In order to be qualified to go to the Carswell Camp, you have to be minimal-out security status and be medically cleared. This is not full "medical clearance." At a care level 3, you can only be at Carswell, but the Carswell camp is available. Also, obviously, the camp has to have room available.
As you know, I was told that I am being transferred to the camp in November. I was told that this transfer would occur prior to Christmas. Like most information, here, I chose not to put all my eggs in that basket until the change occurred. So often, we are told something, but it doesn't exactly happen that way. As it turns out, when I went to medical in December to inquire whether this transfer was occurring, I was told that I was not medically cleared to go. My doctor was not signing off on it until she has a chance to see me. I had no choice but to accept that reality and start sending in "cop-outs" to try to get my doctor to make an appointment with me. If you are not medically cleared, there's very little you can do.
Yesterday, while walking out of the clinic from getting my enbryl injection, I stopped at the window. On the other side of the window is a woman, not sure if she is a nurse, but she is very helpful to many, many people here and is usually the first to arrive if there's a medical emergency. She is very serious about her job, but she is friendly to those she knows and usually can answer some questions we all have related to appointments, etc. Well, I asked her if I could obtain a copy of my updated restrictions. The rheumatologist had stated that I have a climbing restriction, and I wanted to make sure that my paperwork reflected that. Over the past week, many people played musical beds, as the counselor in our new unit moved a dozen people upstairs, including South, if their paperwork did not indicate they needed to be on a lower bunk on the first floor. As long as my papers are updated, I would not have to risk being moved back upstairs.
When I received my papers, I immediately noticed that the lower bunk was checked, but not the first floor, and I walked away knowing that I have to go to sick call soon to get that updated. While walking back to work, I read through the rest of the form. On the bottom, typed into my form is the following sentence, "If she otherwise qualifies, inmate medically clear to go to CRW camp." That's the carswell camp code. It was signed October 21, 2013. Say WHAT?!?!?!?!?
So, the "otherwise cleared" means that I am minimum-out security level. Which I am. The only thing I've been told is that I am not medically cleared, but that is clearly not true, as my own paperwork says I was cleared in October. No wonder my case worker had told me I was going. So, for the past 3+ months I have been in the secured environment of the medical center side of Carswell, when I could have been on the other side of the fence. When people visited me, we could have walked around and not been forced to be in an uncomfortable "airport seating" environment. My mom, step-dad, and T.S., would not have had to go through the increased security measures to see me and would not have been left with the memories of seeing me behind the barbed wire.
I have to believe that everything happens for a reason. During the last 3+ months, I have developed a closer friendship with Lola, which would not have occurred. I have helped several students in their quest for their GED, I have developed trust and friendships with my roommates, I have developed new craft skills, I have been able to spend South's last days in here with her, I've been able to have breakfast with Freckles nearly every day, I was able to say "goodbye" to Danbury and wish her well, I got to see pictures of Star's new baby boy, I was able to help train a new fabulous co-tutor (who will carry forward our classes incredibly well), I was able to teach U.S. Government and Essay Writing to eager students, and much, much more. I guess I cannot regret this extra time I've spent behind the fences. I will never know the impact of my interactions with others, but I hope that some will remember me as having a positive influence on their life.
So, what now? I have to talk to the Warden. I am bringing the paperwork with me and will ask, "why am I not at the camp?" This should get things moving forward. South leaves one week from Monday, perhaps, maybe, I can move just after her. I am imploring Lola to get approval for across the street as well. She started at a Camp, before being shipped here for her rheumatoid arthritis, so I hope her process goes swiftly. She has never had any security status other than "minimum-out."
I don't know, and I can't know, what will happen. Will I be spending my next four months in my same room or will I be moved upstairs or will I actually be going to the camp... I don't know the answers to those questions. This is a perfect time for the serenity prayer. I cannot control what the prison administration does. However, I have a few things that I need the courage to change - which includes going to the Warden on Monday to talk about why I'm being told that I'm not medically cleared, when my paperwork states I was cleared in October. It's a conversation worth having. I hear the Warden is approachable. I pray that is true. We shall see.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
From Dragonfly: Welcome Back to Junior High
Junior High was definitely not the highlight of my life. The hormones going through everyone's bodies made everything strange. Male "friends" immediately were termed "boy friend." Girls got meaner to one another. Everyone dressed in fads, even if it didn't look quite right on the person. People became popular and other's became targets. Athletes were decided and nerds were, also, decided. Junior High is all about factions, emotions, fitting in, and friendships won and lost.
I would never choose to go back to Junior High, but here I am. Being in a woman's prison is just like back in junior high, especially in one way. I remember a week of 6th or 7th grade, where I went from popular to a target. All the girls made fun of me, gossiped about me, and left me not understanding what I'd done wrong. A week later, I was "welcome" back to the popular crowd. I asked, "why did you treat me that way?" The answer was, "because we have to pick on someone and it was your turn." I didn't want to "fit in" any more. I never chose to be mean over kind. I was friendly to the popular kids and the nerds (not realizing that later in life I would realize that I, in fact, am a nerd). Sure, I wore the right clothes, was popular in the Junior High dating scene, and continued to be friendly with everyone, but I never trusted the girls again. Being mean, just to be mean, and targeting/bullying someone because it is fun, is just not my style.
Here, the same thing happened to me starting about a week and a half ago. I've written a little about it, but somehow, people mistook my writing for something it is not and I became the target. The gossip, stares, sides-taken, popularity circles, fakeness, and meanness was once again my reality. It didn't even make sense. People no longer knew why they were targeting me for all the gossip and lies, but it just festered forth. A couple women even went to my boss and told her that I've been bad-mouthing her behind her back and she should fire me. Such an incident never occurred. I love my job and think highly of the teachers. But, suddenly, they were considering terminating my employment. I made it through the "meeting" last Friday without being fired. I spoke the truth about the gossip and how some women were choosing to target me - going after my job was the #1 way they knew they could hurt me. I love teaching/tutoring that much. But, even with still holding my job, nothing is the same. The damage was done. I don't blame my supervisor for a second to question whether she can trust me. How would she know if I am telling the truth or if the others were. Hopefully, in time, this, too, will pass over.
I will never understand the reasons girls/women can be so mean to one another. I don't understand why I've always been an easy target. At least, through my recovery, I am able to take each day one at a time and know that tomorrow, anything is possible. I do my best not to fret on the lies told about me and instead to focus on the positivity of a day worth living. Being in prison is a brutal experience, but the junior high mannerism is probably the worst part of it.
