On Sunday, South advanced a year and I had only learned that her birthday was coming up 3 days prior. She was being very secretive. So, the minute I knew, I had to get into organizer mode. We had to ensure South had a great birthday. I talked with Appeal, Mama, Lola, and others, and we planned out a menu. Then, I started working on making a crochet bookmark, with ribbon, for a gift. Thankfully, Lola and I had all the supplies necessary. No one could go to commissary last week (it was closed), so we couldn't purchase any needs. The hardest part was the cake... I required puddings, lemon juice, creme cheese, chocolate cookies, candy, and a whole creamer. Working together, we were all able to get the ingredients (sometimes promising our next born in return - ha). Plus, we needed someone who was a talented cheese cake maker - that is my co-worker, Style. Style achieves such success with cheesecakes here, that I've tasted nothing that comes even close to it. We scheduled meeting Freckles outside (so we could all eat together) at 1pm. So, everything was set up... we just had to wait for Sunday.
I started Sunday by hanging some paper balloons outside South's room. The balloons also had her name on them. She started getting "happy birthdays" immediately. Next, Lola and Mama did their best to take the birthday card we made around the entire unit to get all those who love South to sign it. There wasn't a bit of space left after everyone signed. Doing all this without South seeing, was the hardest part! Then, we started cooking our meal: ham, cheesy rice, and cheese wraps; macaroni and cheese; pretzels; and the cheesecake (which was already sitting on ice in Style's Unit). She handed it over to us around noon, and we used a large bucket to place it back on ice. No refrigerator means we HAVE to improvise.
It was FREEZING outside, so joining up with Freckles became impossible, but we did meet her outside and she gave South a huge hug and got some wraps and cheesecake. She started eating the cheesecake first - wouldn't we all!?!?! Well, actually, we ate the wraps first. It was the first time we made the ham wraps. As Lola puts it, "all the food here tastes the same." It really doesn't matter if we are making ham, chicken, or using any other available protein, they are all mixed the same way, with the same available condiments, and they do all taste the same.
Once lunch was over, we gave South her card and bookmark. She was overwhelmed. When we also served the cheesecake, she admitted to us that she never has a special birthday cake - in fact, it was only her second birthday cake that she knows of. Since her birthday is so close to Christmas, she always had to celebrate her birthday with family during Christmas. I know her well enough to know that she'd be the first person to say, "no, I don't need a special party...". She's just that way. So, our little gathering, card, and cake put tears in her eyes. She couldn't believe how many people signed her card. She LOVED the cake, which we finished up that night after dinner. She kept the card and the balloons from the wall outside her room, and put them in her items to bring home. From what I could tell, she had a good birthday - despite where we are.
Speaking of birthdays, yesterday was my mom's birthday. I tried calling her a couple times, when the phones were available, but she was probably out with my step-dad and her friends. It is likely the first birthday I've not reached her, ever. That's the thing about prison, sometimes, we can't talk to our loved ones when we want to. I know I will reach her soon, plus I did talk to her on Sunday, so that is something. But, missing family members' birthdays is definitely one of the hard things about being incarcerated.
I'm just going to close this by wishing you a Happy New Years. It does not feel like a holiday today, but tomorrow, I will have the wonderful joy of having a good friend visit. What a great way to start off a new year!!!!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Sunday, December 29, 2013
From Dragonfly: The Compound Cat
The first day I saw the "cat" was on a warmish day about a month and a half ago. The "cat" was hanging around the open compound, where there are many benches set up and inmates sit, talk, relax, and take in a little vitamin D. Later that evening, I saw several inmates "feeding" the "cat" with bread, or anything they could. They were up next to the "cat" and so excited that a fluffy animal had found it's way to the Carswell compound.
A week later, I saw several people up by a street sewer opening. The kind that's on the side of the road and is open. The "cat" was living down there and several people were leaving scraps of food, such as oranges and apples. The head of the "cat" was sticking out and happily taking the food. It's "paw" was even reaching into people's hand, as they fed him/her. This feeding of the "cat" near the sewer has become a daily activity for some.
One day, Freckles and I were walking into the main building from the compound, and the open sewer is on our way there. Suddenly, Freckles jumped and screamed of fear. The "cat" had stuck it's head out just as we passed, and since Freckles lives in the main building, she did not know of the "cat" and it's "friendliness." It was a funny moment, except that Freckles almost had a heart attack from the freight!
The "cat" remains a Carswell pet. There are times when it comes out of the sewer and walks around, several inmates will follow it and try to interact with it. It has eaten out of people's hands several times. The C.O.'s don't seem to mind, I think because they realize how absolutely insane it is that people are playing with the wild "cat."
See, the "cat" is actually a raccoon. It is a young raccoon, based on size, but a raccoon is a raccoon. It is a wild animal that these inmates think they can domesticate. I sure as heck would NOT choose to get close to the raccoon. They are known to carry rabies and be quite violent if they feel threatened. The C.O.'s just laugh at inmates getting too close to the raccoon. Kind of like, "really?!?!?"
I have to admit, it is cute to look at when it is in the sewer and just sticking it's little nose out. Although, seeing the eyes in the dark is a bit scary. It does depend, now, on the mounds of food fed to it by some inmates. I just fret the day it realizes it's power...
The "cat" is not our only pet. There are inmates that interact daily with the pigeons, that leave their feces outside our unit doors all day, every day. There are inmates who feed them and try to call them over through a weird whistle or something. They also like to feed and interact with the squirrels.
Truth is, there are people here, who have been locked up a LONG time! I know people who have been in prison for 20-30 years. Seeing an animal of any type, other than on the television, is very rare. They can't easily wander on to the compound with all the barbed wire and fencing. The only live things we see frequently, other that humans, are insects (gnats, flies, beetles, and especially roaches --- ew!!!). I heard that there once was an inmate who tried to keep a mouse as a pet once. I hear she was successful for quite a while.
So, for now, "catcoon," the raccoon (this was my name for the raccoon, I have no idea if the raccoon has been given a name by others), is the compound pet. I just pray it's cute, friendly, and docile attitude doesn't take a turn for the worse.
A week later, I saw several people up by a street sewer opening. The kind that's on the side of the road and is open. The "cat" was living down there and several people were leaving scraps of food, such as oranges and apples. The head of the "cat" was sticking out and happily taking the food. It's "paw" was even reaching into people's hand, as they fed him/her. This feeding of the "cat" near the sewer has become a daily activity for some.
One day, Freckles and I were walking into the main building from the compound, and the open sewer is on our way there. Suddenly, Freckles jumped and screamed of fear. The "cat" had stuck it's head out just as we passed, and since Freckles lives in the main building, she did not know of the "cat" and it's "friendliness." It was a funny moment, except that Freckles almost had a heart attack from the freight!
The "cat" remains a Carswell pet. There are times when it comes out of the sewer and walks around, several inmates will follow it and try to interact with it. It has eaten out of people's hands several times. The C.O.'s don't seem to mind, I think because they realize how absolutely insane it is that people are playing with the wild "cat."
See, the "cat" is actually a raccoon. It is a young raccoon, based on size, but a raccoon is a raccoon. It is a wild animal that these inmates think they can domesticate. I sure as heck would NOT choose to get close to the raccoon. They are known to carry rabies and be quite violent if they feel threatened. The C.O.'s just laugh at inmates getting too close to the raccoon. Kind of like, "really?!?!?"
I have to admit, it is cute to look at when it is in the sewer and just sticking it's little nose out. Although, seeing the eyes in the dark is a bit scary. It does depend, now, on the mounds of food fed to it by some inmates. I just fret the day it realizes it's power...
The "cat" is not our only pet. There are inmates that interact daily with the pigeons, that leave their feces outside our unit doors all day, every day. There are inmates who feed them and try to call them over through a weird whistle or something. They also like to feed and interact with the squirrels.
Truth is, there are people here, who have been locked up a LONG time! I know people who have been in prison for 20-30 years. Seeing an animal of any type, other than on the television, is very rare. They can't easily wander on to the compound with all the barbed wire and fencing. The only live things we see frequently, other that humans, are insects (gnats, flies, beetles, and especially roaches --- ew!!!). I heard that there once was an inmate who tried to keep a mouse as a pet once. I hear she was successful for quite a while.
So, for now, "catcoon," the raccoon (this was my name for the raccoon, I have no idea if the raccoon has been given a name by others), is the compound pet. I just pray it's cute, friendly, and docile attitude doesn't take a turn for the worse.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
From Dragonfly: A New Pen
I've always liked a good writing pen. Sometimes a ballpoint pen will draw my attention, other times it is a gel pen or a pen of a specific color. Here, all we can purchase is a black pen. They are the basic pens that don't write especially good or bad. They have the kind of cap that you always lose well before the pen is out of ink. It does not write well when you are laying in bed writing sideways or up. It works. I'm grateful to have a pen.
Working in education has given me access to other ink pens. At first, it was a red ink pen - identical to the standard black pen - but I could grade and write in red. This is a big deal, and I must carry the pen with me anytime I walk away from my tutor desk. Otherwise, it would be stolen by someone. I guess it's worth "bank" on the underground market. Education realizes this and will only do a 1-for-1 exchange (meaning, if you want to get a new red pen, you must turn in your old red pen). I would never sell my pen anyways, I need it to do my job and I cherish the ability to have a pen other than black ink.
Then, a week or so ago, I was able to get a blue pen from the teacher I really respect in education. He gave one to each of the tutors around me, after I inquired about it. We were all so happy with our blue pens. Now, when I ask students to correct their work, I can regrade in a new color and they can see what they did right/wrong the second time around. This blue pen is just like the red and black pens, but it is a pretty color blue! I now carry around my black, red, and blue pens in my shirt pocket to and from work each day. The true nerd in me. If only they gave away or sold pocket protectors - hah!!!
My roommate, Bandana, saw my blue pen the other day and tried to hustle it away from me. Her current girlfriend wants a blue pen. She was trying everything, like telling me to change the ink to black and just give her the blue ink. I said, "absolutely not." It's hard saying "no" to Bandana. It's not an answer she accepts. She kept trying and trying. Finally, I just locked my pen in my locker and walked out of the room. Sometimes, that is the only way to get out of these kinds of conversations. I like my blue pen and need it for work.
Yesterday, the same teacher was feeling generous - as the holidays had just occurred, and he offered me a new black pen. This one is a GEL PEN!!! It even clicks open and closed (no caps to lose!). You would think I was given a hundred dollars with the excitement I felt having this new pen. I proudly added this to my left shirt pocket and it drew the attention of others who wanted to see my new pen. Lola was incredibly jealous, but then again, I was jealous of a pen she was given from her job just a week ago. We laughed at how such a stupid thing, a new pen, can get us so excited. Talk about appreciating the little things in life!!! And, "no," I will not get hustled out of this pen either. I will use it at work and cherish it in my pocket.
I've always loved pens. At school last year, I had a bunch of fun color gel pens. In my pedagogy course, I would share my pens with my colleagues who admired them. Sometimes I would select my green one, sometimes the purple one. It didn't really matter if I lost a pen or someone didn't give theirs back, I could always get more. Such is not the case while I am here. A good pen is a true gift, and it may never be able to be replaced!
Just as a side note, my nerd pocket also contains my tutor calculator (a calculator lent to me by the education department for grading and tutoring purposes). It says, "Tutor," large across the lid of it and is the kind of calculator where the lid slides off and then slides on to the back. It is not an advanced Texas Instruments calculator, like I use for statistics, but it does allow me to do square roots, exponents, percentages, fractions, and other handy calculations. If I lose this calculator, I will not receive another one. While the pens may go home with me, the calculator was lent to me and I am responsible that it not get stolen. So, this calculator also sits in the pocket, with the three pens in front of it, and my name badge clipped to the same pocket. I think I would fit well in an episode of "Big Bang Theory!"
