Right now, as I am preparing to go to lunch on a Saturday afternoon, hundreds of people are at a GA conference in the Midwest. It's a conference I've attended every year since starting Gambler's Anonymous and one that I gain a lot of strength from. The workshops are wonderful, the speakers insightful, but I really, really like the fellowship. There's nothing like being surrounded by so many people who smile when you walk in the room. People who care about what you have to say and celebrate small victories with you. There are also people we meet for their first time, new to GA, not understanding why so many people can be smiling, as their life seems so utterly in a disaster. In time, though, if they keep attending meetings and work their program, they too will be smiling and laughing again. The devastation slowly turns into recovery and the people within our rooms are our new family.
I wish I were at the conference this weekend. There are a lot of people I would love to see. Some of them have written me, others constantly send their prayers. It matters not. They are all my friends, my people, and I miss them a lot. I hear there's a workshop at the conference about compulsive gamblers in prison. I certainly would have had a lot to say during that workshop - the federal prison is far different from the state prison experience. Last year I offered a workshop about facing legal issues from our compulsive gambling. I did not yet know that I would be going to prison, I would learn that a month later, in May, but the possibility was always there. I still gave my declaration of Hope, as I do today. It all is what it is and I will be stronger for the experiences.
While my fellowship is spending time supporting one another and celebrating recovery, I was able to celebrate a little something myself this morning. Since I became sick, just months after my sixth knee surgery, I was never able to really walk down stairs. I would only be able to bend my left leg far enough, so I would step down with my right, and my left would follow, requiring a double step on every step, slowly. Well, I am still slow, but this morning, without having to go super wide because of my lack of bend, and while holding on to the railing tightly, I took the steps down like a healthy person would. I have days where I can do nothing, as I hurt too much, but on those days where I have the energy and am not as sore, I have been working out as best as I am able. Everyday, I walk the track with Lola. Sometimes we can only do one time around, sometimes three. I've been stepping up and down using a wood block - both forwards and backwards - getting my balance and bend. Mostly, I've been working in my room, with one of those red exercise bands, doing strengthening, bending, and getting the best that a resistance band can offer. I'm surprised at the speed of my being able to walk down the stairs. I couldn't carry anything, yet, but at least on my good days, I can keep trying/practicing, and hopefully when I go home, I will be able to take my stairs like a pro. I wish I were at the conference to let my fellowship see the progress, but it's okay that I know about it - and now you do too!
Fellowship is very important. We have fellowship in prison, as well. Only people here, along with us, could understand the experience. For example, Freckles is now trying desperately to jump through those same hoops I did, as she was denied halfway house for no reason and doing RDAP, she is guaranteed halfway house. Even staff look at her record and do not understand why she's been denied the halfway house, but it's the team that does our exit summaries that needs to make the change - our doctor (same doctor as me) and the woman who does the summary. As she is going through all this, I am there, listening to her, providing her any support I can. That's fellowship and we all have our people, here in prison, that do for us what a fellowship on the outside does for us.
I really miss my GA fellowship. I miss my meetings. I miss my people. In some prisons, there is a recovery fellowship, but not here. Only drug addictions are taken seriously. It's sad, but true. So, I will enjoy the small fellowship of friends I have here for now, but I really look forward to my larger fellowship upon my return to civilization! Happy conference day friends!
A blog about a woman sentenced to one year and one day in a federal women's prison camp and was sent to FMC Carswell for a crime related to her history of compulsive gambling.
Highlights
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Saturday, April 5, 2014
From Dragonfly: Nicknames
I've had a lot of nicknames over my life. Some were just a shortened part of my name, others were given to me based on a personal characteristic. In fact, I lived under a nickname, given to me in law school, for more than a decade. I now live by my given name - a name that is a bit too common and is even shared by someone mildly famous. In fact, I almost was not given an interview for a job once, because they thought I could be her and they couldn't imagine why she would be applying at the place. I highly recommend, those of you yet to name your children, be mindful of famous names and don't name your kids after someone well known. Figure that "Tom Cruise," "Barbara Streisand," "Barry Manilow," "Jennifer Anniston," and "Henry Winkler," are already out of contention when naming your child. Actually, the person I share my name with (she's actually not the only one), wasn't well known when I was being named. We are probably less than a decade apart in age.
Anyway, I mention nicknames, because I've been surprised by the nicknames I've obtained since being imprisoned. While everyone is really called by the first name by all the other inmates, and by their last name by staff, I still find that people want to make up nicknames for folks. The first nickname I was aware I'd picked up was "Velma." I was named this by several women in my unit who were watching "Scooby Doo" and decided I looked like that character. I try to explain that I'm cuter, not as smart, and certainly heavier than the Scooby Doo character, but none the less, they think I look like her. They also think I'm incredibly smart. I'm glad I put off that vibe, even if I know that intelligence is not just one thing... I'm good at some things and not so good at others. If they were to call me a "nerd," I'd fully agree! Nonetheless, people weekly walk up to me and ask me if I knew that I looked like Velma. Total strangers ask me this. In fact, someone just asked me this morning. Well, okay, that's a new one for me.
The next nickname I picked up, that I'm aware of, is "Garfield." I'm not quite sure why everyone wants to name me after cartoon characters. I'm not quite that animated. It started with my education co-workers. I admit it, I'm neurotic and sometimes I, also, say things before I actually think about what's coming out of my mouth. People laugh at me. Curls started the nickname, saying I'm like "Garfield," then Freckles joined in. Freckles now gives me cut out Garfield cartoons and says, "see just like you!" I find it funny, a little annoying, but funny nonetheless. They are certainly teasing me in an affectionate way, so I have no reason to mad at the nickname.