I would never choose to go back to Junior High, but here I am. Being in a woman's prison is just like back in junior high, especially in one way. I remember a week of 6th or 7th grade, where I went from popular to a target. All the girls made fun of me, gossiped about me, and left me not understanding what I'd done wrong. A week later, I was "welcome" back to the popular crowd. I asked, "why did you treat me that way?" The answer was, "because we have to pick on someone and it was your turn." I didn't want to "fit in" any more. I never chose to be mean over kind. I was friendly to the popular kids and the nerds (not realizing that later in life I would realize that I, in fact, am a nerd). Sure, I wore the right clothes, was popular in the Junior High dating scene, and continued to be friendly with everyone, but I never trusted the girls again. Being mean, just to be mean, and targeting/bullying someone because it is fun, is just not my style.
Here, the same thing happened to me starting about a week and a half ago. I've written a little about it, but somehow, people mistook my writing for something it is not and I became the target. The gossip, stares, sides-taken, popularity circles, fakeness, and meanness was once again my reality. It didn't even make sense. People no longer knew why they were targeting me for all the gossip and lies, but it just festered forth. A couple women even went to my boss and told her that I've been bad-mouthing her behind her back and she should fire me. Such an incident never occurred. I love my job and think highly of the teachers. But, suddenly, they were considering terminating my employment. I made it through the "meeting" last Friday without being fired. I spoke the truth about the gossip and how some women were choosing to target me - going after my job was the #1 way they knew they could hurt me. I love teaching/tutoring that much. But, even with still holding my job, nothing is the same. The damage was done. I don't blame my supervisor for a second to question whether she can trust me. How would she know if I am telling the truth or if the others were. Hopefully, in time, this, too, will pass over.
I will never understand the reasons girls/women can be so mean to one another. I don't understand why I've always been an easy target. At least, through my recovery, I am able to take each day one at a time and know that tomorrow, anything is possible. I do my best not to fret on the lies told about me and instead to focus on the positivity of a day worth living. Being in prison is a brutal experience, but the junior high mannerism is probably the worst part of it.
From Dragonfly: A Bad Week
It doesn't matter how many times I write about the positive, there are still some times where this place will bring me down. This week has been an emotional roller coaster for me. It actually made me think about the last episode of the first season of "Orange is the New Black," where everything is pulling Piper down and she pretty much loses it at the end. Only I don't act "out," I always act "in." Last night all I felt like doing was curling up into a ball on my bed and never doing another thing here until I go home. That's the old emotional "broken" thoughts I used to have before recovery.
Luckily, if I go there in my mind, the serenity prayer, daily readings I have, and my friends bring me right back to the survivor I am. We are so much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. Life is going to try to take us down on life's terms, but we have to learn to survive life on life's terms. WE are not in control of everything, or anybody. The rules are not always fair, the situations not always thrivable, but there's always tomorrow. Tomorrow, anything can happen. In fact, in five minutes anything can happen. We just have to be strong enough to wait out those five minutes or until tomorrow. Look back on your life and realize that you've been hurt before, gossiped about before, neglected before, hated before, unloved before, unemployed before, etc... but each time, time allowed you to life yourself back up. You will once again. You just have to wait it out. You just have to believe.
Luckily, if I go there in my mind, the serenity prayer, daily readings I have, and my friends bring me right back to the survivor I am. We are so much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. Life is going to try to take us down on life's terms, but we have to learn to survive life on life's terms. WE are not in control of everything, or anybody. The rules are not always fair, the situations not always thrivable, but there's always tomorrow. Tomorrow, anything can happen. In fact, in five minutes anything can happen. We just have to be strong enough to wait out those five minutes or until tomorrow. Look back on your life and realize that you've been hurt before, gossiped about before, neglected before, hated before, unloved before, unemployed before, etc... but each time, time allowed you to life yourself back up. You will once again. You just have to wait it out. You just have to believe.
From Dragonfly: Frien-emies
When you are in prison, not everyone is going to like you. It's just a matter of fact. Sometimes, it is because of how you act. Sometimes, it is because you said the wrong thing once to a person and they never let it go. Sometimes, it's because you are dating someone they want to date or you are dating their ex - both can make enemies quickly. People may not like you because of who you hang out with, because you get commissary and they don't, because they don't like a look you once made at them that you never knew you made, because you wear your hair a certain way, because you were the person before/after them during "laundry wars," because they wanted to cut in line once and you didn't let them, because you walk too slow, because you are skinny, because you are fat... it doesn't matter. There's not a person I know, here, who is liked by everyone. It just is too complicated a place.
If you are someone that really needs to be liked, you will need to check that at the front gate. Prison is not about that. It's about survival, filling time, and finding your way home. There will be nay-sayers in here. Ignore them. There will be gossip about you. Ignore it. People may say things about you that you have no idea where the lie started from. Look the other way. Everyone wants to rile you. Don't let them. You may never know who is against you, until a smile backfires, a "good morning" goes unanswered, someone walks up to you and says something like, "you have an enemy... I heard blah, blah, blah talking all kinds of sh** about you...". Etc.
The key is to stay strong despite these realities. Over the past weekend, I became a target of some of this negativity. It made me really upset, but then I turned to my recovery program. Do I really care what people, who I barely know, think of me? No. Have any of my good friends joined in on it? No. In fact, they totally have my back. Am I safe? Yes. Is there anything I can make amends for? Yes. Why yes? Because I need to always clean up my side of the street and if I said/did anything that hurt another person, I must apologize. For me, my apology was for allowing someone to ask me something and I did not directly respond to her, which caused her to think my answer was one thing, when it was really another. It helped feed the gossip. I did not intend that, but I felt better saying, "sorry," for my part of the misunderstanding. That's what we need to do. The right next thing... even if others don't do it back. Once I did that, I knew that I did not need to do anything more. It's up to the other person to do an amends or not. I cannot expect anything and nothing has happened.
Another example, recently, was when I heard something through inmate.com and shared it with another person. I don't know why I felt the need to "gossip." Well, the person I was gossiping about had a friend sitting nearby who overheard and immediately laid into me. I stopped what I was saying, thought for one second, and told her that she was right, I shouldn't have been gossiping, especially about someone I don't even personally know. No matter how many times I said, "you're right... I'm sorry," she did not forgive me. It was a couple weeks ago and now she believes I caused the rumor, even though I was just forwarding what I had heard. We all know, do not believe anything in prison until it happens. Sometimes, it is hard to not get mixed up in what everyone is saying, but we have to do our best. This is not a place to intentionally make enemies. You don't have to have a lot of friends, but people here are not always rational with their actions/thoughts in a place like this. I was probably feeling too "comfortable" with my friends and surroundings and I was not being rational myself. Irrational behavior will undoubtedly have negative consequences.