Working in education has given me access to other ink pens. At first, it was a red ink pen - identical to the standard black pen - but I could grade and write in red. This is a big deal, and I must carry the pen with me anytime I walk away from my tutor desk. Otherwise, it would be stolen by someone. I guess it's worth "bank" on the underground market. Education realizes this and will only do a 1-for-1 exchange (meaning, if you want to get a new red pen, you must turn in your old red pen). I would never sell my pen anyways, I need it to do my job and I cherish the ability to have a pen other than black ink.
Then, a week or so ago, I was able to get a blue pen from the teacher I really respect in education. He gave one to each of the tutors around me, after I inquired about it. We were all so happy with our blue pens. Now, when I ask students to correct their work, I can regrade in a new color and they can see what they did right/wrong the second time around. This blue pen is just like the red and black pens, but it is a pretty color blue! I now carry around my black, red, and blue pens in my shirt pocket to and from work each day. The true nerd in me. If only they gave away or sold pocket protectors - hah!!!
My roommate, Bandana, saw my blue pen the other day and tried to hustle it away from me. Her current girlfriend wants a blue pen. She was trying everything, like telling me to change the ink to black and just give her the blue ink. I said, "absolutely not." It's hard saying "no" to Bandana. It's not an answer she accepts. She kept trying and trying. Finally, I just locked my pen in my locker and walked out of the room. Sometimes, that is the only way to get out of these kinds of conversations. I like my blue pen and need it for work.
Yesterday, the same teacher was feeling generous - as the holidays had just occurred, and he offered me a new black pen. This one is a GEL PEN!!! It even clicks open and closed (no caps to lose!). You would think I was given a hundred dollars with the excitement I felt having this new pen. I proudly added this to my left shirt pocket and it drew the attention of others who wanted to see my new pen. Lola was incredibly jealous, but then again, I was jealous of a pen she was given from her job just a week ago. We laughed at how such a stupid thing, a new pen, can get us so excited. Talk about appreciating the little things in life!!! And, "no," I will not get hustled out of this pen either. I will use it at work and cherish it in my pocket.
I've always loved pens. At school last year, I had a bunch of fun color gel pens. In my pedagogy course, I would share my pens with my colleagues who admired them. Sometimes I would select my green one, sometimes the purple one. It didn't really matter if I lost a pen or someone didn't give theirs back, I could always get more. Such is not the case while I am here. A good pen is a true gift, and it may never be able to be replaced!
Just as a side note, my nerd pocket also contains my tutor calculator (a calculator lent to me by the education department for grading and tutoring purposes). It says, "Tutor," large across the lid of it and is the kind of calculator where the lid slides off and then slides on to the back. It is not an advanced Texas Instruments calculator, like I use for statistics, but it does allow me to do square roots, exponents, percentages, fractions, and other handy calculations. If I lose this calculator, I will not receive another one. While the pens may go home with me, the calculator was lent to me and I am responsible that it not get stolen. So, this calculator also sits in the pocket, with the three pens in front of it, and my name badge clipped to the same pocket. I think I would fit well in an episode of "Big Bang Theory!"
Thursday, December 26, 2013
From Dragonfly: Foods We Miss
During Christmas Day, South, Mama, Lola, Appeal, and I were feeling rather hungry in the afternoon, so we sat and brainstormed foods we miss. Rules included that the foods can't be anything that we receive during our meal rotations in the chow hall, or anything we can buy at commissary. Some of the foods only one person missed, others we all agreed on. This is what we came up with:
Real cheese
Chicago Style pizza
2% milk
White bread
Steak (rib eye, t-bone, filet, porterhouse, skirt, etc.)
Captain Crunch cereal
Toasted bagel
Brewed coffee
Totino's pizza
Bacon
Real sausage
Pancakes that are made correctly
Fresh waffles
Maple syrup
Skittles candy
Heath bars
South's homemade fudge with walnuts
Mama's homemade meatloaf
South's homemade butterscotch and chocolate pie
Ice cream mix-in/blizzard
Real biscuits and gravy
Corned beef
Potato pancakes
Walker Bros. apple pancake
Crispy cornbread
Cheesecake Factory cobb salad
Sweet corn
Chocolate shake
Steak hoagie from Edwardo's (Kentucky)
Philly cheese steak
Fresh salmon
McDonalds fries
Goldstar chili cheese fries
Italian beef (Chicago-style)
Portillo's chocolate cake
Chicago style hot dog
Chocolate milk
Shrimp
Grilled brats/sausages
Jell-O mold
South's pistachio salad
A-1 sauce
Heinz ketchup
Cool whip
Canned peaches
Fresh strawberries
Fondue
Goldfish crackers
Caramel apples
Sour cream and onion potato chips
Pie
Real cheesecake
Asparagus
Oreos
Toast
Grilled cheese sandwich
Tomato soup
Cinnamon Rolls
Cream of broccoli soup
Bacon bits
Whipped cream
Hot fudge
Pirate's booty
Orange soda
Real orange juice
Veggie omelet
Lox & bagels
Girl scout cookies
Mr. & Mrs. T Bloody Mary Mix
Tasty green beans
Sunny-side up eggs
Hash browns
Hollandaise sauce
Greek yogurt
Onion rings
Chai tea latte
Blueberry muffin
Ham and cheese hot pockets
Prime rib
Babyback ribs
Asian chicken salad
Kettle corn & Garret's caramel corn
Real cream cheese
Fresh vegetables (broccoli, celery, carrots, etc.)
Chocolate chips
Fresh baked bread
Grapes
Pita pockets
Bing cherries
Gum
Arizona's Arnold Palmer iced tea
Tomato and fresh mozzarella baguette
Hawaiian bread
French onion dip
Wine
Fresh ham
Crab legs
Lobster
Cheddar biscuits
Olive Garden bread sticks
Real mashed potatoes
Plantains
Good pico de gallo
Fried frog legs
Microwave popcorn
Cool ranch Doritos
Sour cream and cheddar chips
Lay's stacked potato chips
Kahn's bologna and cheese sandwich
Hard salami
Zesta crackers
Homemade chocolate chip cookies
Fresh brownies
Stuffed mushrooms
Garlic hummus
Spinach dip
Blooming onion
Homemade bean dip
Green bean casserole
Bread stuffing
Apple cider
Crispy Creme donuts
Frisch's tarter sauce
Cotton candy
Macaroni casserole
Chicken tortilla soup
Crab ragoons
Real fried rice
Buffalo Wild Wings chicken wings
Fried mushrooms
Subway tuna sandwich
Jimmy John's vito sub
Buckeye's candy
Seagram's Jamaican Me Happy wine cooler
Breakfast egg bake/quiche
Sausage McMuffin
Reese's Pieces
Kiwi
Fruit salad
Raspberry preserves
Frosty
Culver's Butter burgers
Frozen custard
Claussen whole pickles
Hershey kisses
Three musketeers candy bar
Clam chowder
So, when you are enjoying your meals, realize how lucky you are to have any of the above foods! It will be hard not to gain weight when I am finally free! Ha.
Real cheese
Chicago Style pizza
2% milk
White bread
Steak (rib eye, t-bone, filet, porterhouse, skirt, etc.)
Captain Crunch cereal
Toasted bagel
Brewed coffee
Totino's pizza
Bacon
Real sausage
Pancakes that are made correctly
Fresh waffles
Maple syrup
Skittles candy
Heath bars
South's homemade fudge with walnuts
Mama's homemade meatloaf
South's homemade butterscotch and chocolate pie
Ice cream mix-in/blizzard
Real biscuits and gravy
Corned beef
Potato pancakes
Walker Bros. apple pancake
Crispy cornbread
Cheesecake Factory cobb salad
Sweet corn
Chocolate shake
Steak hoagie from Edwardo's (Kentucky)
Philly cheese steak
Fresh salmon
McDonalds fries
Goldstar chili cheese fries
Italian beef (Chicago-style)
Portillo's chocolate cake
Chicago style hot dog
Chocolate milk
Shrimp
Grilled brats/sausages
Jell-O mold
South's pistachio salad
A-1 sauce
Heinz ketchup
Cool whip
Canned peaches
Fresh strawberries
Fondue
Goldfish crackers
Caramel apples
Sour cream and onion potato chips
Pie
Real cheesecake
Asparagus
Oreos
Toast
Grilled cheese sandwich
Tomato soup
Cinnamon Rolls
Cream of broccoli soup
Bacon bits
Whipped cream
Hot fudge
Pirate's booty
Orange soda
Real orange juice
Veggie omelet
Lox & bagels
Girl scout cookies
Mr. & Mrs. T Bloody Mary Mix
Tasty green beans
Sunny-side up eggs
Hash browns
Hollandaise sauce
Greek yogurt
Onion rings
Chai tea latte
Blueberry muffin
Ham and cheese hot pockets
Prime rib
Babyback ribs
Asian chicken salad
Kettle corn & Garret's caramel corn
Real cream cheese
Fresh vegetables (broccoli, celery, carrots, etc.)
Chocolate chips
Fresh baked bread
Grapes
Pita pockets
Bing cherries
Gum
Arizona's Arnold Palmer iced tea
Tomato and fresh mozzarella baguette
Hawaiian bread
French onion dip
Wine
Fresh ham
Crab legs
Lobster
Cheddar biscuits
Olive Garden bread sticks
Real mashed potatoes
Plantains
Good pico de gallo
Fried frog legs
Microwave popcorn
Cool ranch Doritos
Sour cream and cheddar chips
Lay's stacked potato chips
Kahn's bologna and cheese sandwich
Hard salami
Zesta crackers
Homemade chocolate chip cookies
Fresh brownies
Stuffed mushrooms
Garlic hummus
Spinach dip
Blooming onion
Homemade bean dip
Green bean casserole
Bread stuffing
Apple cider
Crispy Creme donuts
Frisch's tarter sauce
Cotton candy
Macaroni casserole
Chicken tortilla soup
Crab ragoons
Real fried rice
Buffalo Wild Wings chicken wings
Fried mushrooms
Subway tuna sandwich
Jimmy John's vito sub
Buckeye's candy
Seagram's Jamaican Me Happy wine cooler
Breakfast egg bake/quiche
Sausage McMuffin
Reese's Pieces
Kiwi
Fruit salad
Raspberry preserves
Frosty
Culver's Butter burgers
Frozen custard
Claussen whole pickles
Hershey kisses
Three musketeers candy bar
Clam chowder
So, when you are enjoying your meals, realize how lucky you are to have any of the above foods! It will be hard not to gain weight when I am finally free! Ha.
From Dragonfly: A Christmas Raid
Christmas may have been pretty, with all the decorations, but it was not without its drama. Late on Christmas Eve, some rooms in my unit were raided. During the raid, I was pat down for the first time. I've never been frisked (the strip downs we do ourselves). The officer told me to get up against the wall, I failed to spread my arms as I was caught off guard and have never been in that position before. She said, "spread your arms," and I caught on. Okay, sometimes I am a bit naive. I admit this flaw!
They are claiming there's a "drug ring" in our unit. I don't know about it. People here will do anything they think they can get away with. There's a party somewhere every day, and I will sometimes hear about them later. People needing to "escape" their reality, I suppose.
Christmas Day included more raids. It's hard to relax when officers are going through people's stuff all around you. I know that I have nothing, but it gets us all on edge. Lola and I just console one another and try to keep our sanity. Yesterday's reading in my "Peace a Day at a Time" book was about acceptance of circumstances and "this too shall pass." It is interesting that it was the selected reading for Christmas Day in the book. I read it three times, sharing it with others.