The third nickname is one I'm not proud of. Someone in my unit said that she's going to call me, "Pigeon Sex Voyeur." It's because all the pigeons are in mating season right now and the ritual I find fascinating.... the male pigeon chasing around the female pigeon. Finally, the female will stop running. They may touch beaks (kiss). He gets on top of her for like seconds. Then he comes off. They touch beaks. Then he gets on her again. I became fascinated by the number of male pigeons chasing down the same females. My curiosity led me to wonder if chicks could come from multiple male birds (like how a dog can have pups from multiple male dogs at the same time). If my curiosity makes me a voyeur, it'd be the first time EVER I was considered one. It's just a funny thing to watch and I see that I'm not the only one. Luckily, it does not appear that this nickname has caught on at all.
I'm not all that worried what anyone chooses to call me. When I lived my life by a nickname for more than a decade, I became someone different, the nickname would in the end be connected to my life of addiction. I like nicknames, find them cute (usually). I just don't get too caught up in them anymore. I am who I am, and any nickname I am given or choose for myself, will not ever change who I am again.
Anyway, I mention nicknames, because I've been surprised by the nicknames I've obtained since being imprisoned. While everyone is really called by the first name by all the other inmates, and by their last name by staff, I still find that people want to make up nicknames for folks. The first nickname I was aware I'd picked up was "Velma." I was named this by several women in my unit who were watching "Scooby Doo" and decided I looked like that character. I try to explain that I'm cuter, not as smart, and certainly heavier than the Scooby Doo character, but none the less, they think I look like her. They also think I'm incredibly smart. I'm glad I put off that vibe, even if I know that intelligence is not just one thing... I'm good at some things and not so good at others. If they were to call me a "nerd," I'd fully agree! Nonetheless, people weekly walk up to me and ask me if I knew that I looked like Velma. Total strangers ask me this. In fact, someone just asked me this morning. Well, okay, that's a new one for me.
The next nickname I picked up, that I'm aware of, is "Garfield." I'm not quite sure why everyone wants to name me after cartoon characters. I'm not quite that animated. It started with my education co-workers. I admit it, I'm neurotic and sometimes I, also, say things before I actually think about what's coming out of my mouth. People laugh at me. Curls started the nickname, saying I'm like "Garfield," then Freckles joined in. Freckles now gives me cut out Garfield cartoons and says, "see just like you!" I find it funny, a little annoying, but funny nonetheless. They are certainly teasing me in an affectionate way, so I have no reason to mad at the nickname.
The third nickname is one I'm not proud of. Someone in my unit said that she's going to call me, "Pigeon Sex Voyeur." It's because all the pigeons are in mating season right now and the ritual I find fascinating.... the male pigeon chasing around the female pigeon. Finally, the female will stop running. They may touch beaks (kiss). He gets on top of her for like seconds. Then he comes off. They touch beaks. Then he gets on her again. I became fascinated by the number of male pigeons chasing down the same females. My curiosity led me to wonder if chicks could come from multiple male birds (like how a dog can have pups from multiple male dogs at the same time). If my curiosity makes me a voyeur, it'd be the first time EVER I was considered one. It's just a funny thing to watch and I see that I'm not the only one. Luckily, it does not appear that this nickname has caught on at all.
I'm not all that worried what anyone chooses to call me. When I lived my life by a nickname for more than a decade, I became someone different, the nickname would in the end be connected to my life of addiction. I like nicknames, find them cute (usually). I just don't get too caught up in them anymore. I am who I am, and any nickname I am given or choose for myself, will not ever change who I am again.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
From Dragonfly: Seeing Improvement
Region has been here for the week. I don't know what was said, but there's already some improvement that we are seeing. For example, a bunch of people were called to pack-out, and they are going to the camp across the street. Like me, these folks had been waiting, waiting, waiting... only, they were not denied due to medication like I was. We've seen four people from my unit and several from others heading to R&D to get processed and change their Khakis to Greens.
The food has been better this week as well (although, they appear to have run out of butter). They are following the menu and things are even tasty - like the soup I had two nights ago was the first time I could stomache their soup. My pork chop last night was really over-cooked, though, so some improvement is still required.
Tuesday, at sick call, a person from region sat in the corner. He saw how the papers were picked up at 6:15, but no one was seen until after 7. He questioned them, openly, and low and behold, everyone was seen by 10:30am. No 5 hour waits! People have been talking with the regional people about transfers, medical levels, halfway house denials, lack of accessibility, and more. They've gotten an earful. I imagine this happens at every institution, but we certainly had a lot to share that are probably unique to this one.
There's no way of knowing what will and will not change in the long term. Running a place this large, with so much turn-over, cannot be easy. I certainly would not want the job. I would say, straight out, that putting all these folks together would not work. The medical staff is overwhelmed, the lack of separation of security levels is cause for concern, and the inability to have anyone's papers processed timely borders on cruel. People are forced to stay incarcerated because they have yet to see a doctor, decisions are made based on paper notes and nothing actual medical, and people are not given straight forward answers on what and why. It's certainly troubling.
I know that I will be gone soon enough, but I hope that things do get better. There are good women here, and they deserve to be treated thoroughly and respectfully. A woman with a single lung should not have to live up 24 stairs. A woman shouldn't have to threaten, "take me to the hospital or take me to the SHU" because she absolutely knew something real was wrong... she went to the hospital and died there. A woman should not have to walk around with legs as blown up as tree trunks with no idea of what to do or how to get any relief. A woman should not have to wait months for her first doctor's appointment, when she was sent to a medical facility. A woman should not have to wait in line for hours to obtain pain medication for pain made worse by waiting in line for hours. A woman in a wheel chair should not have to do "extra duty" because her roommate did not clean her own bed area well. A woman should not have to urinate on herself because she was not given access to the elevator to use the bathroom for over an hour and a half. Her friends having to carry her up the stairs so she could then clean herself off in the shower. There are a lot of things people shouldn't have to do, even in prison. People deserve their dignity. So, improvement is really necessary.
