Hi, my name is Jakub, and I want to tell you my story — how I went from nothing to becoming someone, only to fall back into a spiral of problems.
But let's start from the beginning. My real name is Jakub, and I come from Poland. I now live in the United States. When I was just a little kid, my father left for America in search of work... leaving us behind in that corrupted country. I remember that moment like a blur, but one thing stayed with me — emptiness. The house suddenly felt quieter. As if something was missing, even though I didn't yet understand what.
My mother worked as a nurse. She did everything she could to raise me properly in my father's absence. She came home exhausted, sometimes barely able to stand, but she still tried to talk to me, ask questions, show interest. Of course, I wasn't the best son. I often ignored her. Now I know that must have hurt her more than all the trouble I kept getting into.
As a kid, most of my time was spent hanging around outside, looking for trouble. From a young age, I was already getting into it — small thefts, fights, alcohol, drugs. At first, it was fun, adrenaline, laughter... I felt like I was "someone." But that feeling didn't last long. It was replaced by something else — emptiness and a growing need to go further, harder, deeper.
But we'll get back to that.
At school, I constantly heard: "Jakub, fail." You can probably guess I didn't spend much time studying. When my mom asked if I had homework, my usual answer was: "No, Mom, I'm going outside, bye." And that was it. I wouldn't even look her in the eyes. Like I didn't care at all. And later, she had to face teachers at parent meetings... probably coming home wondering where she had gone wrong.
Oh, I almost forgot — skipping school was also a regular thing. I used to do it with my friends Krzysztof and Marcin. We mostly drank cheap wine and smoked cigarettes. We wandered around the neighborhood — breaking windows in stairwells, letting air out of people's tires, stealing alcohol. Back then, it seemed funny. Today, I see nothing but stupidity and a complete lack of principles.
Later on, we joined a bigger group, and that's when organized fights started. I can now say it was the biggest mistake of my life — meeting those people. But back then? I felt like I was part of something bigger. I had a "crew." I had "respect." But that respect was built on fear.
Before fights, we smoked weed — "for courage," they said. And we, like stupid sheep, followed them and did whatever we were told. Then came harder drugs. Not just using them, but dealing too. That's how I started selling at school and around the neighborhood.
During that time, I used a lot. More and more. And I felt less and less. I can say I was sinking into drugs, alcohol, and dirty money — money my hardworking mother knew nothing about. I came home pretending everything was fine. And she looked at me with pride... and that was probably the worst part. Because I knew I didn't deserve it.
She still believed I was that good, loving Jakub... while the truth was completely different.
Going back to my father in the States... Every month he sent us dollars. It wasn't much, but together with my mom's salary and my dirty money, it was enough to survive. And how did I get that money? Simple — I sold something here, beat someone up for money there, scared someone else when needed.
Even though I was young, I looked older, so people respected me. And honestly — I liked it. That feeling that people were afraid of you, that they took you seriously. But it wasn't respect... it was fear.
Back then, my only "training" was those fights... if you can even call it that.
At one point, I planned to join a gym. You can probably guess — it never happened. Why? Because I found out we were moving to the United States.
And suddenly, everything just... stopped. The end of that life. The end of my "crew." The end of everything I knew. And instead of being happy... I was scared.
My father found a job for my mom and a place for us to live. I was supposed to attend a Polish-speaking school to improve my English, which I had picked up a bit... from movies... games... basics like:
"Good morning, fuck you," and stuff like that...
But honestly, my English was already decent enough, so I didn't struggle much.
For two months, my parents handled all the paperwork for emigration. And me? I was just worried about losing my friends, the weed, the fights... "What am I even going to do there?" I kept asking myself.
Then the day came. The tickets were booked, and all that was left was to count down the hours. I wanted to say goodbye to everyone, but I decided it would be too hard... or maybe I just didn't want to show that I cared.
To this day, I have no contact with my old friends. Do I regret it? A lot. But can it be fixed? I don't know.
On the day of departure, my uncle drove us to the airport. Saying goodbye to family was hard. Everyone tried to stay strong... but you could see the pain.
It wasn't until I was on the plane that I felt it — that I was leaving my country and my family behind. Thousands of miles away. And for the first time in a long time, I felt small.
A tear rolled down my face, even though I always thought of myself as tough. Turns out, anyone can break.
All I wanted now was to survive the flight and see my dad.
I was curious about my new home, school, and probably new friends. I slept through the entire flight. At the airport, my dad was already waiting for us with some old borrowed car. After greeting each other and collecting our luggage, we headed to our new place. Oh, I forgot — we landed in New York. The drive wasn't too long, maybe about an hour and a half. I stared at the huge skyscrapers reaching the clouds — I was amazed.
But deep inside, something still bothered me — I missed my family in Poland. At the same time, I knew a new life was waiting for me here. A fresh start. And I needed that. I had hurt a lot of people in my short life, and I couldn't change that. I couldn't change the past, but I could change what comes next. Sitting in that car, I made a decision — I would change myself completely. I would become a better person. I had been given a second chance.
After about an hour and a half, we arrived at our new apartment. To me, it was new... but in reality, it was just a small place with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen connected to the living room. Still, it was enough to start over.
We arrived on a Wednesday, and on Thursday I had my first day at school, while my mom started her new job — cleaning offices.
The apartment was decently furnished — we had beds and a place to eat. The day went by quickly, and by evening we were all lying in bed, exhausted, waiting for a new day and new experiences.
My first day at school started at 8:30 a.m. I was assigned to class B4, got my schedule, and introduced myself. It was a Polish-speaking class with a focus on English. On the very first day, I became friends with Adrian — and that friendship has lasted to this day.
There's not much to say about school — I set a goal to do as well as I could. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But months and years passed, and I kept pushing myself not to disappoint my parents. In my free time, Adrian and I earned some money walking dogs and mowing lawns. It wasn't much, but it was something. Enough for my own needs.
My parents worked hard, and after four years, they were finally able to take out a loan and buy our first house. That was a huge milestone for them. I was incredibly proud.
Over time, I started thinking more and more about what I wanted to become. There were many options, but one kept coming back — the police. I don't know why, but it excited me — the chases, the SWAT actions. Deep down, I knew this was what I wanted to do. And most importantly — my parents would be proud.
So I dedicated the next few years to that goal. It wasn't easy — a lot of studying, a lot of effort. I often told myself: "I can't do this... I don't have the strength anymore..." But then I'd look at a picture of my parents, and it gave me strength.
I managed to graduate from the police academy with a good result. I saw my parents crying during the ceremony. And in my heart, I felt: "I did it... I fucking did it."
I was so proud of myself.