A lot of tears around the unit yesterday, too, as people called their families at home for the holiday. Kids asking, "when are you coming home," was a consistent message. South's family told her that they are keeping up their Christmas trees and doing Christmas again when she is home in a month. Her presents sit under the tree. Some people avoided calling families, but generally, it was more than an hour wait to use a phone.
We were fed a Cornish hen, cornbread stuffing, broccoli and cheese, croissants, gravy, and pumpkin pie for our lunch yesterday. The hen was undercooked, but I enjoyed the white meat. The stuffing was bland. The broccoli and cheese was a real treat and yummy. The croissants were undercooked (I didn't eat one), the gravy was tasteless, and I don't like pumpkin pie. But, at least they tried to make a nice meal. We were given box dinners with a roast beef sandwich, graham crackers, baked cheddar chips, a granola bar, and a can of Coke Zero. It was alright and nice to receive food we don't normally receive. I was gathered with friends - South, Mama, and Lola - for our boxed dinner experience. At least I don't have to be alone for the holidays!
During my gambling days, I spent endless hours by myself on holidays, and, often, found myself at a casino with all the others who couldn't fight their urge to gamble, even for a day they should be with friends and family. The dealers would wear fun Christmas style hats and people were extra generous with their tips. Everyone was looking for a Christmas "win." Being at a casino, we were not alone with our low thoughts of ourselves, yet we were alone nonetheless. At a casino, you can be surrounded by thousands of people, and still be alone. Now, I can be by myself, and I feel love and support from people not even here with me. I am never lonely. I am never alone.
The next hurdle will be New Year's. It is a time I usually spend on vacation. I will miss that this year, but "this too shall pass" and next year, I will be in a new place. Anyone can survive anything, when they know it is not forever.
They are claiming there's a "drug ring" in our unit. I don't know about it. People here will do anything they think they can get away with. There's a party somewhere every day, and I will sometimes hear about them later. People needing to "escape" their reality, I suppose.
Christmas Day included more raids. It's hard to relax when officers are going through people's stuff all around you. I know that I have nothing, but it gets us all on edge. Lola and I just console one another and try to keep our sanity. Yesterday's reading in my "Peace a Day at a Time" book was about acceptance of circumstances and "this too shall pass." It is interesting that it was the selected reading for Christmas Day in the book. I read it three times, sharing it with others.
A lot of tears around the unit yesterday, too, as people called their families at home for the holiday. Kids asking, "when are you coming home," was a consistent message. South's family told her that they are keeping up their Christmas trees and doing Christmas again when she is home in a month. Her presents sit under the tree. Some people avoided calling families, but generally, it was more than an hour wait to use a phone.
We were fed a Cornish hen, cornbread stuffing, broccoli and cheese, croissants, gravy, and pumpkin pie for our lunch yesterday. The hen was undercooked, but I enjoyed the white meat. The stuffing was bland. The broccoli and cheese was a real treat and yummy. The croissants were undercooked (I didn't eat one), the gravy was tasteless, and I don't like pumpkin pie. But, at least they tried to make a nice meal. We were given box dinners with a roast beef sandwich, graham crackers, baked cheddar chips, a granola bar, and a can of Coke Zero. It was alright and nice to receive food we don't normally receive. I was gathered with friends - South, Mama, and Lola - for our boxed dinner experience. At least I don't have to be alone for the holidays!
During my gambling days, I spent endless hours by myself on holidays, and, often, found myself at a casino with all the others who couldn't fight their urge to gamble, even for a day they should be with friends and family. The dealers would wear fun Christmas style hats and people were extra generous with their tips. Everyone was looking for a Christmas "win." Being at a casino, we were not alone with our low thoughts of ourselves, yet we were alone nonetheless. At a casino, you can be surrounded by thousands of people, and still be alone. Now, I can be by myself, and I feel love and support from people not even here with me. I am never lonely. I am never alone.
The next hurdle will be New Year's. It is a time I usually spend on vacation. I will miss that this year, but "this too shall pass" and next year, I will be in a new place. Anyone can survive anything, when they know it is not forever.
Monday, December 23, 2013
From Dragonfly: A Good Book
A book in prison is an opportunity to imagine a world beyond the fences, the barbed wire, the C.O.'s, and the fifteen different meals we receive each month. It is a chance to remember places that are written about, people who are similar to characters, and the ups and downs of real life. A book may be fiction, but there are certain aspects of nearly every book, even science fiction, that are real. Even the recent two books I read from the point of view of a dog, "A Dog's Purpose" and "A Dog's Journey" were connections to the real world. Albeit, the world through, perhaps, the eyes and mind of my dog, Super Dog.
I've been spending more time in my room lately, laid up on my bed, reading. I also nap, but mostly I lose myself in a book. I have a locker shelf of books I plan to read and it brings me joy to to connect to different characters and their stories. Perhaps one day I will be a writer, nonfiction or fiction, I don't know. It's always been there, at the back of my brain, that I'd like to write a book. In high school, I wrote plays. I've written short stories, but not for many, many years. I believe that my three years of law school, in my early 20's, really stopped my creative thinking path. Instead, the thoughts went all analytical (although, I was quite analytical to start with). Analytical and creative thinking are not all that different - it's about thinking outside the box. But, I tend to think things through too much. As you can read here.
Right now, I am reading a fairly new Wally Lamb book. I remember reading his earlier works, especially, "She's Come Undone." It was a book I loved and hated at the same time. The main character seemed to make so many bad choices, yet, in reality, I could totally identify with her. My current Wally Lamb book is about family, love, acceptance, art, and affluenza (a word I picked up from the TV a week or so ago, when a young man who was driving drunk killed four people in a motor accident, and instead of prison, is going to a rehab costing over $36,000 per month... they said it was "affluenza" as a person with less money, a person of color, any minority, would be in prison. A similar young man had a similar crime, and he is spending 10 years in prison. This similar young man is African American and does not have the wealth of the one going to expensive rehab). I did a research study while a law student. We were looking at crack cocaine convictions and sentencing based on race. We found strong evidence, that race indicated how long someone would spend in prison. Caucasians spent the least, Asians were next, Hispanic next, and with the most time, for the exact same amount of crack, African Americans (especially men) spent the most. Such racism is so ingrained in our justice system and I see it every day, here at Carswell, based on the population of inmates and their stories.
I think every inmate here has a story worth telling and hearing. I am not unique. Many say that they want to write a book when they are released. Most want to focus it on their lives in prison. I hope some of them do, there are not enough books for women facing prison. There are actually few resources for women facing prison. There are companies that advertise themselves for getting others ready for incarceration, but they are almost exclusively based on the male prison experience. Women need more resources. Perhaps my writing helps.
Reading will make me a better writer. Of that, I am certain. Maybe this experience has taken me far enough away from my lawyer days for me to be creative once again - I did create an mp3 holder yesterday for Lola out of plastic canvas and needle point. I've created scarves and hats. I've created a fun gift that I sent to Sporty. I like making things and making people smile. When I was young and wrote plays, they were comedies - albeit, mostly tragic comedies that tried to save the world (a black comedy about the environment was the one I remember best). People talked all over each other, like we Jews do too often, and crazy things were happening (grandpa blowing up things in the basement as he experiments with chemistry). I don't know where the ideas stemmed from, I was only a teen.
Today, my writing has a purpose as well. My goal is to help others understand addiction, to help others understand incarceration, to help others retain "hope," to help others understand survival, to help others advocate for themselves, to help others develop healthier lives, to help others understand chronic illness, and/or to entertain... Even when we share our lives and talk about all that is happening, it is so easy to wallow in the negative, but there is always positive to share as well. Yesterday, a group of us from education met for a "pot-luck" and gift exchange. I received a very beautifully decorated journal (the paper journals are free, the decor took a lot of time). I gave my person two friendship bracelets, two homemade new year's cards to mail, and two milky way bars. We ate the best prison fare we can make: potato wraps, tamales, cheese and crackers, tuna rolls, and more. We had homemade chocolate cheesecake and popcorn balls for dessert. We laughed together, and enjoyed some cold sunshine for a while out by outdoor rec. It was a nice time.
If a book only stays at the negative, I will put it down. I feel guilty not finishing a story I'm invested in, but even the desperate, like in "Room," have good moments. Moments of real love, real friendship, real laughter, and smiles. All our stories have some smiles in them. A good book stays with me, and I'll think about the characters and their stories beyond the time I am reading. I love to talk about the book with others, and lend them the best of the best. Books bring me joy and sharing them with others brings me even greater joy. This time in prison is giving me the opportunity to enjoy a lot of good books.
I've been spending more time in my room lately, laid up on my bed, reading. I also nap, but mostly I lose myself in a book. I have a locker shelf of books I plan to read and it brings me joy to to connect to different characters and their stories. Perhaps one day I will be a writer, nonfiction or fiction, I don't know. It's always been there, at the back of my brain, that I'd like to write a book. In high school, I wrote plays. I've written short stories, but not for many, many years. I believe that my three years of law school, in my early 20's, really stopped my creative thinking path. Instead, the thoughts went all analytical (although, I was quite analytical to start with). Analytical and creative thinking are not all that different - it's about thinking outside the box. But, I tend to think things through too much. As you can read here.
Right now, I am reading a fairly new Wally Lamb book. I remember reading his earlier works, especially, "She's Come Undone." It was a book I loved and hated at the same time. The main character seemed to make so many bad choices, yet, in reality, I could totally identify with her. My current Wally Lamb book is about family, love, acceptance, art, and affluenza (a word I picked up from the TV a week or so ago, when a young man who was driving drunk killed four people in a motor accident, and instead of prison, is going to a rehab costing over $36,000 per month... they said it was "affluenza" as a person with less money, a person of color, any minority, would be in prison. A similar young man had a similar crime, and he is spending 10 years in prison. This similar young man is African American and does not have the wealth of the one going to expensive rehab). I did a research study while a law student. We were looking at crack cocaine convictions and sentencing based on race. We found strong evidence, that race indicated how long someone would spend in prison. Caucasians spent the least, Asians were next, Hispanic next, and with the most time, for the exact same amount of crack, African Americans (especially men) spent the most. Such racism is so ingrained in our justice system and I see it every day, here at Carswell, based on the population of inmates and their stories.
I think every inmate here has a story worth telling and hearing. I am not unique. Many say that they want to write a book when they are released. Most want to focus it on their lives in prison. I hope some of them do, there are not enough books for women facing prison. There are actually few resources for women facing prison. There are companies that advertise themselves for getting others ready for incarceration, but they are almost exclusively based on the male prison experience. Women need more resources. Perhaps my writing helps.
Reading will make me a better writer. Of that, I am certain. Maybe this experience has taken me far enough away from my lawyer days for me to be creative once again - I did create an mp3 holder yesterday for Lola out of plastic canvas and needle point. I've created scarves and hats. I've created a fun gift that I sent to Sporty. I like making things and making people smile. When I was young and wrote plays, they were comedies - albeit, mostly tragic comedies that tried to save the world (a black comedy about the environment was the one I remember best). People talked all over each other, like we Jews do too often, and crazy things were happening (grandpa blowing up things in the basement as he experiments with chemistry). I don't know where the ideas stemmed from, I was only a teen.