I'm glad to see the improvements. I hope they continue and that the staff here are learning about ideas that are economical and, yet, necessary. Prison is not supposed to be comfortable or friendly, but it should provide the most essential things to every person behind the fence. I thank region for spending the week here. I know that a lot of people are excited about what they learned when talking with some of them at main line. Maybe, just maybe, that is why we are starting to see these improvements.
The food has been better this week as well (although, they appear to have run out of butter). They are following the menu and things are even tasty - like the soup I had two nights ago was the first time I could stomache their soup. My pork chop last night was really over-cooked, though, so some improvement is still required.
Tuesday, at sick call, a person from region sat in the corner. He saw how the papers were picked up at 6:15, but no one was seen until after 7. He questioned them, openly, and low and behold, everyone was seen by 10:30am. No 5 hour waits! People have been talking with the regional people about transfers, medical levels, halfway house denials, lack of accessibility, and more. They've gotten an earful. I imagine this happens at every institution, but we certainly had a lot to share that are probably unique to this one.
There's no way of knowing what will and will not change in the long term. Running a place this large, with so much turn-over, cannot be easy. I certainly would not want the job. I would say, straight out, that putting all these folks together would not work. The medical staff is overwhelmed, the lack of separation of security levels is cause for concern, and the inability to have anyone's papers processed timely borders on cruel. People are forced to stay incarcerated because they have yet to see a doctor, decisions are made based on paper notes and nothing actual medical, and people are not given straight forward answers on what and why. It's certainly troubling.
I know that I will be gone soon enough, but I hope that things do get better. There are good women here, and they deserve to be treated thoroughly and respectfully. A woman with a single lung should not have to live up 24 stairs. A woman shouldn't have to threaten, "take me to the hospital or take me to the SHU" because she absolutely knew something real was wrong... she went to the hospital and died there. A woman should not have to walk around with legs as blown up as tree trunks with no idea of what to do or how to get any relief. A woman should not have to wait months for her first doctor's appointment, when she was sent to a medical facility. A woman should not have to wait in line for hours to obtain pain medication for pain made worse by waiting in line for hours. A woman in a wheel chair should not have to do "extra duty" because her roommate did not clean her own bed area well. A woman should not have to urinate on herself because she was not given access to the elevator to use the bathroom for over an hour and a half. Her friends having to carry her up the stairs so she could then clean herself off in the shower. There are a lot of things people shouldn't have to do, even in prison. People deserve their dignity. So, improvement is really necessary.
I'm glad to see the improvements. I hope they continue and that the staff here are learning about ideas that are economical and, yet, necessary. Prison is not supposed to be comfortable or friendly, but it should provide the most essential things to every person behind the fence. I thank region for spending the week here. I know that a lot of people are excited about what they learned when talking with some of them at main line. Maybe, just maybe, that is why we are starting to see these improvements.
From Dragonfly: If Cement Walls Could Talk
There is so much that happens in a room throughout the day. The comings and goings. The food being cooked. The lockers being stuffed. The unauthorized friends coming for a visit. The naps. The snoring. The book reading. Okay, mostly it is just plain boring stuff. My room is filled with excitement right now, though, as Blondie plans to leave this place after about 4 years of incarceration. I wish her well and I'm excited to be cooking her last prison meal later tonight - cheesy rice, salami, with all sorts of spices and yumminess... plus fake doritos, and I'm still trying to come up with something sweet - it may have to be a bag of MnM's.
Every room really has it's own "vibe." There are rooms, like my former one, that are constantly on edge. By the way, my former two roommates are both no longer in my unit. There are rooms full of people having 'relations.' There are rooms where people sit on the bed all day doing crafts, and other rooms where there's no one there until night. We have rooms where there are people sniffing what they shouldn't be, and rooms where someone really needs a shower. We have rooms that have all institutional bedding, and other rooms where every bed is done in a different group of colors crocheted into blankets. Some rooms have bibles laying on their pillows, some the Koran, some a book of daily meditations.
Really, there is no way to compare the daily existence of a room to another one. We can all say that there are "good" rooms and "bad" rooms. Even with Blondie about to leave, my roommates and I fear WHO will be given her bed. Will that person kill our easy-going "vibe?" Will they be a night owl, keeping us up past our pitiful 10pm bedtime, and scream at us in the morning when we all get up? Or, will they have a girlfriend, trying to hide her under the blankets when a guard walks by? Will she be a loud snorer or will she scream at us for being snorers? There's always a couple days when someone comes into the room, where we need to assess the situation. We all agree that newbies are best - they can still be molded into good roommates. We don't want anyone too "institutionalized." Isn't that sad that we judge people before they even step one foot in our room?
For the most part, my room, surrounded by cinder block and cement, is really quite boring. We all pretty much get along. We are all looking forward to going home. We pretty much follow the rules. We take care of ourselves and each other. We share good letters/cards we've received, and laugh at a good joke. They listen to me as I read an important article out of the newspaper, and they share magazines. We share books and we talk about them when we finish. We share our sweets, our laundry times, and have each others backs.
I'm glad I was given this experience of a good room in Carswell. It certainly gives me more hope than my former rooms. Every room led to new friendships, though, so there's no reason to put down my former living quarters. It's just so nice to have a 70 sq. ft. place that we never fear coming home to and laying down for a nap. It's not home, but it's where I lay my head at night.