Thing is, though, that I can honestly say that I don't care what others, here, think of me. It's not like I want to fit into prison or prison life. I don't want to call all the people my friends, because they are not. Many people, here, would scare me out on the streets. It's a little different when we are all wearing the same uniforms and have to act under the same set of rules. It is no loss to me that someone does not like me. It is on them. I will still say, "good morning" to them every day. Them not being kind is not an excuse for me to not be kind. My only important relationship, here, is between me and my higher power. I know that the truth is way more important than being liked. I will continue to do the next right thing, even if it results in enemies. I can't care. Thankfully, there are plenty more people here who do like me, than that hate me. That doesn't matter either, though, because it is not about the quantity of friends one has, it is about the quality of friends. Here, and back home, I have the highest quality friends in the world. So, go ahead, hate me, spread rumors about me. The people who really know me, know who I am, and have my back. Be yourself, and the same will be true for you.
If you are someone that really needs to be liked, you will need to check that at the front gate. Prison is not about that. It's about survival, filling time, and finding your way home. There will be nay-sayers in here. Ignore them. There will be gossip about you. Ignore it. People may say things about you that you have no idea where the lie started from. Look the other way. Everyone wants to rile you. Don't let them. You may never know who is against you, until a smile backfires, a "good morning" goes unanswered, someone walks up to you and says something like, "you have an enemy... I heard blah, blah, blah talking all kinds of sh** about you...". Etc.
The key is to stay strong despite these realities. Over the past weekend, I became a target of some of this negativity. It made me really upset, but then I turned to my recovery program. Do I really care what people, who I barely know, think of me? No. Have any of my good friends joined in on it? No. In fact, they totally have my back. Am I safe? Yes. Is there anything I can make amends for? Yes. Why yes? Because I need to always clean up my side of the street and if I said/did anything that hurt another person, I must apologize. For me, my apology was for allowing someone to ask me something and I did not directly respond to her, which caused her to think my answer was one thing, when it was really another. It helped feed the gossip. I did not intend that, but I felt better saying, "sorry," for my part of the misunderstanding. That's what we need to do. The right next thing... even if others don't do it back. Once I did that, I knew that I did not need to do anything more. It's up to the other person to do an amends or not. I cannot expect anything and nothing has happened.
Another example, recently, was when I heard something through inmate.com and shared it with another person. I don't know why I felt the need to "gossip." Well, the person I was gossiping about had a friend sitting nearby who overheard and immediately laid into me. I stopped what I was saying, thought for one second, and told her that she was right, I shouldn't have been gossiping, especially about someone I don't even personally know. No matter how many times I said, "you're right... I'm sorry," she did not forgive me. It was a couple weeks ago and now she believes I caused the rumor, even though I was just forwarding what I had heard. We all know, do not believe anything in prison until it happens. Sometimes, it is hard to not get mixed up in what everyone is saying, but we have to do our best. This is not a place to intentionally make enemies. You don't have to have a lot of friends, but people here are not always rational with their actions/thoughts in a place like this. I was probably feeling too "comfortable" with my friends and surroundings and I was not being rational myself. Irrational behavior will undoubtedly have negative consequences.
Thing is, though, that I can honestly say that I don't care what others, here, think of me. It's not like I want to fit into prison or prison life. I don't want to call all the people my friends, because they are not. Many people, here, would scare me out on the streets. It's a little different when we are all wearing the same uniforms and have to act under the same set of rules. It is no loss to me that someone does not like me. It is on them. I will still say, "good morning" to them every day. Them not being kind is not an excuse for me to not be kind. My only important relationship, here, is between me and my higher power. I know that the truth is way more important than being liked. I will continue to do the next right thing, even if it results in enemies. I can't care. Thankfully, there are plenty more people here who do like me, than that hate me. That doesn't matter either, though, because it is not about the quantity of friends one has, it is about the quality of friends. Here, and back home, I have the highest quality friends in the world. So, go ahead, hate me, spread rumors about me. The people who really know me, know who I am, and have my back. Be yourself, and the same will be true for you.
From Dragonfly: A Different Sort of Birthday
I don't generally have terrific birthdays. Last year, I was taking my comprehensive exams, the year prior, I had torn my ACL two days earlier, then there's the bday that my first love broke up with me or the birthday where there was a blizzard... It really doesn't matter. It's just one day - there are 364 other days (and sometimes 365 in a leap year) to make up for a bday gone bad.
My birthday this year, actually, does not rank on the bottom of my birthday list. I started the day being woken before 6am with the announcement, "you must move your rooms before 8:45am" - about 300 people had to move from two units (switching rooms) and the first carts pulled up in front of my room by 6:15am. This rude awakening was then followed by various people screaming at each other, a very limited supply of moving carts, and people running in all directions. I just slowly picked up my mattress with Lola and we carried it to the other unit. It's light, and it got us just for a moment away from the chaos of our own rooms. We set up a couple chairs to put everything on (leaning against the staircase) and South kept close watch. We continued to slowly get our things from 1 South to 1 North. People were constantly saying something or another was coming up missing. It was a lot of people to move at once, and yet, two hours later, almost everyone was in their new rooms, settled, and even unpacked (it's taking 3' worth of items that fit in one locker, a bed and bed set, and laundry, and moving it to another 3' locker, bed, etc.). The chaos was finally over in total after 10am count and we waited to be called for lunch. Meanwhile, people were wishing me birthday wishes and my friends were giving me birthday hugs. I'd, also, started receiving bday cards/gifts from people on the outside the prior Friday. We have no mail on the weekend or holiday. So, I had to look forward to mail going forward, as people's letters and cards caught up with me through this week.
Lunch was brunch food and then it was bday party time. My friends had made a wonderful cheesecake, with m&m's and other goodies throughout. All I can say is "yummmmmm!" They also made me a wonderful gift. Ironic in many ways, it is a plastic mug with 'Dragonfly Hazel' written beautifully on it with a dragonfly with hazel eyes drawn. It was a weekend where I had thought about stopping writing, and this gift was a sign to keep on going. I nearly cried.
Dinner was a fried chicken, due to the MLK holiday, so that was considered a treat. There was a cake dessert. I told everyone that they baked a cake in honor of me. Hah! Actually, I didn't like the cake, although the frosting was good. I really didn't like the chicken much either. I'm very picky - although prison is making me less so.
I sat with my friends that night. We were all exhausted do to our move and all the sunshine we were able to get during the day (it was beautiful and in the high 60's). We laughed, I started a new craft project, and my day was over. For a birthday in prison, I feel more grateful than anyone can imagine. My friends at home and my friends here, all took a moment of their day to be there with me - either in thought or person. I think this should actually go on the list of one of my better birthdays!!!
