MU’ALLAF.Web.Id

On the 2^nd of May, 1987 I was born in England in the United Kingdom. My parents named me Jonathan Beale. My father’s name was John Mason but I had to have my mother’s name as it allowed them to claim more benefits.

My parents were both heroin addicts, I had witnessed my dad beating my mother up many times and he would bring other women around our house sometimes. I was regularly climbing over needles and seeing strange people come into our council flat.

Growing up wasn’t easy for me, but soon the social services were intervening and I was placed in a foster home temporarily.

Somehow, I had at times heard of the concept of God, my mum’s family was large and I had come across the concept of death many times. My country is “civilised”, but my grandfather came from a more difficult time during the Second World War.

He was incredibly shell-shocked as his friend had all been killed, and he himself had been shot on two occasions. He had been a paratrooper, and had landed in Nazi-occupied territory many times.

After the war, he and my grandmother had 7 children. They were religious in their own way, but they had nothing after the war and my granddad had beaten his children regularly, or at least, that’s what my mother tells me.

Either way, something triggered a huge epidemic of mental illness in my family. My mother was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and as a child I regularly needed to persuade her that people weren’t plotting against us, although she did some crazy things that got her into the newspapers many times. I got bullied in school for this.

My granddad sadly passed away when I was 4 years old. This was the first time I heard of “God”. My granddad was actually always a really nice man from what I remember, so I have difficulty knowing whether what I hear is true.

So I took comfort knowing he was in heaven, and from this point on, I always felt God was with me. When my mum and dad had some bad times and I went temporarily in foster homes, I began to pray. I had never been shown how, but in my own way, I always knew God really was there and he could hear me.

My cousin committed suicide by an overdose of paracetamol when I was young, and this was the first time I cried at a funeral. My uncle also died, although it’s unclear how, I know that man had severe mental illness and his life was hard, so I hoped that he had gone to a better place.

But through all this, the belief of God was firmly routed into my soul. At the age of seven, I was sent to my grandmother, because the social services has deemed the environment too unstable for me after my dad flipped out and smashed up our flat.

My mum then gave birth to my sister Sally. At this time, I was still regularly visiting home and I was overjoyed to see my sister. A lot of siblings have rivalry but I really liked my sister, I felt that we were in it together, only she didn’t know it yet because she had only just been born. Unfortunately the social services deemed the environment too risky and they sent her to a foster home.

Then my grandmother was asked to adopt me permanently and I was staying at her house. When my sister turned one, the social services decided that it was best if my family weren’t allowed to see her, so she was placed under a closed adoption to a family far away and I haven’t seen her since.

I was very sad and I often think about if she will try and get into contact with me. I think we would have been close, although I would have been an overprotective big brother. She is now 15 so Insha’Allah I might yet still have time when she is 18, and I plan to make up for lost time.

At eleven I was sent to a boarding school. I was slightly bullied because of my poor background, but all in all, I would say it was a good experience. I was clearly a troubled youth and started becoming obsessed with drugs and alcohol and I was suspended 4 times.

I was lucky I wasn’t expelled because I achieved 5 Cs and 3 Bs in my exams. None knew how, because I never turned up for lessons, but these grades would be important later.

Although troubled, my belief in God was still there. I chose to become Roman Catholic at the age of 12, and my school arranged lessons. I rarely paid attention to the lessons, but I loved the concept of God. I loved going to church.

After I left school, my troubles escalated. When I started smoking cannabis, I never thought I would try anything harder, but then I tried cocaine, and ecstasy and speed, and it very soon became my whole life.

I would say I was addicted, but it was so good that I wanted to live that life. I was often drinking, and becoming violent against the police force. My friends and I would smash cars up and sell drugs and do whatever we wanted. The criminal justice system in England is so liberal, that there was no such thing as punishment.

Finally, after threatening to stab somebody, I was sent to prison. This changed my life. It was a holiday camp, but at heart, I didn’t want to be a criminal. I just needed to be taken out of the environment I was in.

Three good meals a day, a TV in my room, gym training every day, college, church every Sunday, it was one of the best times in my life and I was finally away from my family who caused me so much stress.

I had always been envious of normal families. Seeing them shopping together, or going for tea at someone’s house, I would always be happy at the sight of it, and deep down I longed for this.

Alcohol was my main problem. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but every time I drank, I would get in trouble. I would wake up with a hangover and sometimes be in a police cell, and sometimes I could be covered in cuts and bruises from fighting.

But being in prison, I was also kept away from this (and smoking) and I was in great shape. I wanted to keep this up on the outside.

Unfortunately, when I got out, I had another court hearing about causing grievous bodily harm. I could have been looking at 4 years for something I didn’t do.

My “friend” had blood and skin cells all over his trainers and eventually pleaded guilty. When I was in court I was asked if he did it. As he had already admitted to it, I thought there was no harm in saying “yes”, as my solicitor advised me that saying “no” would not save my friend as he had already admitted to it, and why spend 4 years in jail? I phoned my friend and explained to him and he said “ok”.

I was going out with a beautiful girl called Mellissa who stuck by me through all this. After the court case, my “friend’s” family decided I was responsible for him getting sent to prison, and the word spread and I was constantly getting into fights and getting attacked.

My girlfriend told me I should make a fresh start elsewhere and I actually took to the idea. I started planning the move. Our relationship was strained though, and she didn’t want to be with me anymore, so I left with very few ties to my hometown.

I had some friends who I immediately decided I should distance myself from. They were still up to the same old things, and I wanted to make a new start.

To be continued…