Every room really has it's own "vibe." There are rooms, like my former one, that are constantly on edge. By the way, my former two roommates are both no longer in my unit. There are rooms full of people having 'relations.' There are rooms where people sit on the bed all day doing crafts, and other rooms where there's no one there until night. We have rooms where there are people sniffing what they shouldn't be, and rooms where someone really needs a shower. We have rooms that have all institutional bedding, and other rooms where every bed is done in a different group of colors crocheted into blankets. Some rooms have bibles laying on their pillows, some the Koran, some a book of daily meditations.
Really, there is no way to compare the daily existence of a room to another one. We can all say that there are "good" rooms and "bad" rooms. Even with Blondie about to leave, my roommates and I fear WHO will be given her bed. Will that person kill our easy-going "vibe?" Will they be a night owl, keeping us up past our pitiful 10pm bedtime, and scream at us in the morning when we all get up? Or, will they have a girlfriend, trying to hide her under the blankets when a guard walks by? Will she be a loud snorer or will she scream at us for being snorers? There's always a couple days when someone comes into the room, where we need to assess the situation. We all agree that newbies are best - they can still be molded into good roommates. We don't want anyone too "institutionalized." Isn't that sad that we judge people before they even step one foot in our room?
For the most part, my room, surrounded by cinder block and cement, is really quite boring. We all pretty much get along. We are all looking forward to going home. We pretty much follow the rules. We take care of ourselves and each other. We share good letters/cards we've received, and laugh at a good joke. They listen to me as I read an important article out of the newspaper, and they share magazines. We share books and we talk about them when we finish. We share our sweets, our laundry times, and have each others backs.
I'm glad I was given this experience of a good room in Carswell. It certainly gives me more hope than my former rooms. Every room led to new friendships, though, so there's no reason to put down my former living quarters. It's just so nice to have a 70 sq. ft. place that we never fear coming home to and laying down for a nap. It's not home, but it's where I lay my head at night.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
From Dragonfly: Fear
What is it that keeps us from living in integrity? Makes us passive? Results in lies? I think it's fear. Fear of reaction, fear of unknown. Our heads are our worst enemies, always imagining the worst thing happening. I lived in fear for most of my life. I always worried about reactions, reputation, and living in my false world. Working the steps and therapy helped me face these issues and slowly I've seen the changes. The changes don't happen overnight, but when a situation comes up, and I act the opposite of what I would have before, I know I've changed.
Such was a time yesterday. A woman whom I knew had heard from the "haters" about things I did, gossip I'd supposedly passed about her, that I didn't do, came back to my unit. She had been a friend and I was excited to see her, however, I FEARED what she thought of me. I knew the gossip about me was all-consuming for a bit, and that she wasn't around at the time for me to talk to. The old part of me popped up, avoidance and passivity. However, that only lasted a moment, when I found myself walking right up to her. I avoided all confrontation in the past, but here I was, walking up to her, ready to face any reaction I received. I spoke straight forward, telling her that what she'd heard was not true. I think she believed me to a point. It really does not matter if she does believe me, what matters is that I said it. I welcomed her back and told her I'd missed her and always considered her a friend. I then walked away.
It matters not if she believes me because she does not have to. As I say, "others opinions of me are none of my business." She is welcome to not like me if she does not want to. I don't like everyone. I don't have the need to be everyone's friend. I am just me, and I'm okay with that.
Now is a good time to write about how all this past gossip started. Someone on the outside read this, talked with someone on the inside, and rumors went around that I was telling people's gossip, naming them, and perhaps even being a snitch. I am none of these things, but it mattered not, the rumors flew. I was even threatened. Suddenly I was feared by others, "don't tell her anything." They did not understand the purpose of my writing. My purpose to help others facing similar situations. I've mentioned how gossip around here contorts and changes so rapidly, soon people I didn't even know were accusing me of the most outrageous things. I considered stopping writing.
Then, I wrote about "why I write," and I knew that I needed to keep on writing. These threats or lies were not going to bully me to stop something that is good for people and myself. I needed to believe in what I'm doing, and I do. People said that they were going to have their families send in copies. I said, "go ahead," it's not like I am writing anything I am not proud of. If people want to know about my journey of recovery and my journey in here, they are welcome to. Maybe they'd learn something. Had anyone actually received anything, no one told me. I think once they had their families look, they realized they were wrong. Amazingly, some of those "haters" and people who threatened are kind to me now. I did not back down and I faced it best I could. I won't say I didn't have fear, I had a lot. There was a phone call to a friend where my crying overwhelmed her and I. I was better after going through that, though. I was able to think more clearly and do the next right thing.
Lately, I've been so rewarded for what I'm doing. A woman, just yesterday, asked me if I write this and I said I did. She told me that she read it everyday before her self-surrender three weeks ago. She told me that she was less scared and ready to face this place, because she knew what to expect. If she were the only person who this helped, I would have succeeded, yet I know she is not. Last week, I answered some questions of a mother, worried about her daughter who is about to be sentenced. There is so little for us women out in cyberspace, I'm so glad I can make my journey a way to help others as they face theirs.
So, I face my fear and always, better things happen than I imagine in my head. We need to stop living in fear. We have no idea when the next moment will bring, we cannot predict our journeys/our futures. We must just live in integrity, in truth, and with confidence that it will all be okay in the end...
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
From Dragonfly: The Sounds of the Morning
Around 5:40 every morning, a mass amount of the nearly 300 women in my unit are awake and the sounds start. This morning, while stretching and after reading my daily meditation/serenity reader, I closed my eyes and just listened. This is what I heard between 5:45 and 6:05am.
