The most challenging time in my life was when I was adopted. I didn’t get fed properly, didn’t have haircuts, and there was no one there to make sure I was alright. When you’re adopted, you need someone to look out for you, and I didn’t have that. Now, I’m homeless. I was in Cheshire, but I’ve been all over the place. I feel like a lost cause. I came here to pursue my dream of becoming a boxing champion, and I’m training at an amateur boxing club with the hope of achieving that goal.

I was with another organisation for a while, and they welcomed me with open arms. They showed me my room, and I thought, “I’m really alright here.” A month later, I was clean—off everything. I didn’t smoke, didn’t vape, didn’t use weed. I was training with a boxing team, feeling like I was on the right path. But then, out of nowhere, they told me, “You’re clean, so you can’t stay here.” I pleaded with them, asking if I could stay because I was finally comfortable, but they said they’d move me to an abstinent house where people were still smoking weed.

So they moved me to this abstinent house, but I could smell weed every day, and it started to get to me. I begged them, “Please, can you move me? I’m going to end up smoking weed if I stay here.” But they told me there was nothing they could do at the moment. A month later, I started smoking weed again. Two days after that, they moved me to a crack house with eight people using crack. Then, out of the blue, they told me, “Josh, we need your bedroom, you can move back to where you started.” They gave me a single bed, but at 6’3″, a single bed wasn’t going to work for me. I asked for a double bed, so they threw a mattress on the floor and gave me a basket with a TV on top. I ended up sleeping on that mattress on the floor for six months, and it made me very depressed.

Eventually, another organisation took me in, and they placed me in a house where I was treated with respect. Growing up, I had no one to look out for me. I used to run away from fights and got picked on because I was adopted and seen as an outsider. It got to the point where running away made things worse, so I decided to start fighting back—and I started winning. One day, I went to the park, and someone wanted to fight me, so I accepted. That’s how my upbringing was—people trying to build their reputations by beating me. But I turned out to be good at fighting and football. In football, you rely on a team, and other people can let you down. But in boxing, it’s just me—if I fail, it’s on me. I liked that. Watching Rocky and getting into fights made me realise that boxing was my path.

When I turned 19 and left home, that was the last time I got into trouble with the police. It just shows that it wasn’t really who I was deep down.

I’m a middleweight, but I’ve sparred at super heavyweight and fight a bit heavier. Boxing has always been there for me. I often wonder where I’d be without it. When I’m lonely at night with no one to talk to, I watch a boxing match or listen to Jake Paul talk about boxing. I push myself because I know I’ve got to get out of this mess. The training is good, and running helps clear my mind. When I’m in the ring, I do like to draw blood, but I’d never be like that on the streets. In boxing, it’s you or me—you’re in my way, and I’m in yours. It’s not a nice sport, but I love the technical aspects of it.

As for being homeless, the council tells me, “If you want a flat, go back to where you came from.” But why would I want to go back there? There’s nothing for me; it’s not my town. It brings me depression, and I don’t want to be there. It’s not where I belong.