Today, my writing has a purpose as well. My goal is to help others understand addiction, to help others understand incarceration, to help others retain "hope," to help others understand survival, to help others advocate for themselves, to help others develop healthier lives, to help others understand chronic illness, and/or to entertain... Even when we share our lives and talk about all that is happening, it is so easy to wallow in the negative, but there is always positive to share as well. Yesterday, a group of us from education met for a "pot-luck" and gift exchange. I received a very beautifully decorated journal (the paper journals are free, the decor took a lot of time). I gave my person two friendship bracelets, two homemade new year's cards to mail, and two milky way bars. We ate the best prison fare we can make: potato wraps, tamales, cheese and crackers, tuna rolls, and more. We had homemade chocolate cheesecake and popcorn balls for dessert. We laughed together, and enjoyed some cold sunshine for a while out by outdoor rec. It was a nice time.
If a book only stays at the negative, I will put it down. I feel guilty not finishing a story I'm invested in, but even the desperate, like in "Room," have good moments. Moments of real love, real friendship, real laughter, and smiles. All our stories have some smiles in them. A good book stays with me, and I'll think about the characters and their stories beyond the time I am reading. I love to talk about the book with others, and lend them the best of the best. Books bring me joy and sharing them with others brings me even greater joy. This time in prison is giving me the opportunity to enjoy a lot of good books.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
From Dragonfly: Minimum In/Minimum Out
Those of us who enter prison with a "minimum" security level, probably don't know that there are two levels within minimum security. One is labeled "in" and the other "out." Had we not been medically designated to the medical facility, our security level would start "minimum out" at a prison camp. However, the majority of us who are designated here, are labeled "minimum in." What does the "in" vs. "out" mean?
It's easy, first, to explain "out." "Out" is that we are camp status, can be in a non-secured environment, and can see medical providers and others off the prison grounds without being handcuffed and shackled when we go. "In," is the opposite of that. "In" means that we are designated to a secured environment, it's a higher level of security, and if we have an appointment off of the facilities grounds, we are shackled and handcuffed. Since I was designated, "minimum-in," had my referral for a rhuematology appointment occurred, I would have been handcuffed and shackled for the medical trip.
This really disturbed me. I was nervous about walking with leg shackles. I have a limp and my balance is not great, so I am concerned about the chain/cuff restrictions. However, that appointment has yet to occur (waiting 4 months so far). Many of us talk about the fact that we have to be shackled in our med-trips, as many of us, especially those who self-surrendered, have never even been handcuffed. During this entire ordeal, I have never been handcuffed, which those who were officially arrested think those of us who say that have to be lying. Our experiences leading us through the legal process are so different.
Anyway, we are all told different things on why our status starts as "minimum - in" rather than "out," since we are camp eligible except for medical reasons. Almost all of us started with "in," myself, Nurse, Freckles, Mama, etc. South is the only person I know who did not start with an "in" status, although her sentence was for only 6 months, so perhaps that's why. All of us have been asking why we have "in" status and how we can get it changed to "out." At first, I was told that anyone with a medical issue has to be evaluated before they can receive out status, and it takes about 6 months. Next time, I was told it takes about 7 months. The next time, I was told it was changed to "out" the week before because of them making me eligible for the camp across the street (this is the time I learned that I was being sent to the camp, which since has been recanted, but now may be happening again). With "minimum-in" status, we cannot go to the camp across the street, or any camp for that matter. So, for a couple weeks, now, I've been "minimum-out" (thank god).
However, several of my friends are trying to figure out how their status can be changed. From my experience, I think that the case worker can change it, but the secured facility prefers for the people here to be "in" custody security level. It validates why we are at a medium security facility, even though we are "minimum" security status. I know that this place wouldn't consider it, but it would make a lot of sense, since so many minimum security people are here for medical reasons, to have a housing unit specifically for "minimum-out" inmates. We could, therefore, have the same rights as people in a camp. However, they cannot do that, as I know in my head, how unmanageable that would be. You can't have some inmates roaming the grounds, while others have to be racked up. Instead, treating every inmate the same, is the only way to control such an uncontrollable situation.
In men's federal prisons, there are several medical facilities. They have med-camps, med-low, med - medium, and even, med-max facilities. There are several of each type. Male inmates in medical facilities are still, usually, placed within the 500 mile mark of their home. With only one female medical facility, we are flown here from all over the county, put all together, and live in the medium-security experience. I know that it could be a lot worse, but based on my sentence, crime, and my security level, my experience should be different.
Although, there are no "shoulds," we are sent where we are supposed to be to gain the experiences we are supposed to gain, in order to learn whatever it is we are supposed to learn. I know that I am here, at Carswell, for a reason. I know that my being here has helped others. I, also, know that other's being here has helped me. I know that working in the education department here, has made me a better educator, and a deeper thinker about higher and adult education. I know that I was meant to meet South my first day here, and have her friendship and trust. I am glad to have made other friends that I can honestly say, I do hope to keep in touch with upon my release. I wrote many months ago, "you enter with not friends, you leave with no friends," or something like that. But the truth is, we do make friendships. Some may not last, others run deep. We are with each other at some of the lowest parts of our lives, and some "get" us, while other's don't.
The old saying that goes something like, "People enter our lives for a reason, season, or a lifetime," is certainly true. I know that people, here, are part of my life for one of those three things. Even the ones that I fear or who are angry and mean, have a "reason" to be in my life. Others, I may only know well, while we are incarcerated, they are my "season" connections. We lift each other up and support each other for now, knowing that once we walk outside the gates, we may never speak again. Then there are those I hope are "lifetime." They are good people. They are thinkers, caring, funny, intelligent, nerdy, beautiful, creative, and interesting. I can honestly say that there's less than a handful of people I've met here who I hope are going to be with me for a "lifetime," but that's all I need. I have incredible "lifetime" friends back home, but prison is making my life richer, by bringing new people into it that bring me happiness and compassion. Like I said, people who I "get" and who "get" me.
Anyway, similar experiences, similar road blocks, can bring people together. I believe that is what happened when I walked into Carswell. It is what starts conversations with "why am I minimum-in status?" A simple conversation can lead to a new friendship. Even as we may not fully understand the reasons for what brings us all together, we can certainly understand the experience of finding ourselves here together.
It's easy, first, to explain "out." "Out" is that we are camp status, can be in a non-secured environment, and can see medical providers and others off the prison grounds without being handcuffed and shackled when we go. "In," is the opposite of that. "In" means that we are designated to a secured environment, it's a higher level of security, and if we have an appointment off of the facilities grounds, we are shackled and handcuffed. Since I was designated, "minimum-in," had my referral for a rhuematology appointment occurred, I would have been handcuffed and shackled for the medical trip.
This really disturbed me. I was nervous about walking with leg shackles. I have a limp and my balance is not great, so I am concerned about the chain/cuff restrictions. However, that appointment has yet to occur (waiting 4 months so far). Many of us talk about the fact that we have to be shackled in our med-trips, as many of us, especially those who self-surrendered, have never even been handcuffed. During this entire ordeal, I have never been handcuffed, which those who were officially arrested think those of us who say that have to be lying. Our experiences leading us through the legal process are so different.
Anyway, we are all told different things on why our status starts as "minimum - in" rather than "out," since we are camp eligible except for medical reasons. Almost all of us started with "in," myself, Nurse, Freckles, Mama, etc. South is the only person I know who did not start with an "in" status, although her sentence was for only 6 months, so perhaps that's why. All of us have been asking why we have "in" status and how we can get it changed to "out." At first, I was told that anyone with a medical issue has to be evaluated before they can receive out status, and it takes about 6 months. Next time, I was told it takes about 7 months. The next time, I was told it was changed to "out" the week before because of them making me eligible for the camp across the street (this is the time I learned that I was being sent to the camp, which since has been recanted, but now may be happening again). With "minimum-in" status, we cannot go to the camp across the street, or any camp for that matter. So, for a couple weeks, now, I've been "minimum-out" (thank god).
However, several of my friends are trying to figure out how their status can be changed. From my experience, I think that the case worker can change it, but the secured facility prefers for the people here to be "in" custody security level. It validates why we are at a medium security facility, even though we are "minimum" security status. I know that this place wouldn't consider it, but it would make a lot of sense, since so many minimum security people are here for medical reasons, to have a housing unit specifically for "minimum-out" inmates. We could, therefore, have the same rights as people in a camp. However, they cannot do that, as I know in my head, how unmanageable that would be. You can't have some inmates roaming the grounds, while others have to be racked up. Instead, treating every inmate the same, is the only way to control such an uncontrollable situation.
In men's federal prisons, there are several medical facilities. They have med-camps, med-low, med - medium, and even, med-max facilities. There are several of each type. Male inmates in medical facilities are still, usually, placed within the 500 mile mark of their home. With only one female medical facility, we are flown here from all over the county, put all together, and live in the medium-security experience. I know that it could be a lot worse, but based on my sentence, crime, and my security level, my experience should be different.
Although, there are no "shoulds," we are sent where we are supposed to be to gain the experiences we are supposed to gain, in order to learn whatever it is we are supposed to learn. I know that I am here, at Carswell, for a reason. I know that my being here has helped others. I, also, know that other's being here has helped me. I know that working in the education department here, has made me a better educator, and a deeper thinker about higher and adult education. I know that I was meant to meet South my first day here, and have her friendship and trust. I am glad to have made other friends that I can honestly say, I do hope to keep in touch with upon my release. I wrote many months ago, "you enter with not friends, you leave with no friends," or something like that. But the truth is, we do make friendships. Some may not last, others run deep. We are with each other at some of the lowest parts of our lives, and some "get" us, while other's don't.
The old saying that goes something like, "People enter our lives for a reason, season, or a lifetime," is certainly true. I know that people, here, are part of my life for one of those three things. Even the ones that I fear or who are angry and mean, have a "reason" to be in my life. Others, I may only know well, while we are incarcerated, they are my "season" connections. We lift each other up and support each other for now, knowing that once we walk outside the gates, we may never speak again. Then there are those I hope are "lifetime." They are good people. They are thinkers, caring, funny, intelligent, nerdy, beautiful, creative, and interesting. I can honestly say that there's less than a handful of people I've met here who I hope are going to be with me for a "lifetime," but that's all I need. I have incredible "lifetime" friends back home, but prison is making my life richer, by bringing new people into it that bring me happiness and compassion. Like I said, people who I "get" and who "get" me.
Anyway, similar experiences, similar road blocks, can bring people together. I believe that is what happened when I walked into Carswell. It is what starts conversations with "why am I minimum-in status?" A simple conversation can lead to a new friendship. Even as we may not fully understand the reasons for what brings us all together, we can certainly understand the experience of finding ourselves here together.
From Dragonfly: Acceptance Again
In the past, I've written you about acceptance. It is such an important way to deal with imprisonment, consequences, and things that just don't go as we had planned. I had no ability to understand "acceptance" when I was lost in addiction. Addiction is all about chasing something, something different, and not living in the day, but living in a dream world with endless possibilities. Addiction is about self-hatred, lack of reality, hurting oneself, and blaming everyone else. Addiction is a lost-world, where our thoughts and our actions do not match, where we are the center of the universe, and where others perceptions of us matter much more than our own perception of ourselves. It is a time when our fears dictate our actions and running away from consequences is a matter of survival.