My birthday this year, actually, does not rank on the bottom of my birthday list. I started the day being woken before 6am with the announcement, "you must move your rooms before 8:45am" - about 300 people had to move from two units (switching rooms) and the first carts pulled up in front of my room by 6:15am. This rude awakening was then followed by various people screaming at each other, a very limited supply of moving carts, and people running in all directions. I just slowly picked up my mattress with Lola and we carried it to the other unit. It's light, and it got us just for a moment away from the chaos of our own rooms. We set up a couple chairs to put everything on (leaning against the staircase) and South kept close watch. We continued to slowly get our things from 1 South to 1 North. People were constantly saying something or another was coming up missing. It was a lot of people to move at once, and yet, two hours later, almost everyone was in their new rooms, settled, and even unpacked (it's taking 3' worth of items that fit in one locker, a bed and bed set, and laundry, and moving it to another 3' locker, bed, etc.). The chaos was finally over in total after 10am count and we waited to be called for lunch. Meanwhile, people were wishing me birthday wishes and my friends were giving me birthday hugs. I'd, also, started receiving bday cards/gifts from people on the outside the prior Friday. We have no mail on the weekend or holiday. So, I had to look forward to mail going forward, as people's letters and cards caught up with me through this week.
Lunch was brunch food and then it was bday party time. My friends had made a wonderful cheesecake, with m&m's and other goodies throughout. All I can say is "yummmmmm!" They also made me a wonderful gift. Ironic in many ways, it is a plastic mug with 'Dragonfly Hazel' written beautifully on it with a dragonfly with hazel eyes drawn. It was a weekend where I had thought about stopping writing, and this gift was a sign to keep on going. I nearly cried.
Dinner was a fried chicken, due to the MLK holiday, so that was considered a treat. There was a cake dessert. I told everyone that they baked a cake in honor of me. Hah! Actually, I didn't like the cake, although the frosting was good. I really didn't like the chicken much either. I'm very picky - although prison is making me less so.
I sat with my friends that night. We were all exhausted do to our move and all the sunshine we were able to get during the day (it was beautiful and in the high 60's). We laughed, I started a new craft project, and my day was over. For a birthday in prison, I feel more grateful than anyone can imagine. My friends at home and my friends here, all took a moment of their day to be there with me - either in thought or person. I think this should actually go on the list of one of my better birthdays!!!
From Dragonfly: Sightseeing
This morning started pretty much like most mornings... shower, dressed, meeting Freckles for breakfast, and then checking my email. It was a fine morning. At 7:15 am, I decided to check-in to education/work early, because I needed to grab some tissue to use the restroom. As I was checking-in, an officer, carrying a well known "med trip bag" with her, started down the hall. I asked her if she were looking for someone and she said my last name. She said it wrong, like everyone here does, but it was mine! I held my arms out wide and said, "that's me!" I have never been more excited for a doctor appointment, but this trip is my chance to reduce my care level, ensure my halfway house papers can be done, and possibly get home a little bit earlier than my "out" date in July.
The officer who was my security (or secured me from the world) was a young woman about my age. She was incredibly kind, even through the process of walking into the "strip search room" in order to process me for my trip away. I had to go through the typical strip search, although, I was able to keep my bra, underwear, and socks on. She did make me lift, drop, squat, cough, like usual, but I only had to hold them down, not take them entirely off.
After my search, I was given R&D pants, shirt, and jacket. The R&D clothing are those clothes we receive when we first get here... pants and shirt that say our size about 20x on them in black marker and nothing fits just right. I was also given R&D shoes. I have to say, I did not miss those faded, flat, used to be blue, shoes. They didn't have my size, so I had to wear a pair a size too big. They didn't match. It reminded me of my early days when I had those shoes and one was blue and the other white. This pair was about the same shade, but they had subtle differences between them... must have been received in different shipments. NO doubt, they've been warn by many, many other inmates. Good thing I had on thick socks!
After I was dressed and the officer filled out some paperwork, she brought me to the dental benches to wait. I felt kind of bad sitting there, as the people waiting for dental were told to go and sit in the hall. Not sure why I would get the priority than them. Also, we are all always together, but now that I'm in R&D clothing and have been searched, I can have no contact with another inmate. I get that, I guess. The officer called the lieutenant for a signature on my paperwork.
After 20 minutes, the officer called the lieutenant for a second time, because he hadn't signed me out yet. We waited another 15 minutes. I heard the dental patients ask the officer if they can at least sit in the hall. They were permitted. Only myself was sitting on the uncomfortable blue benches in the dental waiting room... enough sitting for at least 15 people. We continued to wait.
About 5 minutes later, the officer got a little restless and started to walk me toward the lieutenant's office. The lieutenant, instead, met us on the way. He asked my name and id number and then signed the paperwork. Finally, we were off.
We walked from the R&D office to the compound exit. It has two barred doors that we must pass, and a guard asked me my identification again in order to open those gates. Then, we just walked out of the building. For the first time in over 5 months, I was on the other side of the prison fences. Words can't express all the emotions - it even seemed sunnier. I was placed in the back seat of a rundown Chevy Malibu, which had the child protective locks so I couldn't try anything (not that I would), and sat there for a couple minutes. I stared at the prison camp, just across the street. I could see inmates playing with puppies, others working. It's a totally different environment there - and there's no barbed wire.
As we started to drive, we drove through the base. It was the same trip the guard took who brought me from the front gates of the naval base to the prison. I saw family housing, barracks, stores, a gas station, a kids park, sample jets, and lots of people. So many things I haven't seen in SOOOO long. It was even weird riding in the car - I haven't been on a speed bump, on a highway, moving more than my slow walking pace, for almost half a year. The grass looks greener. The restaurants look more appealing. The sky looks clearer. Oh yeah, this is how the rest of the people live.
It took just less than a half an hour to get to the building for my appointment. It was a large building with many different doctor offices in it. The officer and I stepped into the elevator. Other's were on it too. I kept my eyes on the officer. I didn't dare say anything to anyone. No one had to tell me that I couldn't. Instinctively, I knew. Once we got to the right floor, my officer picked up a special phone. A woman came down the hall, unlocked a door, and led me into a special "holding" medical office. It is literally an exam room, a locked holding cell, a waiting room, and a bathroom all meant for people from the area prisons. I had no idea anything like this existed in the world. I was allowed to sit in the waiting room, while we waiting for the nurse to arrive. When she did, I was brought into the exam room and my vitals were taken. She did an initial intake - with quite a reaction when I said, "seronegative spondyloarthropathy." She said, "I'm sorry." I don't know if the sorry was because she couldn't spell it, had never heard of it, or knew what it causes. She went through all my meds and then went to get the doctor.
