On My Own-Reflecting On Yesterday

By D'Angelo Stefani

'On My Own' is a powerful memoir that takes readers on a journey through the author's harrowing upbringing. Raised in an abusive home and shuffled through numerous foster care placements, the author's childhood was filled with trauma and uncertainty. At the age of 11, he found himself living on the streets, longing for stability and safety.

Through resilience and determination, the author emerged from his difficult past to create a new future for himself. With unflinching honesty, he shares the pain of his past and the triumphs of his present, offering hope and inspiration to others who may be facing similar challenges.

This memoir is a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the power of letting go of the past in order to embrace a brighter tomorrow. Raw and gripping, 'On My Own' is a story of survival, resilience, and ultimately, the healing power of forgiveness. This book will resonate with readers who have overcome adversity and are seeking a story of hope and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haven House Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Apr 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224184538

D'Angelo Stefani

After spending 10 years in a federal prison, D'Angelo continues to deal with his past in a more healthy way. He lives in Oklahoma. This is his second book.

Book preview

On My Own

Reflecting on Yesterday

D'Angelo Stefani

Haven House Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2024 D'Angelo Stefani

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are real.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by:Jax Blunt

To my sons, Trenton and Joey;

My granddaughter, Haven;

And my mom. Wherever you are.

People tell me, You’re such an optimist. Am I an optimist? An optimist says the glass is half full. A pessimist says the glass is half empty. A survivalist is practical. He says, Call it what you want, but just fill the glass. I believe in filling the glass.

-Louis Silvie Zamperini

Prologue

January 2006

Las Vegas, Nevada

3:30 a.m.

You have until the count of three to get the hell up and give me the money, or I’m going to shoot you, I promised the petite Asian girl whom I was standing over my .45 pointed at her head.

Wiping the sweat from my face, I listened to the girl for the third time, stating that there was no money. I had heard this song many times but was not ready to listen to it again. Being without sleep for the past week, spun out on meth, I was in no mood for the runaround.

Get the fuck up! I demanded, only to be met by the girls’ continuous lies.

1!

All I wanted was the money. No drama. No hassle. Nervously tugging my Red Sox hoodie tight around my head, I continued to count.

2!

All she had to do was give me the money. I would have been out the door 5 minutes ago had she done what I asked. Clack Clack. Racking back the slide, I gave the girl her last chance.

3!

OK, I give you money, she cried.

About damn time.

I followed her down a long hallway that ran the length of the massage parlor and into a back office. With my gun on her, I watched as she retrieved a large manila envelope from the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet.

Here, she said flatly, tossing it on the desk that separated us.

Snatching it up, I told her to introduce yourself to the floor. Don’t move, I warned her, backing out of the office.

I ran down the hallway, which was seemingly longer the second time, through and out the front door. The little Grey Honda was still there, parked and waiting for me. Jumping into the passenger seat, I looked at my wife, Megan.

What took so long? she asked as we tore out of the parking lot.

I glanced inside the envelope. We’re good, I said, letting her know everything was fine. Good job, babe. Yeah, I thought, good job.

My life became much more chaotic in the months that followed. I wrote this book to answer my lifelong question of why.

Why do I do the things I do?

Why is my life in the state that it’s in?

Why do I always feel so lost?

Why am I in prison again?

I know that even when the last word has been jotted down, there will still be memories that continue to haunt me and answers that will forever elude me. However, I must try.

I’ve always said I don’t know who I am, but I’m confident about who I want to be. But first I must face this and deal with yesterday. It may be my last chance.

This is my story.

Chapter One

When I was five years old, my older sister Angelina told me to let go and that she would catch me.

I was hanging from the second-story balcony of our apartments. Before this, I sat alone, picking random blades of dead grass and watching the older kids climb over the rail and then drop 7 feet to coolness. Soon, I found myself once again wanting to fit in.

My little hands were slowly losing the fight.

"Just let go. I’ll catch you!’

Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed that the kids I was breaking my neck trying to so desperately impress, had lost interest and were now huddled underneath the broken streetlamp. I should have kept my little butt on the grass and left this madness to them, but it was too late. I fell, shattering my left wrist. My sister did not keep her promise, and I failed again to make the team.

Arriving home from the hospital, I brought with me a plaster cast and an excuse to miss school for a while. A week later, I returned and was vaulted into the role of the coolest kid in kindergarten. Everyone flooded me with questions about my arm, so I lied in detail about how all my friends, and I took turns leaping from my roof. By the end of that day, my cast was completely covered with names and little doodles courtesy of my new friends. Had I known something positive could derive from such pain, I would have thought twice about constantly wearing long-sleeved shirts.

I skipped home that day but was quickly tripped up by my father’s sour mood. He looked at my cast and demanded, WHO IN HELL SAID YOU COULD DO THAT?

As I sit here many years later, I still draw a blank looking for an answer. But it wouldn’t have mattered what I came up with because any answer would have still resulted