Acceptance is a step toward reality. If we can accept and love ourselves. If we can accept and thrive in our consequences. If we can live in the day and let go of our past demons and stop the worry of what is to come, we can find true acceptance. Sometimes I wonder if I am strong enough, yet, here I am, four months into my imprisonment, and I am still believing in my serenity. I am still loving my friends and family, and they are loving me in return. I still turn to my higher power when I feel powerless, and I am still not gambling, and I've not crossed into a different addiction. I am accepting the circumstances of my situation, and I even laugh every now and then. Yesterday, my best laugh came when I was reading the January edition of "Reader's Digest." There was a picture in there that was funny, although we know it was not intended that way - it was connected to a serious story. I made my entire table of friends laugh as I made a "crack" about the photo. We laughed hard. We needed that laugh. Perhaps it would not have struck us as funny outside of where we are, but it did last night, and I'm grateful for that. I'm also grateful that I helped others find some laughter. Yesterday, was a sad day for many. A friend, Mama, was missing her kids, especially since her middle child turned six yesterday. A bunch of us were missing Star, as she was moved to a room in the medical center - since she is less than one month from having her baby. It will be rare, now, for us to see her. With Christmas approaching, those in their first year (especially) are having a tough time thinking of the holidays without their family. Some are receiving cards from friends and family members for the holiday, that they haven't heard from in months, or even a year. I know that I've received numerous cards from G.A. members, who may or may not really know who I am. I appreciate all the love and support, others just go to dark places. They are, often, unable to accept that their life has brought them to this place.
I have no idea how this experience would have been, had I been having it five years ago, when I was just trying to understand my addiction, and my self-hatred was at an all-time high. I know that "acceptance" would have not been a part of my experience, I was too 'broken' to see through my actions, the consequences, or that I could have a future beyond this experience. Since I live in the day, I know that I can not even begin to know what that future looks like, but in the past, I would have made up a million stories in my head of the hatred, failures, and demons that would follow me. Today, I do not. I am, of course, concerned greatly about what comes after this, and even what the next 4-5 months here will be like, but it is something I release when the fears grow.
I know from experience, that my life is never where I think it will be, and my thoughts are always worse than reality. In reality, some people thrive even in the worst of circumstances. For me, I know that I am not in the worst of circumstances - there are prisons all over this world far worse than I am in. There are people imprisoned far longer than I am, for crimes they may not even have committed. There are people who fear for their life, just for being who they are, on the streets in nearly every country. There are people who sacrificed years of their lives for ensuring a better future for the future generations. I can always think about Nelson Mandela and his book, "Long Walk to Freedom," and the prison I visited that showed me where he lived for most of the 27 years he was incarcerated, and I know that there are countless others who have done similar for their beliefs and the betterment of others.
I am in prison due to my own actions. My addiction is an explanation of the actions, but I accept that I must face the consequences. I accept that I am one of few people who believe that prison is not an end, but just another road block to a wonderful and fulfilling life. I know that this experience is something I will grow from, and will not hide from in the future. If I am open and honest with others, they will be powerless to hold this experience over me as a threat. I will no longer be threatened about my past and who I was/am. Yes, I will always be a felon. Yes, I am going through a very difficult experience. Yes, without my addiction, I would never have made such bad choices. I accept myself. I accept my choices. I accept my situation. I will accept what happens next because of it. Acceptance, again, is the way to serenity. At least, it is for me.
Acceptance is a step toward reality. If we can accept and love ourselves. If we can accept and thrive in our consequences. If we can live in the day and let go of our past demons and stop the worry of what is to come, we can find true acceptance. Sometimes I wonder if I am strong enough, yet, here I am, four months into my imprisonment, and I am still believing in my serenity. I am still loving my friends and family, and they are loving me in return. I still turn to my higher power when I feel powerless, and I am still not gambling, and I've not crossed into a different addiction. I am accepting the circumstances of my situation, and I even laugh every now and then. Yesterday, my best laugh came when I was reading the January edition of "Reader's Digest." There was a picture in there that was funny, although we know it was not intended that way - it was connected to a serious story. I made my entire table of friends laugh as I made a "crack" about the photo. We laughed hard. We needed that laugh. Perhaps it would not have struck us as funny outside of where we are, but it did last night, and I'm grateful for that. I'm also grateful that I helped others find some laughter. Yesterday, was a sad day for many. A friend, Mama, was missing her kids, especially since her middle child turned six yesterday. A bunch of us were missing Star, as she was moved to a room in the medical center - since she is less than one month from having her baby. It will be rare, now, for us to see her. With Christmas approaching, those in their first year (especially) are having a tough time thinking of the holidays without their family. Some are receiving cards from friends and family members for the holiday, that they haven't heard from in months, or even a year. I know that I've received numerous cards from G.A. members, who may or may not really know who I am. I appreciate all the love and support, others just go to dark places. They are, often, unable to accept that their life has brought them to this place.
I have no idea how this experience would have been, had I been having it five years ago, when I was just trying to understand my addiction, and my self-hatred was at an all-time high. I know that "acceptance" would have not been a part of my experience, I was too 'broken' to see through my actions, the consequences, or that I could have a future beyond this experience. Since I live in the day, I know that I can not even begin to know what that future looks like, but in the past, I would have made up a million stories in my head of the hatred, failures, and demons that would follow me. Today, I do not. I am, of course, concerned greatly about what comes after this, and even what the next 4-5 months here will be like, but it is something I release when the fears grow.
I know from experience, that my life is never where I think it will be, and my thoughts are always worse than reality. In reality, some people thrive even in the worst of circumstances. For me, I know that I am not in the worst of circumstances - there are prisons all over this world far worse than I am in. There are people imprisoned far longer than I am, for crimes they may not even have committed. There are people who fear for their life, just for being who they are, on the streets in nearly every country. There are people who sacrificed years of their lives for ensuring a better future for the future generations. I can always think about Nelson Mandela and his book, "Long Walk to Freedom," and the prison I visited that showed me where he lived for most of the 27 years he was incarcerated, and I know that there are countless others who have done similar for their beliefs and the betterment of others.
I am in prison due to my own actions. My addiction is an explanation of the actions, but I accept that I must face the consequences. I accept that I am one of few people who believe that prison is not an end, but just another road block to a wonderful and fulfilling life. I know that this experience is something I will grow from, and will not hide from in the future. If I am open and honest with others, they will be powerless to hold this experience over me as a threat. I will no longer be threatened about my past and who I was/am. Yes, I will always be a felon. Yes, I am going through a very difficult experience. Yes, without my addiction, I would never have made such bad choices. I accept myself. I accept my choices. I accept my situation. I will accept what happens next because of it. Acceptance, again, is the way to serenity. At least, it is for me.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
From Dragonfly: The Grinch
I've mentioned before that Carswell is overflowing with "Christmas" decor. Well, 1 south has officially gotten into the spirit. With the theme, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," there is decor in the unit from the tall ceilings to under the stairwells. The creativity is amazing and everyone seems to be joining in. We have a sled coming down the stairs with a Grinch on it, carrying presents to Whoville (just like the end of the book). There are "who people" all over the place, on walls, on columns, in doorways. They are by themselves, gathered with family, carrying who babies, all the people, just like the book. There are snowflakes hanging from up above - 3D paper snowflakes at that! There are two Christmas trees, a fake chimney with the Grinch coming down it and stealing all the Christmas presents from under one of the trees, and a cardboard one-room Who house - built to size. It says, "Merry Christmas" everywhere - including in letters written like the book - where some of them are backwards. Around the entries to about 90% of the inmate rooms, there is decor done by the rooms - stockings, paper cut to look like Christmas lights, signs, Christmas cards received in the mail, and at my door is a bunch of hanging ball ornaments with a fake mistletoe hanging in the middle (there is no encouraged kissing under the mistletoe, as that is against the rules). Sometime between today and Monday, our decor will be compared to all the other units, and the winning unit will eat first next week. Yes, we still have to be tidy, but this week our inspection is really about the decorations.
To be honest, I'd been not feeling too well, which was as good an excuse as any to not participate in all the decorating. But, part of me, was honestly annoyed that so much is being done for Christmas - as a place where the idea of "separation of church and state" should be strong (it is a federal institution). But, I have to admit, I was watching many of my friends get into the spirit and it was nice seeing people smiling, working well together, and the large unit come together.
One thing still bothered me, though. I was upset that there was no acknowledgement of "others" - those who may not celebrate anything or who celebrate other holidays. Everyone has a right to their own beliefs and religion. So, yesterday, I decided to join the creativity. I attached four pieces of paper - all different colors - into a large square. On it I wrote, "Whoville loves diversity," and then listed "Merry Christmas," "Happy Channukah," "Happy Solstice," "Happy Kwanzaa," and "Happy New Year." I also drew a "who person" to adorn the sign. It is not a large sign, and it is hanging outside my room, which is kind of in the back corner, but I felt better. It felt right to acknowledge that we can be in the spirit, too, but celebrate different things.
Yes, I am Jewish, but I always loved the story about the Grinch. I, also, have a picture from my childhood, where my grandma, my sister, and I are with Santa Clause. I'm not sure if we gave our "lists" for presents for Channukah to Santa. Knowing myself to be a smart-ass, I probably looked at Santa and said, "I'm Jewish," or something like that. Maybe not. Christmas is a season, although the religious part of it happens over a couple of days. If it is the season that brings some happiness to people, especially in prison, than I will not fight it. As of now, that is all the decor is. There is not a large cross or anything like that - it is like a cartoon land in our unit and it makes everyone overwhelmed and happy at the same time. Dr. Seuss can make people of all ages happy.
I must mention something more about the creativity. I have never in my life seen better drawing, better painting, better thinking (creatively), than I do in my unit. Yesterday, Curls, another person in my unit who is also a tutor and I were talking about how traditional education left so many people behind. I told her that looking at the creativity, many of these people were strong creatively, perhaps not academically. However, our traditional school system does not necessary help the creative thrive, they may just draw all over the binders, instead of doing their math. These are some of the people who could make an entire generation of art reach new people. Think about some of the graffiti you've seen - where people with spray cans can make an incredible picture without even outlining it first. Yes, it's graffiti, but don't lose sight of the art. I certainly could NOT do that. I could maybe draw stick people, and now, I am getting good at drawing a snail. That's about the extent of my talent (okay, I did draw snowmen, Santa, menorahs, and the like on some holiday cards I mailed out, but I am VERY limited on what I can draw decently).
Today, will be a half day of work. They are going to do inmate recall soon after lunch. We had received Christmas cookies and egg nog a couple weeks back, today, we officially get our present - a bag full of snack food. From my understanding, each of us will get some chips, candy, and items not traditionally sold by our commissary. They say that the bags get smaller year after year. That doesn't surprise me, as the number of inmates has increased year after year. People are already talking about what they will exchange, even though they don't know the exact contents. They are basing it on past years. I will stand in the line this afternoon, glad to receive my "gift," and having everyone say "Merry Christmas" to me. I will not be the Grinch.
To be honest, I'd been not feeling too well, which was as good an excuse as any to not participate in all the decorating. But, part of me, was honestly annoyed that so much is being done for Christmas - as a place where the idea of "separation of church and state" should be strong (it is a federal institution). But, I have to admit, I was watching many of my friends get into the spirit and it was nice seeing people smiling, working well together, and the large unit come together.
One thing still bothered me, though. I was upset that there was no acknowledgement of "others" - those who may not celebrate anything or who celebrate other holidays. Everyone has a right to their own beliefs and religion. So, yesterday, I decided to join the creativity. I attached four pieces of paper - all different colors - into a large square. On it I wrote, "Whoville loves diversity," and then listed "Merry Christmas," "Happy Channukah," "Happy Solstice," "Happy Kwanzaa," and "Happy New Year." I also drew a "who person" to adorn the sign. It is not a large sign, and it is hanging outside my room, which is kind of in the back corner, but I felt better. It felt right to acknowledge that we can be in the spirit, too, but celebrate different things.