The doctor was a woman, of Indian descent, who reminds me a lot of my rheumatologist in the outside world. She agreed that my condition is mimicking rheumatoid arthritis and lupus and that my enthesitis definitely connects it to spondyloarthropathy. She was starting to say that she wants to see me in two months, when I told her, "no, you don't." I explained that nothing happens in two months... it would be more like 5 (again) and I would not be allowed to be released from my medical hold at Carswell. I explained that I will follow up with my rheumatologist back home. The officer with me verified what I was saying. So, the doctor ordered some labs and wrote that I am to follow up with my rheumatologist back at home upon release. Perfect, now, I pray, that will release my medical hold. She also wrote the recommendation of limited climbing, which will ensure me a first floor, lower bunk. That is the one accommodation I must have. I can live with a lot of pain, but climbing is really, really difficult.
The doctor ordered my labs, wished me well, and left me in the room while she got the paperwork together. Meanwhile, a male inmate from a men's federal prison was brought into the holding room. He was wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, orange shoes, and had on shackles. They put him in the locked holding cell. However, since I was done with the doctor, when the nurse came in for his vitals, I was switched with him. Now, I was locked in the holding cell. It's a huge window, so I could see and hear my officer talking with the man's officer. Surreal, yes.
Once my officer had my paperwork, we were heading back out to our car. Just walking along a sidewalk, with cars driving next to us, was odd. We passed several nice houses as we drove back to the prison. Definitely, two extremes of life in the U.S. As I saw us heading back onto the naval base, I knew my tour was just about over. I immediately became sad. At just about half time to my stay here, I got a short piece of viewing the world beyond. Now, I have to spend my time again behind the barbed wire and fences. It's hamburger day, so that's the only thing to look forward to for the rest of the day.
The officer came and got me at 8am. I was back at 11am. I was with the doctor 15 minutes and at the medical office there about 45. That was my medical trip. The trip I've been waiting for, for more than 5 months. Upon my return, I had to go to the clinic, have my vitals taken here, and then I was released to lunch. Now, I will pay forward as much knowledge as I have to everyone I know here, waiting for a med-trip. It's how we learn what to expect. Of course, it is always different. But, it helps with anxiety of unknown. I was allowed a short sightseeing trip today. That's a good day.
The officer who was my security (or secured me from the world) was a young woman about my age. She was incredibly kind, even through the process of walking into the "strip search room" in order to process me for my trip away. I had to go through the typical strip search, although, I was able to keep my bra, underwear, and socks on. She did make me lift, drop, squat, cough, like usual, but I only had to hold them down, not take them entirely off.
After my search, I was given R&D pants, shirt, and jacket. The R&D clothing are those clothes we receive when we first get here... pants and shirt that say our size about 20x on them in black marker and nothing fits just right. I was also given R&D shoes. I have to say, I did not miss those faded, flat, used to be blue, shoes. They didn't have my size, so I had to wear a pair a size too big. They didn't match. It reminded me of my early days when I had those shoes and one was blue and the other white. This pair was about the same shade, but they had subtle differences between them... must have been received in different shipments. NO doubt, they've been warn by many, many other inmates. Good thing I had on thick socks!
After I was dressed and the officer filled out some paperwork, she brought me to the dental benches to wait. I felt kind of bad sitting there, as the people waiting for dental were told to go and sit in the hall. Not sure why I would get the priority than them. Also, we are all always together, but now that I'm in R&D clothing and have been searched, I can have no contact with another inmate. I get that, I guess. The officer called the lieutenant for a signature on my paperwork.
After 20 minutes, the officer called the lieutenant for a second time, because he hadn't signed me out yet. We waited another 15 minutes. I heard the dental patients ask the officer if they can at least sit in the hall. They were permitted. Only myself was sitting on the uncomfortable blue benches in the dental waiting room... enough sitting for at least 15 people. We continued to wait.
About 5 minutes later, the officer got a little restless and started to walk me toward the lieutenant's office. The lieutenant, instead, met us on the way. He asked my name and id number and then signed the paperwork. Finally, we were off.
We walked from the R&D office to the compound exit. It has two barred doors that we must pass, and a guard asked me my identification again in order to open those gates. Then, we just walked out of the building. For the first time in over 5 months, I was on the other side of the prison fences. Words can't express all the emotions - it even seemed sunnier. I was placed in the back seat of a rundown Chevy Malibu, which had the child protective locks so I couldn't try anything (not that I would), and sat there for a couple minutes. I stared at the prison camp, just across the street. I could see inmates playing with puppies, others working. It's a totally different environment there - and there's no barbed wire.
As we started to drive, we drove through the base. It was the same trip the guard took who brought me from the front gates of the naval base to the prison. I saw family housing, barracks, stores, a gas station, a kids park, sample jets, and lots of people. So many things I haven't seen in SOOOO long. It was even weird riding in the car - I haven't been on a speed bump, on a highway, moving more than my slow walking pace, for almost half a year. The grass looks greener. The restaurants look more appealing. The sky looks clearer. Oh yeah, this is how the rest of the people live.
It took just less than a half an hour to get to the building for my appointment. It was a large building with many different doctor offices in it. The officer and I stepped into the elevator. Other's were on it too. I kept my eyes on the officer. I didn't dare say anything to anyone. No one had to tell me that I couldn't. Instinctively, I knew. Once we got to the right floor, my officer picked up a special phone. A woman came down the hall, unlocked a door, and led me into a special "holding" medical office. It is literally an exam room, a locked holding cell, a waiting room, and a bathroom all meant for people from the area prisons. I had no idea anything like this existed in the world. I was allowed to sit in the waiting room, while we waiting for the nurse to arrive. When she did, I was brought into the exam room and my vitals were taken. She did an initial intake - with quite a reaction when I said, "seronegative spondyloarthropathy." She said, "I'm sorry." I don't know if the sorry was because she couldn't spell it, had never heard of it, or knew what it causes. She went through all my meds and then went to get the doctor.
The doctor was a woman, of Indian descent, who reminds me a lot of my rheumatologist in the outside world. She agreed that my condition is mimicking rheumatoid arthritis and lupus and that my enthesitis definitely connects it to spondyloarthropathy. She was starting to say that she wants to see me in two months, when I told her, "no, you don't." I explained that nothing happens in two months... it would be more like 5 (again) and I would not be allowed to be released from my medical hold at Carswell. I explained that I will follow up with my rheumatologist back home. The officer with me verified what I was saying. So, the doctor ordered some labs and wrote that I am to follow up with my rheumatologist back at home upon release. Perfect, now, I pray, that will release my medical hold. She also wrote the recommendation of limited climbing, which will ensure me a first floor, lower bunk. That is the one accommodation I must have. I can live with a lot of pain, but climbing is really, really difficult.
The doctor ordered my labs, wished me well, and left me in the room while she got the paperwork together. Meanwhile, a male inmate from a men's federal prison was brought into the holding room. He was wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, orange shoes, and had on shackles. They put him in the locked holding cell. However, since I was done with the doctor, when the nurse came in for his vitals, I was switched with him. Now, I was locked in the holding cell. It's a huge window, so I could see and hear my officer talking with the man's officer. Surreal, yes.