The constant hummmmmmmm of the ice machine.
"Hey, can you grab my sweatshirt?"
Bang, bang, bang, boots going down the metal staircase.
Screech, someone pulling a plastic chair on the concrete.
Click, click, click, click, as people unstack plastic chairs to sit and wait on.
Chatter - can't make out the words as people wait near the front doors.
Swish - every toilet flush can be heard.
"R____!!!!" "R_____!!!" (calling someone's name).
Bing, bing, bing - an alarm clock going off
Bang, bang, bang, someone coming up the metal staircase.
Click, click, click, more chairs.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, two people going down the metal staircase.
"Hey, can you grab my mp3 player off the charger and bring it to me?"
SSSSSSSS, a new shower is turned on.
Flush.
Bang, bang, bang.
Pound, pound, metal on metal as someone empties their trash can into the larger receptacle.
Swoop, swoop, someone getting ice out of the ice machine.
Ice machine goes quiet for a moment.
Flutter, flutter - a new sound, pigeons in a fight on the small landing outside my window.
Flush.
Bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing.
"Turn off that damn alarm!"
Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Sssssss.
Kaboom! The ice machine released a huge amount of ice.
Swoop, swoop.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
"Hey, S_____, going to breakfast??"
Flush.
Pound, pound, pound.
Flush.
Ssssssss.
Sweep, sweep, sweep, someone near my room is sweeping their floor.
Flutter, flutter - the birds are at it again.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
Hhhhhhmmmmmmm - the ice machine pops on again with it's constant Hmmmmmmm.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Swoop, swoop, swoop.
Sssssssss.
Flush.
Laughter.
Click, click.
ZZZZZzzzzzzz - a hairdryer is turned on.
Hhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
"Are you awake??"
Laughter.
Squeek - a desk stool that needs oiling.
Chatter, chatter.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Ssssssss.
Swoop. Swoop.
Pound, pound.
Sweep, sweep, sweep.
"Hey, can you grab the dust pan??"
Chatter.
"Good morning everyone."
Screech.
Click, click.
"Hello."
Ring. Ring. The guards keys hitting each other.
Bang, bang, bang.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Hhhhhmmmmmmmm.
Squeek.
Pound, pound, pound, pound.
Flush.
Flush.
Click. click.
Swoop.
"Ugh." - someone screams as all the lights are turned on.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
Pound.
Flush.
"Ah, choo."
"God bless you!!!"
Screech.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
bing, bing, bing, bing, bing.
Flush.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Pound, pound, pound.
"Shit, I forgot my i.d."
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Pound.
Sweep, sweep.
"Hospital food service is now open, hospital food service is now open..." over the intercom.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
Clack, clack, clack - a person on a cane walking to the door.
Vvvvvvvvvvvv - women dragging their walkers.
Vvvvvvvvvv.
Bang, bang, bang.
Clack, clack, clack.
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom - chairs being restacked.
Clack, clack, clack.
Vvvvvvv.
Screech.
Bang, bang, bang.
"You coming?"
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Click, click.
"Wait up!"
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz
Bang, bang, bang.
Boom, boom, boom.
Well, I think you get the idea. These sounds will now continue until after 11:30pm tonight. Welcome to the sounds of Carswell.
The constant hummmmmmmm of the ice machine.
"Hey, can you grab my sweatshirt?"
Bang, bang, bang, boots going down the metal staircase.
Screech, someone pulling a plastic chair on the concrete.
Click, click, click, click, as people unstack plastic chairs to sit and wait on.
Chatter - can't make out the words as people wait near the front doors.
Swish - every toilet flush can be heard.
"R____!!!!" "R_____!!!" (calling someone's name).
Bing, bing, bing - an alarm clock going off
Bang, bang, bang, someone coming up the metal staircase.
Click, click, click, more chairs.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, two people going down the metal staircase.
"Hey, can you grab my mp3 player off the charger and bring it to me?"
SSSSSSSS, a new shower is turned on.
Flush.
Bang, bang, bang.
Pound, pound, metal on metal as someone empties their trash can into the larger receptacle.
Swoop, swoop, someone getting ice out of the ice machine.
Ice machine goes quiet for a moment.
Flutter, flutter - a new sound, pigeons in a fight on the small landing outside my window.
Flush.
Bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing.
"Turn off that damn alarm!"
Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Sssssss.
Kaboom! The ice machine released a huge amount of ice.
Swoop, swoop.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
"Hey, S_____, going to breakfast??"
Flush.
Pound, pound, pound.
Flush.
Ssssssss.
Sweep, sweep, sweep, someone near my room is sweeping their floor.
Flutter, flutter - the birds are at it again.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
Hhhhhhmmmmmmm - the ice machine pops on again with it's constant Hmmmmmmm.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Swoop, swoop, swoop.
Sssssssss.
Flush.
Laughter.
Click, click.
ZZZZZzzzzzzz - a hairdryer is turned on.
Hhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
"Are you awake??"
Laughter.
Squeek - a desk stool that needs oiling.
Chatter, chatter.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Ssssssss.
Swoop. Swoop.
Pound, pound.
Sweep, sweep, sweep.
"Hey, can you grab the dust pan??"
Chatter.
"Good morning everyone."
Screech.
Click, click.
"Hello."
Ring. Ring. The guards keys hitting each other.
Bang, bang, bang.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Hhhhhmmmmmmmm.
Squeek.
Pound, pound, pound, pound.
Flush.
Flush.
Click. click.
Swoop.
"Ugh." - someone screams as all the lights are turned on.
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.
Pound.
Flush.
"Ah, choo."
"God bless you!!!"
Screech.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
bing, bing, bing, bing, bing.
