I was only a kid when I started. Sixteen, barely old enough to tie my own shoes, and I had already fallen victim to this drug. I knew better. I had good friends. My mom and dad were just like any other caring parents, constantly reminding me, “don’t go downtown. Downtown Steubenville is dangerous. It’s a dump and not our problem. It’s full of ruffians and thugs and corrupt politicians. Don’t go into Steubenville at all if you can help it. They don’t do anything for us, no need to return the favor.”

Yet there I was, sitting at the dining room table, lying to my own mother. I told her I just wanted to see the sketchy, old theater. I blame The Phantom of the Opera movie for this half-truth. Previous to my viewing of this ghostly documentary, I had no uncanny obsession with roses, men behind masks, or theaters that had fallen into disrepair. But recent news articles had spilled information regarding the purchase and plans to restore the last historic theater in our downtown, and I intended to be a part of that. Victims could spend a small fortune ($20) for a tour or sacrifice their dignity and shovel raccoon crap off prehistoric theater seats. Being the broke highschooler that I was, I couldn’t feed my curiosity with that kind of money, so I only had one option. I had to do the dirty work. Had parental accompaniment not been a requirement for minor visitors and volunteers alike, my relationship with my parents would not have been jeopardized that day.

I think my parents gave in only because they hoped that dealing with the consequences of one bad decision on my part would prevent future folly of this sort. But it was too late. I went back to the theater the next weekend to volunteer again. Then I started decorating the windows of abandoned buildings during holiday seasons. I would randomly pick up trash that didn’t belong to me off of sidewalks that weren’t my responsibility to keep clean. I began volunteering at Fort Steuben - first as a musician, then as a reenactor. I would sneak downtown on my bike just to see what it would be like to have a real bike trail in my city. I would go kayaking in the Ohio River and imagine a beautiful, renovated marina, where families could go to enjoy a picnic. Before I even realized what I had gotten myself into, I was invested in the revitalization of Steubenville, and I was dragging my family down with me.

I needed help, but I didn’t know where to turn. I left the country on several occasions, with every intention of coming back totally clean, but every time I returned even more intoxicated, and began infesting the community with my new ideas for the improvement of our micro-society. At the suggestion of a fellow victim, I became a member of the Steubenville Revitalization Group. This was not the support group I needed, and under their influence, I became more heavily involved with building preservation and beautification efforts.

I hit rock bottom when I got involved with a gang of miscreant artists, who called themselves the Steubenville Nutcracker Village committee, and were all revitalization obsessed. I stopped sleeping. I didn't eat or drink. At this point, I wasn't even in it for the money; I was in it for the high. I spent weeks at a time in a haze of spray paint and faux fur, mindlessly gluing rhinestones to wooden crowns and trying to convince myself that this was okay. I became crazed with the idea of normalizing my behavior by pulling others into the trap that we so alluringly called civic enhancement. I was well aware that public art projects don't just affect those who perpetrate them. They are like hope-distributing monsters, reaching out for victims with flower covered claws, and dragging upstanding members of society into their clutches with lies about a better tomorrow.

I barely graduated from high school when I gave up everything I had to this addiction. Learn from my mistakes. Fight the revitalization epidemic.

Parents: talk to your kids about becoming involved with revitalization efforts. Help them find better hobbies, like sitting at home complaining about the problems their city has and how the world has nothing to offer them. Remind them that they were put here to enjoy the efforts of others before them and that they should be expected to do nothing to better the lives of those coming after them. Don't let them participate in clean-up activities, community dances, festivals, or parades, as these are merely gateway drugs to preservation efforts and community improvement. Loving where you live is a mindset that can take hold even in good homes, so make sure you aren’t careless around your offspring, lest they turn out to be contributing members of society.