Once my officer had my paperwork, we were heading back out to our car. Just walking along a sidewalk, with cars driving next to us, was odd. We passed several nice houses as we drove back to the prison. Definitely, two extremes of life in the U.S. As I saw us heading back onto the naval base, I knew my tour was just about over. I immediately became sad. At just about half time to my stay here, I got a short piece of viewing the world beyond. Now, I have to spend my time again behind the barbed wire and fences. It's hamburger day, so that's the only thing to look forward to for the rest of the day.
The officer came and got me at 8am. I was back at 11am. I was with the doctor 15 minutes and at the medical office there about 45. That was my medical trip. The trip I've been waiting for, for more than 5 months. Upon my return, I had to go to the clinic, have my vitals taken here, and then I was released to lunch. Now, I will pay forward as much knowledge as I have to everyone I know here, waiting for a med-trip. It's how we learn what to expect. Of course, it is always different. But, it helps with anxiety of unknown. I was allowed a short sightseeing trip today. That's a good day.
From Dragonfly: Why I Write
When I was young, I remember the first time I received a diary. I was in 5th grade. I wrote about my friends, what was happening on my favorite soap operas, and just a bit about the emotional pain I had. I was afraid to write it down, because it would make it true. Plus, I always feared my diary being read by my sister or parents. It was not one of those diaries that claims to be secret, with a keyhole and key. I could only hide it in a drawer.
As I grew older, I discovered a creative side. I was really into theater and film as a teenager. I started to write plays, stories and poems. Many were shared with teachers, fellow friends, and others. I remember one day my playwriting teacher looking at a one-act play I'd written that was partially autobiographical. He said, "you need to stop looking to others for your self esteem." I did not yet know what he meant, but it came out in my writing.
When I was 18/19 years old, I had a friend several years older than I, who worked at local gas station on the night shifts, near my college. I would often visit her for a laugh and a chat. If I came in crying, angry, etc., she would immediately hand me a notebook and a pen, so I could write even before we talked. She was a musician and a songwriter. She must have understood my need to write.
It was during my early 20's that my emotional numbness really got bad. I stopped be able to cry. I became more and more passive. I always thought I'd lost my ability to write because of law school (and the way they make you see everything with an analytical lens), but in fact, I realize, now, the truth: I was unable to write because I was emotionally broken. The same emotional issues that brought me to addiction. The same that showed through my writing before I even knew what it was. A new gift that I now realize my recovery gave me, is my "need" to write.
It is not just a desire to write. I've written over the years by choice - such as a journal about my every step during a vacation I took by myself to Costa Rica, some started diaries that really say so little, etc. But, now, it is once again a need. This need, now, carried on to my time here. I write because I have to. Doing this has given my time here purpose. I know I am helping others. It's allowing me to observe and feel and share that with you. Without writing, I would just be overwhelmed with emotions. Writing is my outlet.
My friends, here, all support my writing. My friends, on the outside, also, support my writing. They know that I have to do it. It's my reflection on the world and the world's reflection on me. It keeps me sane and lets me share the insane. It is how I think, learn, reflect, share, find substance, care, and pay everything forward. I need to keep writing. I will not allow myself to become emotionally numb, once again, due to the fact that I have no outlet. Here, people's outlets tend to be negative behavior. Some use creativity through the crafts. Others, they work out. For me, I need a little of all those things, but most of all, I need to write. I just appreciate, beyond words, that people, also, choose to read!
As I grew older, I discovered a creative side. I was really into theater and film as a teenager. I started to write plays, stories and poems. Many were shared with teachers, fellow friends, and others. I remember one day my playwriting teacher looking at a one-act play I'd written that was partially autobiographical. He said, "you need to stop looking to others for your self esteem." I did not yet know what he meant, but it came out in my writing.
When I was 18/19 years old, I had a friend several years older than I, who worked at local gas station on the night shifts, near my college. I would often visit her for a laugh and a chat. If I came in crying, angry, etc., she would immediately hand me a notebook and a pen, so I could write even before we talked. She was a musician and a songwriter. She must have understood my need to write.
It was during my early 20's that my emotional numbness really got bad. I stopped be able to cry. I became more and more passive. I always thought I'd lost my ability to write because of law school (and the way they make you see everything with an analytical lens), but in fact, I realize, now, the truth: I was unable to write because I was emotionally broken. The same emotional issues that brought me to addiction. The same that showed through my writing before I even knew what it was. A new gift that I now realize my recovery gave me, is my "need" to write.
It is not just a desire to write. I've written over the years by choice - such as a journal about my every step during a vacation I took by myself to Costa Rica, some started diaries that really say so little, etc. But, now, it is once again a need. This need, now, carried on to my time here. I write because I have to. Doing this has given my time here purpose. I know I am helping others. It's allowing me to observe and feel and share that with you. Without writing, I would just be overwhelmed with emotions. Writing is my outlet.
My friends, here, all support my writing. My friends, on the outside, also, support my writing. They know that I have to do it. It's my reflection on the world and the world's reflection on me. It keeps me sane and lets me share the insane. It is how I think, learn, reflect, share, find substance, care, and pay everything forward. I need to keep writing. I will not allow myself to become emotionally numb, once again, due to the fact that I have no outlet. Here, people's outlets tend to be negative behavior. Some use creativity through the crafts. Others, they work out. For me, I need a little of all those things, but most of all, I need to write. I just appreciate, beyond words, that people, also, choose to read!
From Dragonfly: A Visit From My Parents
My mother and step-father visited me yesterday. I was having a lot of anxiety about their coming, as I knew that neither of them have ever stepped foot near a prison in their lives. It turned out that my mom seemed better able to handle it than my step-dad, who had a really hard time with accepting that this is where I am at - at least for the meantime. I told him that it's really not that bad, you get used to it. They were mostly concerned about the lack of medical care I am receiving, but I told them that I'm okay. I know that I need to be seeing a medical professional more often, but I will be able to pick that up again this summer. Right now, as long as I am still walking, talking, working, and able to care for myself, I think I'm getting through this experience pretty well. One does not thrive in prison, but it is possible to live through the experience. My mom and SIL will be coming for a visit today.
In other news, I did receive a letter back from my school's Provost. It was one paragraph and just upheld the decision of the Dean to revoke my admission. Once again, it stated something like, "this does not preclude you from re-applying for graduate study..." The Dean's letter said the same thing. I don't know if it's just the way they write these kinds of letters, or if it was a choice of theirs to encourage me to reapply. I'm concerned about the reapplication process... given everything, who would I be able to use as references? What does my transcript say (does it say that my admission was revoked)? It may be very difficult for me to get back in... but I do not shy away from challenges. One day, I am going to walk across the stage and receive that degree that I've put so much time and effort toward. As long as I believe I will, there will be a way to make it happen. It's when we start to doubt ourselves that we cause our own failures.