Flush.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Pound, pound, pound.
"Shit, I forgot my i.d."
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Pound.
Sweep, sweep.
"Hospital food service is now open, hospital food service is now open..." over the intercom.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
Clack, clack, clack - a person on a cane walking to the door.
Vvvvvvvvvvvv - women dragging their walkers.
Vvvvvvvvvv.
Bang, bang, bang.
Clack, clack, clack.
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom - chairs being restacked.
Clack, clack, clack.
Vvvvvvv.
Screech.
Bang, bang, bang.
"You coming?"
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Flush.
Click, click.
"Wait up!"
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz
Bang, bang, bang.
Boom, boom, boom.
Well, I think you get the idea. These sounds will now continue until after 11:30pm tonight. Welcome to the sounds of Carswell.
From Dragonfly: Life on the Outside
I often talk with people here who are angry at their loved ones. Perhaps their spouse didn't handle the taxes right. Maybe their kids' birthday parties weren't up to par. Some people went on a great vacation, while they were sitting in prison. My fellow inmates get bitter, have expectations on those back home, and sometimes get into fights with their family/friends.
I have to say that my response to them is that we are the ones in prison, our loved ones are not. Yet, they are going through this along with us. Our lives may be stagnant, but their lives have to keep moving forward. Not everyone should suffer just because we are. That is a selfish attitude. We, also, cannot hold responsible those on the outside for their decisions and actions, as long as they were doing their best. They may not be able to figure out finances as well as we do, or plan a party to our expectation, but, really, these are not things we can control. While we are in prison, we must allow our loved ones to figure out how best to maneuver their lives without us around. They didn't expect this time without us, and they are just getting through it best they can.
Perhaps I am being a little too lenient on our loved ones. I do think they have some responsibility if they, also, love us. They need to keep in touch on a regular basis. They need to ask their incarcerated loved one how things are going and listen, even when it's hard to hear. Our free loved ones need to know that sometimes we will emotionally react on the phone, just by hearing their voices or our kids voices. All the advice to be strong will fail us when it comes to our loved ones. We miss you all, more than our freedom. Just today, a couple friends who are grandparents said that they miss their grandchildren the most. The kids will grow so fast while they are away and they cherish their time "sitting" for their grand kids. So the responsibility on the family members is to keep in touch, send pictures, and let their incarcerated loved one know that they are gone, but not forgotten.
As for us inmates, we need to learn gratitude and humility. We must be grateful for what our loved ones are doing and humble to their trying the best they can. Perhaps they fail in certain areas, so be it. I promise we fail in some areas as well. So, while your loved one is in prison, please move forward with your lives, take vacations, plan parties, and enjoy the holidays. Send us pictures and write us often. Don't forget our birthdays, anniversaries, or other important dates. Celebrate our time as it counts down, and always as how we are. Keeping a family together is hard, even without someone incarcerated for a period of time, so take the challenge to keep up good communication and let go of all the expectations. I promise, expectations will lead to disappointment, which will lead to anger and frustration. Practice compassion instead.
I have to say that my response to them is that we are the ones in prison, our loved ones are not. Yet, they are going through this along with us. Our lives may be stagnant, but their lives have to keep moving forward. Not everyone should suffer just because we are. That is a selfish attitude. We, also, cannot hold responsible those on the outside for their decisions and actions, as long as they were doing their best. They may not be able to figure out finances as well as we do, or plan a party to our expectation, but, really, these are not things we can control. While we are in prison, we must allow our loved ones to figure out how best to maneuver their lives without us around. They didn't expect this time without us, and they are just getting through it best they can.
Perhaps I am being a little too lenient on our loved ones. I do think they have some responsibility if they, also, love us. They need to keep in touch on a regular basis. They need to ask their incarcerated loved one how things are going and listen, even when it's hard to hear. Our free loved ones need to know that sometimes we will emotionally react on the phone, just by hearing their voices or our kids voices. All the advice to be strong will fail us when it comes to our loved ones. We miss you all, more than our freedom. Just today, a couple friends who are grandparents said that they miss their grandchildren the most. The kids will grow so fast while they are away and they cherish their time "sitting" for their grand kids. So the responsibility on the family members is to keep in touch, send pictures, and let their incarcerated loved one know that they are gone, but not forgotten.
As for us inmates, we need to learn gratitude and humility. We must be grateful for what our loved ones are doing and humble to their trying the best they can. Perhaps they fail in certain areas, so be it. I promise we fail in some areas as well. So, while your loved one is in prison, please move forward with your lives, take vacations, plan parties, and enjoy the holidays. Send us pictures and write us often. Don't forget our birthdays, anniversaries, or other important dates. Celebrate our time as it counts down, and always as how we are. Keeping a family together is hard, even without someone incarcerated for a period of time, so take the challenge to keep up good communication and let go of all the expectations. I promise, expectations will lead to disappointment, which will lead to anger and frustration. Practice compassion instead.
Monday, March 31, 2014
From Dragonfly: Images
There are so many times I wish I had a camera. I've always loved photography - as a hobby. Here, though, we have no access to be able to catch a moment with a picture or a short video. So, I'm trying to capture them in my mind. I started a journal solely of "images" I would have captured if I had a camera - good and bad, mundane and odd, interesting and different. There are a lot of moments here, and if I did have a camera, I'd call the photos, "Images of Carswell." So, all I can do is capture these images in my mind, and perhaps write them down.
Yesterday, I was able to see many interesting images. There was the softball game on the yard, that could be any women, enjoying America's favorite past time. The faces of those of us trying to watch the NCAA tournament at indoor rec as the scores bounced up and leadership changed several times. There was the elderly woman, curled up in a ball on her bed with bleeding kidneys, not knowing what to do. The image of the pigeons, in heat now, chasing each other around the yard until they start to kiss and then mate. The image of the woman in the wheelchair, who feeds the pigeons, allowing them to sit on her arms and legs.