Yes, I am Jewish, but I always loved the story about the Grinch. I, also, have a picture from my childhood, where my grandma, my sister, and I are with Santa Clause. I'm not sure if we gave our "lists" for presents for Channukah to Santa. Knowing myself to be a smart-ass, I probably looked at Santa and said, "I'm Jewish," or something like that. Maybe not. Christmas is a season, although the religious part of it happens over a couple of days. If it is the season that brings some happiness to people, especially in prison, than I will not fight it. As of now, that is all the decor is. There is not a large cross or anything like that - it is like a cartoon land in our unit and it makes everyone overwhelmed and happy at the same time. Dr. Seuss can make people of all ages happy.
I must mention something more about the creativity. I have never in my life seen better drawing, better painting, better thinking (creatively), than I do in my unit. Yesterday, Curls, another person in my unit who is also a tutor and I were talking about how traditional education left so many people behind. I told her that looking at the creativity, many of these people were strong creatively, perhaps not academically. However, our traditional school system does not necessary help the creative thrive, they may just draw all over the binders, instead of doing their math. These are some of the people who could make an entire generation of art reach new people. Think about some of the graffiti you've seen - where people with spray cans can make an incredible picture without even outlining it first. Yes, it's graffiti, but don't lose sight of the art. I certainly could NOT do that. I could maybe draw stick people, and now, I am getting good at drawing a snail. That's about the extent of my talent (okay, I did draw snowmen, Santa, menorahs, and the like on some holiday cards I mailed out, but I am VERY limited on what I can draw decently).
Today, will be a half day of work. They are going to do inmate recall soon after lunch. We had received Christmas cookies and egg nog a couple weeks back, today, we officially get our present - a bag full of snack food. From my understanding, each of us will get some chips, candy, and items not traditionally sold by our commissary. They say that the bags get smaller year after year. That doesn't surprise me, as the number of inmates has increased year after year. People are already talking about what they will exchange, even though they don't know the exact contents. They are basing it on past years. I will stand in the line this afternoon, glad to receive my "gift," and having everyone say "Merry Christmas" to me. I will not be the Grinch.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
From Dragonfly: Signs of Compassion
It is easy to walk around prison with a negative attitude, be selfish, and not notice the little things. However, I try to be an observer, and there are always people doing for others - to me, these are signs that these people still have compassion, the ability to care for another human being, even as they are put into the impossibility of living here. I want to share some of the things that bring a smile to my face.
I see young women who will walk up to a wheel chair of a total stranger and offer to push them across campus or just to the next room (it all counts). Yesterday, I saw an African American older woman fixing the hair of a Caucasian older woman sitting next to her in the clinic. She had made her hair into a fancy bun and kept doing it until it was perfect with a smile on her face the entire time. I see women show concern for people who faint, have a seizure, or have an emergency sending them to the medical unit. I see women cry when someone else dies, loses a limb, has a still born, attempts suicide, or loses a family member back home. Empathy and sympathy exists in prison. I don't see this behavior by the staff - as they have to keep a professional distance - but I see it from inmate to inmate to inmate to inmate.
There is compassion for the women who have to shave their heads because it is falling out from chemo and compassion for the women who suddenly have to be on oxygen or a walker after being well just before. I see compassion for students who fail their GED, cosmetology, or apprenticeship tests. I see people helping others who are here for so long, they haven't seen family in more than 10 years. They become their family and help take care of them. I'm sure the compassion I see here is entirely different from what one would find at a men's prison. Gender roles would forbid the "touch" or gentleness.
I wanted to write all that, because I wanted to start with something positive, as today is a tough day for me. I had a bad migraine last night and with no ability to be in darkness or quiet, it was a very long night. So today, I have the migraine hangover that comes when the migraine lessens. With my migraine medication, I would have been able to start getting better last night, but since that medication was denied to me, I just have to wait it out or, if it I am desperate, I can get some i.v. medication. I wasn't quite that desperate last night - although, I did consider it. When I have the migraine hangover, I am usually more sensitive than usual, and that is certainly true today. Every little thing is getting to me. Things people say, or names people call me. Throughout my life I've found myself the brunt of many jokes, the same is true in prison. I can be neurotic, I know this. So, today, a coworker is calling me "Garfield" and laughing and I know not to care, but I don't like it. I didn't sit with her and the others from education at lunch because I was feeling sensitive. After lunch, I walked to their table and apologized for not sitting with them. I told them I was being sensitive. As with recovery, we apologize when we are in the wrong - always cleaning up our side of the street - but when they didn't apologize back, I don't care - because they are the ones needing to clean up their side of the street. I am an easy target, always have been, and I need not care what anyone else thinks of me - it is about them, not me.
I also went to the clinic today (again) because I wanted to know for sure if I was being released to the camp. Anyone medical, such as myself, needs 413 release to be transferred out of the medical facility. Don't ask what that all means, because I am not specifically certain, but it has to do with medical clearance. Turns out, after another 2 1/2 hours waiting to see the right person (and they only do this 1 time per month), that I was never being sent to the camp. My case worker must have confused me with someone else. The paperwork would have needed to start at the clinic, and it did not. So, they are now seeing if it was even possible to move me - do to my medication "methotrexate." They did confirm, once again, that I can ONLY be transferred to the camp across the street - no other camp in the federal system can take female prisoners at a care level 3 and I cannot have my care level decreased because of my medications and condition. I guess I'm going to be in the medical facility a bit longer. I'll update if I hear anything else.
So, that made me even more frustrated. Weeks ago I was told that I am being transferred. There were a bunch of emotions (bad and good) connected with that prospect. Today I find out that it was all a mistake. My case worker is on vacation until mid-January (yes, that long), so I can't even go to her and ask her about the mistake. Guess I need to get comfortable for a while. Good thing is, some of my friends are glad to hear I'm not moving right away. They certainly are showing compassion for my situation, but they are glad I'll be here with them through the holidays. Guess I can hold onto that.
I see young women who will walk up to a wheel chair of a total stranger and offer to push them across campus or just to the next room (it all counts). Yesterday, I saw an African American older woman fixing the hair of a Caucasian older woman sitting next to her in the clinic. She had made her hair into a fancy bun and kept doing it until it was perfect with a smile on her face the entire time. I see women show concern for people who faint, have a seizure, or have an emergency sending them to the medical unit. I see women cry when someone else dies, loses a limb, has a still born, attempts suicide, or loses a family member back home. Empathy and sympathy exists in prison. I don't see this behavior by the staff - as they have to keep a professional distance - but I see it from inmate to inmate to inmate to inmate.
There is compassion for the women who have to shave their heads because it is falling out from chemo and compassion for the women who suddenly have to be on oxygen or a walker after being well just before. I see compassion for students who fail their GED, cosmetology, or apprenticeship tests. I see people helping others who are here for so long, they haven't seen family in more than 10 years. They become their family and help take care of them. I'm sure the compassion I see here is entirely different from what one would find at a men's prison. Gender roles would forbid the "touch" or gentleness.
I wanted to write all that, because I wanted to start with something positive, as today is a tough day for me. I had a bad migraine last night and with no ability to be in darkness or quiet, it was a very long night. So today, I have the migraine hangover that comes when the migraine lessens. With my migraine medication, I would have been able to start getting better last night, but since that medication was denied to me, I just have to wait it out or, if it I am desperate, I can get some i.v. medication. I wasn't quite that desperate last night - although, I did consider it. When I have the migraine hangover, I am usually more sensitive than usual, and that is certainly true today. Every little thing is getting to me. Things people say, or names people call me. Throughout my life I've found myself the brunt of many jokes, the same is true in prison. I can be neurotic, I know this. So, today, a coworker is calling me "Garfield" and laughing and I know not to care, but I don't like it. I didn't sit with her and the others from education at lunch because I was feeling sensitive. After lunch, I walked to their table and apologized for not sitting with them. I told them I was being sensitive. As with recovery, we apologize when we are in the wrong - always cleaning up our side of the street - but when they didn't apologize back, I don't care - because they are the ones needing to clean up their side of the street. I am an easy target, always have been, and I need not care what anyone else thinks of me - it is about them, not me.
I also went to the clinic today (again) because I wanted to know for sure if I was being released to the camp. Anyone medical, such as myself, needs 413 release to be transferred out of the medical facility. Don't ask what that all means, because I am not specifically certain, but it has to do with medical clearance. Turns out, after another 2 1/2 hours waiting to see the right person (and they only do this 1 time per month), that I was never being sent to the camp. My case worker must have confused me with someone else. The paperwork would have needed to start at the clinic, and it did not. So, they are now seeing if it was even possible to move me - do to my medication "methotrexate." They did confirm, once again, that I can ONLY be transferred to the camp across the street - no other camp in the federal system can take female prisoners at a care level 3 and I cannot have my care level decreased because of my medications and condition. I guess I'm going to be in the medical facility a bit longer. I'll update if I hear anything else.
So, that made me even more frustrated. Weeks ago I was told that I am being transferred. There were a bunch of emotions (bad and good) connected with that prospect. Today I find out that it was all a mistake. My case worker is on vacation until mid-January (yes, that long), so I can't even go to her and ask her about the mistake. Guess I need to get comfortable for a while. Good thing is, some of my friends are glad to hear I'm not moving right away. They certainly are showing compassion for my situation, but they are glad I'll be here with them through the holidays. Guess I can hold onto that.
From Dragonfly: Sick Call
I have a recurring small health issue that I haven't had an issue with since I have been here for the past four months. The inner eye/edge of where the nose meets the eye gets red, inflamed, dry, scaly, itchy, and has slight pain. I don't worry about it, but when it first showed, just over a year ago, my doctor told me that I should always take care of it and prescribed me a gel-like steroid topical that is safe for eyes. I would goop it on mornings and nights, and the problem would mostly go away. In the year, I had three small flair ups of this slight irritation. Well, it started again about a week ago. Anyone who looked at me would ask what was wrong with my eye. I knew that it meant that I needed the steroid creme, but I dreaded the infamous sick call. I had made it four months at Carswell without having to go to sick-call and I was happy with that fact.
Sick call is only available Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Any inmate with any medical problem, who needs a prescription refill, or has a medical issue of any type has to start with sick-call. Our sick call is in the clinic on the second floor of the main building and serves the entire inmate population. First, we each need to fill out a document before arrival that states why we are going to sick-call. We need to bring that document with us. At 6am, we have to be walking to the clinic (as soon as the housing units open for breakfast). We cannot go to eat first, as we must sign in by a certain time or we lose out on sick-call for the day. So, at 6am, I walk into the clinic, my book and my filled out sheet of paper in hand, and sign my name on "group 3." We are put into one of four groups based on the last two digits of our first five digits in our inmate i.d. number. The PA's that see the sick-call inmates rotate every quarter, so most people do not have a medical professional that sees them regularly.
Anyway, I have a seat and read my book, waiting for my name to be called. About 6:15am, a nurse walks around in an order selected by her, and picks up all the sick-call sheets. The first time my name is called is at 6:30am. A line of us are called to the vitals room, where my blood pressure is taken. I thought they would weigh me too, but they said that it takes too much time to do blood pressure and weight. As usual, my blood pressure is low - but seems quite low on the second number - 110 over 52. No one says anything about it, so neither do I. I am told to go back out to the waiting room, and the blue uncomfortable benches, and wait to be called by my Physician's Assistant. From what I could tell, the P.A.'s started to call people in about 7:30 or 8am. By 8am, the clinic waiting room is packed. The wheelchair/walker area does not serve everyone...
(Okay - I'm finishing this a day later... as I was writing the above, Lola came in and told me that Freckles would eat the ice cream that Nurse had saved for me... so I needed to save and come back - which is now on the next day... I got 3 spoonfuls of real vanilla ice cream. It was wonderful.)