As a person in recovery, it is important that no matter what my dreams/goals may be, I allow for life to occur on life's terms. Someone recently wrote me the following quote, "we plan and god laughs." It is so true. There's no way to know what lies ahead, because it has not yet occurred. A million possibilities exist for each of us. We have to remain flexible and open to all the possibilities.
For example, I was exhausted after my visit yesterday and all I could imagine was going to bed. However, I was invited to inside rec for a game of Tri-Ominos last night, and I said, "yes." I'm so glad I did, because Lola, Freckles, Glitter and I ended up talking and laughing... laughing so hard. Turns out Glitter was engaged to a guy who she never told she was going to prison until a week before she left. I asked her, "well, doesn't he read the papers... I mean your story was in the papers..." Well, since there wasn't the right time to tell him... Well, he lost trust in her. Here's the lesson, if you are going to prison, tell your spouse/fiance... because if you don't, they may get just a teenie bit angry. We were joking around, "so, you just thought you'd disappear for three years and he wouldn't notice." "You said you were taking a long vacation."
Here's the thing, not telling people that you are going to prison takes away their right to make the decision to support you or not. It's not our decision to make, it's theirs, and we cannot control their reaction. A life experience like this certainly helps define who our "real" friends are. I've been amazed by the outpouring of support I've received, even from strangers. Others, in here, face divorce, lost friends, and broken relationships. It happens. But, you are not in control of your relationships, it is a two-sided emotional bond. You deserve to be surrounded by people who love and support you, despite your mistakes, who do not judge you. Be strong. Tell the truth.
I did. I faced consequences of the truth, including facing what I am with my school and several people turning on me. However, their judgement is on them. I cannot control their actions or reactions. However, because I told the truth, I have a visit today from family. Had I lied, I would only have distanced myself further from people who choose to care about me. I am looking forward to my visit today and will try to find some more laughter as the day goes on.
In other news, I did receive a letter back from my school's Provost. It was one paragraph and just upheld the decision of the Dean to revoke my admission. Once again, it stated something like, "this does not preclude you from re-applying for graduate study..." The Dean's letter said the same thing. I don't know if it's just the way they write these kinds of letters, or if it was a choice of theirs to encourage me to reapply. I'm concerned about the reapplication process... given everything, who would I be able to use as references? What does my transcript say (does it say that my admission was revoked)? It may be very difficult for me to get back in... but I do not shy away from challenges. One day, I am going to walk across the stage and receive that degree that I've put so much time and effort toward. As long as I believe I will, there will be a way to make it happen. It's when we start to doubt ourselves that we cause our own failures.
As a person in recovery, it is important that no matter what my dreams/goals may be, I allow for life to occur on life's terms. Someone recently wrote me the following quote, "we plan and god laughs." It is so true. There's no way to know what lies ahead, because it has not yet occurred. A million possibilities exist for each of us. We have to remain flexible and open to all the possibilities.
For example, I was exhausted after my visit yesterday and all I could imagine was going to bed. However, I was invited to inside rec for a game of Tri-Ominos last night, and I said, "yes." I'm so glad I did, because Lola, Freckles, Glitter and I ended up talking and laughing... laughing so hard. Turns out Glitter was engaged to a guy who she never told she was going to prison until a week before she left. I asked her, "well, doesn't he read the papers... I mean your story was in the papers..." Well, since there wasn't the right time to tell him... Well, he lost trust in her. Here's the lesson, if you are going to prison, tell your spouse/fiance... because if you don't, they may get just a teenie bit angry. We were joking around, "so, you just thought you'd disappear for three years and he wouldn't notice." "You said you were taking a long vacation."
Here's the thing, not telling people that you are going to prison takes away their right to make the decision to support you or not. It's not our decision to make, it's theirs, and we cannot control their reaction. A life experience like this certainly helps define who our "real" friends are. I've been amazed by the outpouring of support I've received, even from strangers. Others, in here, face divorce, lost friends, and broken relationships. It happens. But, you are not in control of your relationships, it is a two-sided emotional bond. You deserve to be surrounded by people who love and support you, despite your mistakes, who do not judge you. Be strong. Tell the truth.
I did. I faced consequences of the truth, including facing what I am with my school and several people turning on me. However, their judgement is on them. I cannot control their actions or reactions. However, because I told the truth, I have a visit today from family. Had I lied, I would only have distanced myself further from people who choose to care about me. I am looking forward to my visit today and will try to find some more laughter as the day goes on.
Monday, January 27, 2014
A January Letter Tells All to Survivor
As done earlier in this blog - I am posting a letters that was written during my time of incarceration. The following is the explanation posted on 9/13/13 in the first letter posting:
Survivor -
I haven't been writing letters much. It's a failure of my emotions and my hand. It hurts when I write a lot. Also, I always write less when I most need to write - when my emotions are in overdrive. It's so much easier to write when I'm fine and I can just observe everything around me. It's much more difficult when my thoughts are lost in my head, my senses on overdrive, and I can't exactly put words to what I'm feeling. That has been the case for sometime now.
I am honestly okay. I will survive this and I will be stronger for it. In fact, this place helped me find my creative side again and I hope it lasts - not just crafts or writing Hazel - but I wrote a play in my head a couple days ago - that hasn't happened since I was a teen. In many ways I am inspired in new ways, although I am not giving up on my old goals.
I am going to fight my way back into [my University]. I know it's not the end of the world if I don't receive my PhD, but I've worked too hard and am too determined not to keep moving forward. If I give up now, I'm a victim, but if I hold my head up high and reach my goal, I can be living proof of moving forward, succeeding when others want you to fail, and following healthy ways of living.
We can either wear our addictions, recovery, and convictions as chains or they can be scars - always there, but forever healing and fading. My life just got a little more interesting, that's all.
My visit with my folks was alright. it's the first time someone left and I cried. I want to be able to be there for my folks, my grandparents. The stress on my mom is highly noticeable. The reality of visiting me here showed on their faces. [My step dad] was brought to silence, my mom to shock.
I am currently in the "lab." I was on a call-out to have blood pulled today. I'm supposed to be tested every 1-2 months, but this is the first time since early October. I'm very curious what the results will show. I had to send cop-outs (requests) to get them to order the labs, saying, "please look at my paperwork and order appropriate labs..." But what I think officially got me in was my trip to the rheumatologist last week. She immediately asked why my labs are so old, I just looked at the C.O. with me. "I'm in prison", is my thought. So she ordered Carswell to do my labs. I pray everything looks good enough, so I can get medically cleared. Otherwise, I may be here until my out date in July :-(
I'm not upset to be missing work today. There are a lot of mean people there who decide to gang up against me and try to get me fired. It has nothing really to do with me, but I just take it all as it comes. I'll be out of here long before them.