There was the image of a beautiful, sunny day, with women swarming the outdoor blue benches, talking, gossiping, laughing, and, yet, some crying. There is the image of a couple, breaking up, fighting through words, with their friends surrounding them, picking sides. There's the image of an officer, telling our unit last night, that one of our own has passed away - a woman just in her 20's/early 30's who'd had a lung transplant prior to her incarceration. And then there's the image of us, receiving that information, grateful that an officer took a moment to actually tell us and sad at the news. There's the image of the women going to her former roommates, across the way from where my room is, and consoling them.
There's the image of a woman, being brought to the SHU for whatever reason. Then, the image of the officer, overloaded with all her locker contents, trying to do the necessary inventory before packing them in the required green bags. Then, there's the image of two women, getting out of the SHU after who knows how long (a couple days, weeks, months...) and carrying their green bags to the unit they are now assigned to. People rushing up to them to hug them and see how they are. Time without any word from them has left many curious and happy to finally see their friends.
There's the image of people in full uniform, heading into visitation, waiting for the officer to open the door. They have smiles on their faces. Later, images of women leaving visitation. Their uniform is usually no longer fully buttoned up, their t-shirt no longer tucked in, as they walk back to their housing units. Sometimes they look back, to see if their family members are not yet outside the prison gates, sometimes they are super happy, other times, they have a tear or a frown. They say, "yes," to everyone who asks if they had a good visit. Some ask them what they ate - everyone thinks about the different foods we get if/when we get a visit.
There's the vision of food, left at the curb next to the opening of the sewer. Sometimes people are gathered there, waiting or "awing" as they see the raccoon(s) (cat-coons according to me and Lola). Sometimes two eyes are staring at us, sometimes six or more - the mother and her babies still live in there. Sometimes one will come out to grab food, and eat an orange or bread or noodles, whatever has been provided to them, right there with people watching.
There's the images of spring, with trees starting to bloom. Inmates working the landscaping crew are planting new things around campus. People are in t-shirts and shorts, walking the track, or playing horseshoes. There's images of people swiftly walking in the rain, or laying on their back catching some rays.
Then, there are this morning's early images. The incredible sunrise with pink and orange and clouds swiftly moving, while other clouds, lower, stay dormant. The inmates running the path to breakfast and their bananas. The others, swiftly going to commissary with their white or green mesh bags, along with the mesh grey shoulder bag. The same inmates slowly making their way back to their housing units, carrying a bag full of goodies, almost looking like Santa Clause images on Christmas, the bag flung behind their back (wishing they had a sleigh so they could put the darn heavy bag down). Inmates with bananas in their pockets, bananas in their hands, bananas being traded, bananas being peeled and eaten.
There are images of women, trying to sneak where the 'law' doesn't go so they can get in a good morning hug or kiss; always aware that someone could be watching. There is the image of a woman sweeping her floor, with a roommate screaming at her from behind telling her she doesn't know how to clean the room correctly. There are women making their beds with pretty crocheted blankets of pink, or brown, or green, or white, or grey, or all of the above. Other beds being made with institutional sheets and blankets adorning them. Everyone is trying to get their room to look like the pictures, hanging on the bulletin boards, telling us how a proper room should look during weekdays - 7:30am-4pm - possible inspection hours.
There's the image of the bathroom sinks and mirrors, seven in a row, with ten people attempting to use them for brushing teeth, doing fancy hairdos, applying makeup, or just washing their hands after using the toilets. There is the woman on a phone, sitting on the floor in the corner, with the length of the phone cord stretched to it's end, crying, and saying, "I love you." There is the image of women, lined up at the laundry office, waiting to be able to trade in old uniforms and towels for something different, yet very much the same.
Carswell is full of images. All sorts of images. My mind captures so many of them and I often think to myself, gosh, I wish I had a camera. It would be an interesting take on life.
Yesterday, I was able to see many interesting images. There was the softball game on the yard, that could be any women, enjoying America's favorite past time. The faces of those of us trying to watch the NCAA tournament at indoor rec as the scores bounced up and leadership changed several times. There was the elderly woman, curled up in a ball on her bed with bleeding kidneys, not knowing what to do. The image of the pigeons, in heat now, chasing each other around the yard until they start to kiss and then mate. The image of the woman in the wheelchair, who feeds the pigeons, allowing them to sit on her arms and legs.
There was the image of a beautiful, sunny day, with women swarming the outdoor blue benches, talking, gossiping, laughing, and, yet, some crying. There is the image of a couple, breaking up, fighting through words, with their friends surrounding them, picking sides. There's the image of an officer, telling our unit last night, that one of our own has passed away - a woman just in her 20's/early 30's who'd had a lung transplant prior to her incarceration. And then there's the image of us, receiving that information, grateful that an officer took a moment to actually tell us and sad at the news. There's the image of the women going to her former roommates, across the way from where my room is, and consoling them.
There's the image of a woman, being brought to the SHU for whatever reason. Then, the image of the officer, overloaded with all her locker contents, trying to do the necessary inventory before packing them in the required green bags. Then, there's the image of two women, getting out of the SHU after who knows how long (a couple days, weeks, months...) and carrying their green bags to the unit they are now assigned to. People rushing up to them to hug them and see how they are. Time without any word from them has left many curious and happy to finally see their friends.
