to call me. If you want you can call me nameless. Im a young man living in Houston, Texas. This is my story.
Ever since I was a little boy my familly always told me I would never amount to anything. I was a worthless mistake. My father was always drunk and he beat me often. We lived in a run down house on the east side near the ship channel. The thick air from all the oil plants made me very sick all the time and we couldn't afford a doctor. Even if we could they wouldn't care enough to take me.
My passion in life has always been drawing. Since I was five, I could always find refuge from life's problems in my art. Often my mother would rush in and tear my artwork up and say it was a waste of time and paper. I went to school every day to an area not much better then home. I was a poor child and my shoes always had holes in them. My clothes came from goodwill and whatever I could find in the dumpster and other kids always picked on me and beat me up after school. They called me a little pussy for my drawings and through them in the garbage. I remember having my first suicidal thoughts at the age of eight.
I thought life was horrible and I couldn't be lower until my father died of heart failure. He apparently drank himself to death. At first I was filled with happiness yet I knew that as bad a daddy as he was, he was my father. We lost our home to the bank and were forced into a half way house where drugs and needles always were strung across the floor. I continued to draw on toilet paper and yellow book pages but often the other people took them for blunt papers. My mother always cried that it was my fault and that i was a little monster. She comitted suicide when I was twelve.
The police came to the house and took me away to a place called a foster home where a familly put me back in school. I was twelve years old in the 3rd grade. I was so lonely there that my only friends were the people I drew to keep me company. One day I was walking home from School when I saw a man begging for change on the rode. He looked hunger, like he hadn't eaten in a week. All I had was the money I had saved for two months to buy some pencils and paper; only three dollars. I looked at the money and all my hard work looking across parking lots and sidewalks. I walked back to the man and gave him the money. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said thank you. Thats all the first time anyone has ever helped me. I sat down beside him and reached in my pocket. I pulled out the drawing I made that day. It was a man, a woman, and a child...all happy together. I gave it to him and he asked, "Is this your family"? I began to cry and in a whimper said no. those people are what I want. He put his arm around me and we sat together for a while. Before I went he told me somthing ill treasure to this day those words were, "I LOVE THE ART". I never saw that man again but those words gave light to the long road that was my life. I got a little better at my art every day and I drew every day. When I turned fourteen I got a job selling the Houston Chronical at the local Krogers. I made enough money to buy art stuff... colored pencils, markers, paper, everything I needed.
One day in fith grade my teacher pulled me outside. He told me that I couldn't draw anymore at school and if he caught me then he wouldn't let me pass. That day it rained and I had to walk home cause the bus didn't go that far. The rain poured down and blended with my tears. I couldn't tell which made more water. I took shelter from the rain behind an old store and I sat there and cried. I slept there in that alley that night in a barrel i turned over and squeezed into. The next day I woke up soaked to the bone and dirty all over. Those words hummed in my head, " I love the art", but even then I wassn't listening. I found an old piece of glass and cut my wrists hoping to die and do away with it all. All the pain. All the misery. just all. As I fell asleep into what I felt was death I saw a face that I only saw once but it was a face that cared.
I woke up in a weird place. everything was white and people rushed around. needles like the ones at the half way house were in my arms and i was wearing a white dress. A gentle hand was put on my head. It was a beautiful woman. I asked if I was dead. She giggled and replied no, your in the hospital.
I spent many weeks in classes to teach me and show me how to live happily. In my room, the doctors would bring me paper, pencils, and good food, like I never had before. I could draw and eat all I wanted. One day the doctor came in to see me and saw a drawing I had just done. He asked me if he could have it. I couldn't speak. In almost tears I said yes. A few days later he came back with another man in a nice suit. This man was college teacher at the Arts Institution of Houston. He told me that that drawings I made were better then some of the ones done by artists three times his age and wanted to have me tested for an IQ... They put me through a bunch of weird questions and then put me back in my room. A couple minutes later they came in and sat down. They said I was one of the smartest people they'd ever seen. I told them that I was fourteen and in the fith grade. They told me it didn't matter because I was smart in a different way. They also told me that because of my past that I could go to ninth grade. I had never been happier. I felt like all the problems in the past had all gone away and now I was a new person. All the things my father and mother told me, all that didn't matter cause a doctor told me I was smart. Its been ten years since then and now I run my own graphics company. I call it Fracture Graphics. I make alot of money and I have a beautiful wife and a little boy and girl. I make sure I tell them how much I love them every day and never let them go without.

My story is important I think because it shows that no matter what happens to you and no matter what your past. You can make your dreams come true.