At 17, I was in a high-speed chase with the cops—behind the wheel of a stolen car.

Heart pounding as sirens closed in.

When the tires screeched and the car slammed into the side of a house.

I reached for a gun.

Ready to end it…

But the gun got stuck.

That moment should have been the end. Instead, it was a new beginning.

“What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.”

It was the first time I ever felt it: someone that believed in me.

But then I got transferred to Portage, a rehab facility for troubled youth.