I'm becoming quite the crafter. I can't sit and do nothing, so I always have a project going. My crochet is getting much better. My plastic canvas designs are a hit. Unfortunately, it's hurting my hand a lot. The way the rheumatologist talked about my condition is form of spondyloarthropathy that is mimicking rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and fibromyalgia. Why can't anything with me be simple? My fatigue is super bad right now and I've had a cough for several weeks. I'm going to sick call this week.
Being at Carswell is truly a one of a kind experience. Throw away all the "how to survive prison" handbooks. They simply do not apply here. Also, it's b.s. that you walk out with no friends - all us white collar folks tend to find one another. It'd like people in G.A., people you never thought you'd make friends with, but in the end, we support one another through this. It's not like my relationship with you, or people on the outside, but it is real. [The officer we met the day before I surrendered] made many statements that day before my self-surrender, that are just not true. Even the people I room with show kindness and goodness at times.
I think Sporty is coming in for another weekend in March. She's been so good to me. She sent me pics of my new room and it looks very warm, cozy, and comforting. I can't wait to sleep in a real bed again - with enough blankets, a comfy pillow, and no alarm, count, or people yelling out, "dryer three." (that's the call to tell the person in Dryer 3 that their clothes will be removed from the dryer unless they immediately com e and remove them as it is time for the next person's clothes). I wash on Sunday's & Wednesdays. The laundry wars are fierce - how do 260+ women wash their clothes 2x each week in 45 min wash/dry cycles? Fights, yelling, stolen items, etc are all part of the daily routing in the laundry wars. I think A & E should pick it up as a new show.
I've not yet given up on going to the camp across the street. My doc just needs to sign off on it, but I've never seen my doc. I'm thinking I should have an appt within 2 weeks. Perhaps God wants me here to see South off. She leaves 2/10. I can't wait to introduce you two some day. You will love her!! We'll have to take a road trip some time to see her.
Well, move is about to open. Back to work for the rest of the morning.
Miss you tons - Love you more!
Dragonfly
"In a later post - after I am home - I state that I will post some of my letters home on the date that they were written. I post everything from the letter except for things that are personal about the person I am writing that is not relevant to the experience of myself or prison. In the letters I may not have used their pseudonyms - however that is changed for the purpose to keep this blog consistent and to keep everyone anonymous as always. Other than those few changes for the purposes of consistency and anonymity, everything listed here is exactly as it it written in the letter - including how I used shorthand or symbols. Some things may be similar to what I write in prior/later blogs. Other things I may not have written at the time on the blog because I knew it was being monitored. I take photos of any images and include that as well."1/27/14
Survivor -
I haven't been writing letters much. It's a failure of my emotions and my hand. It hurts when I write a lot. Also, I always write less when I most need to write - when my emotions are in overdrive. It's so much easier to write when I'm fine and I can just observe everything around me. It's much more difficult when my thoughts are lost in my head, my senses on overdrive, and I can't exactly put words to what I'm feeling. That has been the case for sometime now.
I am honestly okay. I will survive this and I will be stronger for it. In fact, this place helped me find my creative side again and I hope it lasts - not just crafts or writing Hazel - but I wrote a play in my head a couple days ago - that hasn't happened since I was a teen. In many ways I am inspired in new ways, although I am not giving up on my old goals.
I am going to fight my way back into [my University]. I know it's not the end of the world if I don't receive my PhD, but I've worked too hard and am too determined not to keep moving forward. If I give up now, I'm a victim, but if I hold my head up high and reach my goal, I can be living proof of moving forward, succeeding when others want you to fail, and following healthy ways of living.
We can either wear our addictions, recovery, and convictions as chains or they can be scars - always there, but forever healing and fading. My life just got a little more interesting, that's all.
My visit with my folks was alright. it's the first time someone left and I cried. I want to be able to be there for my folks, my grandparents. The stress on my mom is highly noticeable. The reality of visiting me here showed on their faces. [My step dad] was brought to silence, my mom to shock.
I am currently in the "lab." I was on a call-out to have blood pulled today. I'm supposed to be tested every 1-2 months, but this is the first time since early October. I'm very curious what the results will show. I had to send cop-outs (requests) to get them to order the labs, saying, "please look at my paperwork and order appropriate labs..." But what I think officially got me in was my trip to the rheumatologist last week. She immediately asked why my labs are so old, I just looked at the C.O. with me. "I'm in prison", is my thought. So she ordered Carswell to do my labs. I pray everything looks good enough, so I can get medically cleared. Otherwise, I may be here until my out date in July :-(
I'm not upset to be missing work today. There are a lot of mean people there who decide to gang up against me and try to get me fired. It has nothing really to do with me, but I just take it all as it comes. I'll be out of here long before them.
I'm becoming quite the crafter. I can't sit and do nothing, so I always have a project going. My crochet is getting much better. My plastic canvas designs are a hit. Unfortunately, it's hurting my hand a lot. The way the rheumatologist talked about my condition is form of spondyloarthropathy that is mimicking rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and fibromyalgia. Why can't anything with me be simple? My fatigue is super bad right now and I've had a cough for several weeks. I'm going to sick call this week.
Being at Carswell is truly a one of a kind experience. Throw away all the "how to survive prison" handbooks. They simply do not apply here. Also, it's b.s. that you walk out with no friends - all us white collar folks tend to find one another. It'd like people in G.A., people you never thought you'd make friends with, but in the end, we support one another through this. It's not like my relationship with you, or people on the outside, but it is real. [The officer we met the day before I surrendered] made many statements that day before my self-surrender, that are just not true. Even the people I room with show kindness and goodness at times.
I think Sporty is coming in for another weekend in March. She's been so good to me. She sent me pics of my new room and it looks very warm, cozy, and comforting. I can't wait to sleep in a real bed again - with enough blankets, a comfy pillow, and no alarm, count, or people yelling out, "dryer three." (that's the call to tell the person in Dryer 3 that their clothes will be removed from the dryer unless they immediately com e and remove them as it is time for the next person's clothes). I wash on Sunday's & Wednesdays. The laundry wars are fierce - how do 260+ women wash their clothes 2x each week in 45 min wash/dry cycles? Fights, yelling, stolen items, etc are all part of the daily routing in the laundry wars. I think A & E should pick it up as a new show.
I've not yet given up on going to the camp across the street. My doc just needs to sign off on it, but I've never seen my doc. I'm thinking I should have an appt within 2 weeks. Perhaps God wants me here to see South off. She leaves 2/10. I can't wait to introduce you two some day. You will love her!! We'll have to take a road trip some time to see her.
Well, move is about to open. Back to work for the rest of the morning.
Miss you tons - Love you more!
Dragonfly
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