Back to the clinic waiting room: So there are wheelchairs and people stacked everywhere - going out into the hallway, some people are sitting on the floor, others leaning up against the receptionist's booth. You have to say, "excuse me" about 15 times to walk across the room. Since I was there for sick-call at 6am, I had found my bench space and never moved from it.
If you've ever "waited" to see a medical provider, which everyone has, you know that people get impatient. Well, by 10am, I had heard the PA that I had to wait to see call back maybe 3 people... there were at least 20 of us assigned to her and there seemed no order to her decision on whom to call next. It certainly wasn't by the order we arrived and signed in, nor was it by the order that they collected our sick-call sheets.
At 10:20, someone waiting to be seen had a massive seizure right in front of me. If she is not supposed to be in stressful situations, then not being able to sit for hours in the clinic waiting room would surely bring on the seizure. There's no way of knowing who "needs" to sit and who doesn't. The most able body people tend to take up the benches and care not if someone elderly or really ill is standing for hours. Luckily, most of the elderly have wheelchairs and walkers - not so much because they need the help walking, but because they can sit during the long waits at pill line, the chow hall, clinic, and just about everywhere else. The seizure lasted several minutes. Even with it occurring in the clinic, it took a bit for a medical professional to head over to her. Of course, they needed to make sure people stepped back, so the seizure could end. They did not stick anything in the mouth.
(... another break from this writing... Freckles came into the email room and we went to breakfast... it's 6:40, so the going "bananas" crowd had already eaten...)
Anyway, finally a stretcher was brought out and the woman seizing was taken into an observation room. A lot of seizures happen here. I see one - or hear about on - almost daily. Before coming here, I had only seen one in my life. A lot of the people having seizures are diabetic. The other day, a woman in my unit went into a diabetic coma. Hours later, she was right back in our unit on her top bunk. How can they put people with seizure issues on a top bunk??
At 11am, I am still sitting in sick-call, waiting. I'm getting hungry (I hadn't eaten dinner the night before or breakfast that day, so I'm feeling the emptiness). There is still no sign of getting called by my P.A. and we cannot ask when we will be seen. Our duty is just to sit and wait. It's been 5 hours. I look to my right, and a woman next to me is reading her book... not sure the title, but the chapter she is reading is called, "If it ain't one ting, it's another." I couldn't agree more!!! We hear that food service is open and several people ask for permission to go eat... not granted.
I am fortunate to have thought to bring my own book. It is called, "A House in the Sky" and tells the story of the more than 460 days Amanda Lindhout spent as a captive in Somalia. It is a memoir, co-written by a well published journalist, and it is a great book. I will not say that it's a happy book (but since we know it's a first-person memoir, it's always good to know that she somehow survives this experience). I highly recommend the book - especially for people who love to travel to new places and have that adventure bug in them. However, be prepared for some very depressing and frightening moments as you read through - as being a captive in a terrorist country can never be a good thing. I read more than 200 pages while I am sitting at the clinic.
At 11:20, with my stomach gurgling, I hear my name. Finally. I walk back with the PA, who tells me that based on what I wrote, she believes I have something (I couldn't understand). She did not give me a more than a quick look, and told me that she will order me what she can, but most things are not allowed or in the pharmacy. I tell her my history with this issue, although she doesn't ask. She asks nothing about my general health. When you go to sick-call, you can ONLY discuss one thing. If you have more than one thing to discuss, you have to go that many days... wait that many hours... to be seen.
She says she will try to order what I need. She goes into the computer, and then says, the DOP won't approve the medicine I've taken in the past. She says, "I don't know why... It's really cheap." Even the medical providers are in disbelief of the limits of DOP health care. So, she says she will try to find something and that I can go. I ask, "how will I know if you are able to order a medication?" She says, go to the pharmacy (another long line) and see if I was successful. Otherwise, come back for another sick-call and we'll see what I can do..." Really!?!?!?
Well, at 3:30pm, I went to the pharmacy line and they did have something for me. It's an eye drop and meant for the eyes, but it says from her, to place the drop "outside my eye." It's the best she could do. Instead of having the cream, I have something that will run down my face the minute it is applied. The cream stays in place and I would sleep with it. That is Carswell health care - we'll see if the eye drops (they do have steroids in them) help.
Around the same time as I was getting the medication, I heard tragic news. A woman in the unit next to me was found hanging, and unresponsive. Luckily, she was found in time and is breathing. That means that she has to go to suicide watch now. She will spend days naked, except for an apron, with someone watching her 24/7. For someone who was obviously depressed, having to be watched by a stranger while you are naked can't help. They say that this time of the year is hard for many people in prison. We are away from our loved ones at a time when we would normally be surrounded by them. I'm glad she survived, but afraid for what's next for her. Will she get the real help she needs? Will they just move her to the mental health floor, where she will be surrounded by people with severe mental impairments? I don't know.
I know this place is listed as a health care facility, but I fail to understand the concept of just keeping us alive, but not an attempt to help us actually thrive. Sick-call is just one example of a bureaucratic block to actually getting the health care we need. People avoid going, because they don't want to wait so long, they can't sit that long, or they don't trust what the medical providers will say. There are just too many stories of problems. Inmate.com wasn't wrong, though, that the sick-call experience should be avoided if at all possible.
Sick call is only available Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Any inmate with any medical problem, who needs a prescription refill, or has a medical issue of any type has to start with sick-call. Our sick call is in the clinic on the second floor of the main building and serves the entire inmate population. First, we each need to fill out a document before arrival that states why we are going to sick-call. We need to bring that document with us. At 6am, we have to be walking to the clinic (as soon as the housing units open for breakfast). We cannot go to eat first, as we must sign in by a certain time or we lose out on sick-call for the day. So, at 6am, I walk into the clinic, my book and my filled out sheet of paper in hand, and sign my name on "group 3." We are put into one of four groups based on the last two digits of our first five digits in our inmate i.d. number. The PA's that see the sick-call inmates rotate every quarter, so most people do not have a medical professional that sees them regularly.
Anyway, I have a seat and read my book, waiting for my name to be called. About 6:15am, a nurse walks around in an order selected by her, and picks up all the sick-call sheets. The first time my name is called is at 6:30am. A line of us are called to the vitals room, where my blood pressure is taken. I thought they would weigh me too, but they said that it takes too much time to do blood pressure and weight. As usual, my blood pressure is low - but seems quite low on the second number - 110 over 52. No one says anything about it, so neither do I. I am told to go back out to the waiting room, and the blue uncomfortable benches, and wait to be called by my Physician's Assistant. From what I could tell, the P.A.'s started to call people in about 7:30 or 8am. By 8am, the clinic waiting room is packed. The wheelchair/walker area does not serve everyone...
(Okay - I'm finishing this a day later... as I was writing the above, Lola came in and told me that Freckles would eat the ice cream that Nurse had saved for me... so I needed to save and come back - which is now on the next day... I got 3 spoonfuls of real vanilla ice cream. It was wonderful.)
Back to the clinic waiting room: So there are wheelchairs and people stacked everywhere - going out into the hallway, some people are sitting on the floor, others leaning up against the receptionist's booth. You have to say, "excuse me" about 15 times to walk across the room. Since I was there for sick-call at 6am, I had found my bench space and never moved from it.
If you've ever "waited" to see a medical provider, which everyone has, you know that people get impatient. Well, by 10am, I had heard the PA that I had to wait to see call back maybe 3 people... there were at least 20 of us assigned to her and there seemed no order to her decision on whom to call next. It certainly wasn't by the order we arrived and signed in, nor was it by the order that they collected our sick-call sheets.
At 10:20, someone waiting to be seen had a massive seizure right in front of me. If she is not supposed to be in stressful situations, then not being able to sit for hours in the clinic waiting room would surely bring on the seizure. There's no way of knowing who "needs" to sit and who doesn't. The most able body people tend to take up the benches and care not if someone elderly or really ill is standing for hours. Luckily, most of the elderly have wheelchairs and walkers - not so much because they need the help walking, but because they can sit during the long waits at pill line, the chow hall, clinic, and just about everywhere else. The seizure lasted several minutes. Even with it occurring in the clinic, it took a bit for a medical professional to head over to her. Of course, they needed to make sure people stepped back, so the seizure could end. They did not stick anything in the mouth.
(... another break from this writing... Freckles came into the email room and we went to breakfast... it's 6:40, so the going "bananas" crowd had already eaten...)
Anyway, finally a stretcher was brought out and the woman seizing was taken into an observation room. A lot of seizures happen here. I see one - or hear about on - almost daily. Before coming here, I had only seen one in my life. A lot of the people having seizures are diabetic. The other day, a woman in my unit went into a diabetic coma. Hours later, she was right back in our unit on her top bunk. How can they put people with seizure issues on a top bunk??
At 11am, I am still sitting in sick-call, waiting. I'm getting hungry (I hadn't eaten dinner the night before or breakfast that day, so I'm feeling the emptiness). There is still no sign of getting called by my P.A. and we cannot ask when we will be seen. Our duty is just to sit and wait. It's been 5 hours. I look to my right, and a woman next to me is reading her book... not sure the title, but the chapter she is reading is called, "If it ain't one ting, it's another." I couldn't agree more!!! We hear that food service is open and several people ask for permission to go eat... not granted.
I am fortunate to have thought to bring my own book. It is called, "A House in the Sky" and tells the story of the more than 460 days Amanda Lindhout spent as a captive in Somalia. It is a memoir, co-written by a well published journalist, and it is a great book. I will not say that it's a happy book (but since we know it's a first-person memoir, it's always good to know that she somehow survives this experience). I highly recommend the book - especially for people who love to travel to new places and have that adventure bug in them. However, be prepared for some very depressing and frightening moments as you read through - as being a captive in a terrorist country can never be a good thing. I read more than 200 pages while I am sitting at the clinic.
At 11:20, with my stomach gurgling, I hear my name. Finally. I walk back with the PA, who tells me that based on what I wrote, she believes I have something (I couldn't understand). She did not give me a more than a quick look, and told me that she will order me what she can, but most things are not allowed or in the pharmacy. I tell her my history with this issue, although she doesn't ask. She asks nothing about my general health. When you go to sick-call, you can ONLY discuss one thing. If you have more than one thing to discuss, you have to go that many days... wait that many hours... to be seen.
She says she will try to order what I need. She goes into the computer, and then says, the DOP won't approve the medicine I've taken in the past. She says, "I don't know why... It's really cheap." Even the medical providers are in disbelief of the limits of DOP health care. So, she says she will try to find something and that I can go. I ask, "how will I know if you are able to order a medication?" She says, go to the pharmacy (another long line) and see if I was successful. Otherwise, come back for another sick-call and we'll see what I can do..." Really!?!?!?
Well, at 3:30pm, I went to the pharmacy line and they did have something for me. It's an eye drop and meant for the eyes, but it says from her, to place the drop "outside my eye." It's the best she could do. Instead of having the cream, I have something that will run down my face the minute it is applied. The cream stays in place and I would sleep with it. That is Carswell health care - we'll see if the eye drops (they do have steroids in them) help.
Around the same time as I was getting the medication, I heard tragic news. A woman in the unit next to me was found hanging, and unresponsive. Luckily, she was found in time and is breathing. That means that she has to go to suicide watch now. She will spend days naked, except for an apron, with someone watching her 24/7. For someone who was obviously depressed, having to be watched by a stranger while you are naked can't help. They say that this time of the year is hard for many people in prison. We are away from our loved ones at a time when we would normally be surrounded by them. I'm glad she survived, but afraid for what's next for her. Will she get the real help she needs? Will they just move her to the mental health floor, where she will be surrounded by people with severe mental impairments? I don't know.