There's the image of people in full uniform, heading into visitation, waiting for the officer to open the door. They have smiles on their faces. Later, images of women leaving visitation. Their uniform is usually no longer fully buttoned up, their t-shirt no longer tucked in, as they walk back to their housing units. Sometimes they look back, to see if their family members are not yet outside the prison gates, sometimes they are super happy, other times, they have a tear or a frown. They say, "yes," to everyone who asks if they had a good visit. Some ask them what they ate - everyone thinks about the different foods we get if/when we get a visit.
There's the vision of food, left at the curb next to the opening of the sewer. Sometimes people are gathered there, waiting or "awing" as they see the raccoon(s) (cat-coons according to me and Lola). Sometimes two eyes are staring at us, sometimes six or more - the mother and her babies still live in there. Sometimes one will come out to grab food, and eat an orange or bread or noodles, whatever has been provided to them, right there with people watching.
There's the images of spring, with trees starting to bloom. Inmates working the landscaping crew are planting new things around campus. People are in t-shirts and shorts, walking the track, or playing horseshoes. There's images of people swiftly walking in the rain, or laying on their back catching some rays.
Then, there are this morning's early images. The incredible sunrise with pink and orange and clouds swiftly moving, while other clouds, lower, stay dormant. The inmates running the path to breakfast and their bananas. The others, swiftly going to commissary with their white or green mesh bags, along with the mesh grey shoulder bag. The same inmates slowly making their way back to their housing units, carrying a bag full of goodies, almost looking like Santa Clause images on Christmas, the bag flung behind their back (wishing they had a sleigh so they could put the darn heavy bag down). Inmates with bananas in their pockets, bananas in their hands, bananas being traded, bananas being peeled and eaten.
There are images of women, trying to sneak where the 'law' doesn't go so they can get in a good morning hug or kiss; always aware that someone could be watching. There is the image of a woman sweeping her floor, with a roommate screaming at her from behind telling her she doesn't know how to clean the room correctly. There are women making their beds with pretty crocheted blankets of pink, or brown, or green, or white, or grey, or all of the above. Other beds being made with institutional sheets and blankets adorning them. Everyone is trying to get their room to look like the pictures, hanging on the bulletin boards, telling us how a proper room should look during weekdays - 7:30am-4pm - possible inspection hours.
There's the image of the bathroom sinks and mirrors, seven in a row, with ten people attempting to use them for brushing teeth, doing fancy hairdos, applying makeup, or just washing their hands after using the toilets. There is the woman on a phone, sitting on the floor in the corner, with the length of the phone cord stretched to it's end, crying, and saying, "I love you." There is the image of women, lined up at the laundry office, waiting to be able to trade in old uniforms and towels for something different, yet very much the same.
Carswell is full of images. All sorts of images. My mind captures so many of them and I often think to myself, gosh, I wish I had a camera. It would be an interesting take on life.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
From Dragonfly: When the Tides Shift
I've written in past about how there were "haters" against me. It seems to actually shift around. Presently, I'm not being openly hated, but Freckles is. That's how things are here. They need to have someone to gossip about, make up stories about, and put on edge. Freckles certainly has done nothing to become the target. Someone must have disliked something she did or said, and decided to start a rumor. A rumor here goes through so many renditions, that by the time it gets back to you, it's been added to and changed over 100x. Freckles says that she doesn't care, but I know what it is like to be on the gossip list, and it sucks!!!
The good news, though, is that Freckles will not have to deal with this very long. Her RDAP program is going well, and earned her an extra 9 months at halfway house. Instead of leaving in late 2015, she will be leaving in July of this year!!! That's wonderful for her and her husband. While she will have to spend much of the time in halfway house, it is a requirement of the RDAP program, she will be back in the Midwest and a short drive from her spouse. It's nice to see the system work, but I'm not going to say she isn't fighting the same as I did. This is still tentative, because her exit summary is not yet complete. She is now stalking all those people I was, and is trying to jump through all the same hoops. She will, though, because we have the blueprint for what needs to be done now. Plus, she should not be a care level 3. At most, she should qualify for a care level 2, in which case, she wouldn't even need the exit summary.
So the haters will hate and gossip and condemn. In the end, they will still be here, and we will be home. I hope they find a nicer and calmer way of life and concentrate on getting out of here, rather than other people's business. It would do them a lot of good to focus on the positive and not the negative. I, for one, am currently in the mode of listening to no gossip about anyone anymore. It is more likely to be wrong, than right, and it is a personality defect to even care. Not all people in prison are grounded and secure in themselves. They put others down to make themselves feel better. I will not partake in that kind of behavior.
The good news, though, is that Freckles will not have to deal with this very long. Her RDAP program is going well, and earned her an extra 9 months at halfway house. Instead of leaving in late 2015, she will be leaving in July of this year!!! That's wonderful for her and her husband. While she will have to spend much of the time in halfway house, it is a requirement of the RDAP program, she will be back in the Midwest and a short drive from her spouse. It's nice to see the system work, but I'm not going to say she isn't fighting the same as I did. This is still tentative, because her exit summary is not yet complete. She is now stalking all those people I was, and is trying to jump through all the same hoops. She will, though, because we have the blueprint for what needs to be done now. Plus, she should not be a care level 3. At most, she should qualify for a care level 2, in which case, she wouldn't even need the exit summary.
So the haters will hate and gossip and condemn. In the end, they will still be here, and we will be home. I hope they find a nicer and calmer way of life and concentrate on getting out of here, rather than other people's business. It would do them a lot of good to focus on the positive and not the negative. I, for one, am currently in the mode of listening to no gossip about anyone anymore. It is more likely to be wrong, than right, and it is a personality defect to even care. Not all people in prison are grounded and secure in themselves. They put others down to make themselves feel better. I will not partake in that kind of behavior.