I know this place is listed as a health care facility, but I fail to understand the concept of just keeping us alive, but not an attempt to help us actually thrive. Sick-call is just one example of a bureaucratic block to actually getting the health care we need. People avoid going, because they don't want to wait so long, they can't sit that long, or they don't trust what the medical providers will say. There are just too many stories of problems. Inmate.com wasn't wrong, though, that the sick-call experience should be avoided if at all possible.
Monday, December 16, 2013
From Dragonfly: Budgeting
This week is the "scholastic book fair" at Carswell. Inmates can shop books and goodies to send home to their families. Some inmates spend like $200... most can't afford much. It also happens to be the last commissary week before the new years, so people are needing to stock up. I am trying to live on a tighter budget, but it is hard. I spend almost the $70/month they allow us for our phone time. A lot of people have their loved ones have local numbers, that decreases the cost of phone calls significantly. Unfortunately, for me, every phone call is long distance. My average phone call is about $3.50. Then there's Trulinks - which I adore. Trulinks costs $0.05/minute. So, if I spend 30 minutes on the email system, it costs $1.50... that's about $45 per month! In commissary, I always purchase beverages - apple juice, cranberry juice, v8, and a 6-pack of sprite. I drink the juices in the morning and/or just after I am off work. The sprite is a special treat every so often. Those cost $3.30 for the 6-pack of soda, $80 for the juices, and $1.20 for each can of v8. It all adds up!
Then, there are the people who hustle for what they want, and those of us who purchase it. The hustlers work newbies (a lot) and those who want favors (such as laundry, ironing, hair braiding, etc.). When a newbie comes into prison, especially one that self surrenders, the hustlers start to be nice, show them around, and offer a friendly ear. What they are doing, for the most part, is trying to figure out if the person will be a gold mine. Will this person want 'favors?' Will this person buy me coffee or creamer? If I tell them that I haven't had money for a month, will they have their family deposit money into my account? This is how the hustlers think... and they are everywhere.
I had a couple roommates in the bus stop who were experienced hustlers. They'd be all nice and then go in for the, "Do you shop this week? Can you get me... I'll pay you back or do ______ for you." It's so common. I made myself clear immediately that my money is tight, and, for the most part, I haven't been hustled. But I say "for the most part," because, in fact, I have been hustled a couple times. My roommate, Bandana, wanted creamer and I got it for her. She promised me crackers in return... I waited 2 1/2 weeks for my crackers. I had to bug her constantly - but she's a true hustler. She wasn't going to get my crackers, someone else that owed her had to pay her the crackers so that she could give them to me. So, in fact, her payment was dependent on someone else's payment. Not cool. Recently, I bought a large mug, when I was given a cooler the next day, and I can only have one. My roommate, Braids, wanted to buy the large mug, but she never actually came through with what she's owed, so I took it back and gave it to a friend instead.
We all have to be careful of the hustlers, cause it can cause a big issue with our budgets. South was an automatic target. She is older and people immediately gravitated to her and called her, "grandma." They played nice and told her that they have her back. Then, they would say, "Grandma, do you have any cookies?" South would go to her locker and give them some cookies. They'd say, "Grandma, can you get me some ice cream?" She'd do it. She didn't realize she was being played until no one gave anything back. South and I have fed people many times, who then turn around and eat in front of us without giving us anything. I officially only feed a couple people, the ones who also make me lunch or dinner once in a while. No longer do I care if I bring out a sweet for South, that I need to bring one for everyone at the table. They can watch us eat our dessert - no more sharing. There's always the friendships that do share, though. Me, South, Nurse, Lola, and some others, we are sharers with each other. We make meals together and we always pay our debts. We can trust each other financially.
Budgeting is especially hard for those who ask others to do them lots of projects/favors. Some people will owe $10 for a painted mug, $5 for laundry services, $2 for ironing, $20 for personalized cards, $35 on a crocheted blanket (plus the cost of yarn), etc. Sometimes, people go to commissary and nothing they are purchasing is for them - they are all for debts. The worst thing is when someone asks you to pay a debt with something that is out - like my crackers were - as then it can take weeks to pay off a debt. The person will harass you until the debt is paid in full. These are people who out on the streets had other kinds of debts and the consequences of not paying your debt was severe. They don't play games.
It was interesting this morning over breakfast. I was talking with Lola and we were talking about how we make so much less money than people who are hustlers. Hustlers make $2.50 per load of laundry. They do each client's laundry 2x/week. With only 2 clients, they will make $10/week - $40/month. As you all know, I work every day, 7+ hours/day, and make about $15 per month. There's something wrong there. It is far more attractive to be a hustler for good money, than to work the traditional jobs. Just like the kinds of hustling they did on the streets - quick, fast, incredible amounts of money, for practically no real work (standing on a street corner and selling something illegal). It's really sad that the same behavior and mentality helps them be successful in prison. Additionally, these hustlers show no money on their books (they are counted as indigent), so they don't have their income count against their FRP payment calculation.
I'm glad I am not a hustler. I love my job and I am grateful that some money is put into my account every month. I do my own laundry, I am making my own cards/gifts. Budgeting is really hard in prison, but it's not going to be any easier walking out of prison without a job and income. I figure, no time like the present, to learn how to really live within my budget.
Then, there are the people who hustle for what they want, and those of us who purchase it. The hustlers work newbies (a lot) and those who want favors (such as laundry, ironing, hair braiding, etc.). When a newbie comes into prison, especially one that self surrenders, the hustlers start to be nice, show them around, and offer a friendly ear. What they are doing, for the most part, is trying to figure out if the person will be a gold mine. Will this person want 'favors?' Will this person buy me coffee or creamer? If I tell them that I haven't had money for a month, will they have their family deposit money into my account? This is how the hustlers think... and they are everywhere.
I had a couple roommates in the bus stop who were experienced hustlers. They'd be all nice and then go in for the, "Do you shop this week? Can you get me... I'll pay you back or do ______ for you." It's so common. I made myself clear immediately that my money is tight, and, for the most part, I haven't been hustled. But I say "for the most part," because, in fact, I have been hustled a couple times. My roommate, Bandana, wanted creamer and I got it for her. She promised me crackers in return... I waited 2 1/2 weeks for my crackers. I had to bug her constantly - but she's a true hustler. She wasn't going to get my crackers, someone else that owed her had to pay her the crackers so that she could give them to me. So, in fact, her payment was dependent on someone else's payment. Not cool. Recently, I bought a large mug, when I was given a cooler the next day, and I can only have one. My roommate, Braids, wanted to buy the large mug, but she never actually came through with what she's owed, so I took it back and gave it to a friend instead.
We all have to be careful of the hustlers, cause it can cause a big issue with our budgets. South was an automatic target. She is older and people immediately gravitated to her and called her, "grandma." They played nice and told her that they have her back. Then, they would say, "Grandma, do you have any cookies?" South would go to her locker and give them some cookies. They'd say, "Grandma, can you get me some ice cream?" She'd do it. She didn't realize she was being played until no one gave anything back. South and I have fed people many times, who then turn around and eat in front of us without giving us anything. I officially only feed a couple people, the ones who also make me lunch or dinner once in a while. No longer do I care if I bring out a sweet for South, that I need to bring one for everyone at the table. They can watch us eat our dessert - no more sharing. There's always the friendships that do share, though. Me, South, Nurse, Lola, and some others, we are sharers with each other. We make meals together and we always pay our debts. We can trust each other financially.
Budgeting is especially hard for those who ask others to do them lots of projects/favors. Some people will owe $10 for a painted mug, $5 for laundry services, $2 for ironing, $20 for personalized cards, $35 on a crocheted blanket (plus the cost of yarn), etc. Sometimes, people go to commissary and nothing they are purchasing is for them - they are all for debts. The worst thing is when someone asks you to pay a debt with something that is out - like my crackers were - as then it can take weeks to pay off a debt. The person will harass you until the debt is paid in full. These are people who out on the streets had other kinds of debts and the consequences of not paying your debt was severe. They don't play games.
It was interesting this morning over breakfast. I was talking with Lola and we were talking about how we make so much less money than people who are hustlers. Hustlers make $2.50 per load of laundry. They do each client's laundry 2x/week. With only 2 clients, they will make $10/week - $40/month. As you all know, I work every day, 7+ hours/day, and make about $15 per month. There's something wrong there. It is far more attractive to be a hustler for good money, than to work the traditional jobs. Just like the kinds of hustling they did on the streets - quick, fast, incredible amounts of money, for practically no real work (standing on a street corner and selling something illegal). It's really sad that the same behavior and mentality helps them be successful in prison. Additionally, these hustlers show no money on their books (they are counted as indigent), so they don't have their income count against their FRP payment calculation.
I'm glad I am not a hustler. I love my job and I am grateful that some money is put into my account every month. I do my own laundry, I am making my own cards/gifts. Budgeting is really hard in prison, but it's not going to be any easier walking out of prison without a job and income. I figure, no time like the present, to learn how to really live within my budget.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
From Dragonfly: Vivid Colors
I will start by saying that the remainder of my visit with Sporty and T.S. went really well. We finished it with three more pictures, which I will cherish (this time with a white background and chairs). It is fun to watch the other inmates with their family members taking pictures. Sometimes, I never see these inmates smile, but there they are, hugging their children, grandchildren, spouses and/or parents and a smile as bright as the sun is on their face. We are not allowed to touch during the visit - except for a hug/kiss at the beginning and end, but we can hug in our photos, and that touch is so very important. It's a touch that sends a thousand "I love you's" into the heart of the inmate and their family members.
I have been wanting to write about tattoos. People in prison are from ALL walks of life, but one thing that could connect 90% of us is that we have tattoos. I happen to have two tattoos - one is on my left ankle and the second is in a more hidden spot on my body. Neither is large or flashy and neither would be considered "high art," but here, in prison, the art on people's body's is amazing. I'm not just talking about those who are young either. Even South, at 66 years of age, has a nice butterfly tattoo - and others older than her have tattoos. Somehow, tattoos became popular enough that it's crossed boundaries of lifestyle and age. Race does not matter with tattooing either. There are tattoos on people of every racial background here.
Some of the tattoos are incredible and have such vivid colors. There are some people who are highly tattooed, with their arms and legs covered (and I only imagine the rest of their bodies). There are some that have their spouses name tattooed on their ring finger, because they could not bring their lavish ring with them into prison. There are neck tattoos (a lot of them) that are sometimes scary and sometimes incredibly beautiful. One woman has the federal criminal code section that she violated tattooed on her neck. I don't ask questions such as "why?" There are people who get tattooed while in prison - using a needle and ink. So far, I've had two roommates who have been tattooed while I was their roommate. One got a huge star on her wrist, another got the name of her spouse on her ring finger. I am in disbelief that they would risk having dirty needles and unsafe environments for getting tattooed, but I have no idea what the places they were tattooed before being incarcerated were like to compare (I only went to tattoo parlors, but people do tattooing out of their homes and on the streets). Also, getting tattooed in prison could land you in the SHU - no body alteration of any type is allowed (unless there is a medical reason - such as cutting off a limb or a shaved head due to chemo).
There are people who have tattooed their heads, tattooed their entire legs, tattooed their toes. There are tattoos on shoulders and tattoos on wrists. There are full hand tattoos and tattoos that take up entire torsos. It is so common to see, that I do not even notice the heavily tattooed any more - it is just a part of the experience of prison. Many, many have tattoos of their former gang affiliations. Even the C.O.'s tend to have tattoos. There are tattoos of flowers, tattoos of mermaids, tattoos of ladders and fish and naked bodies and names of loved ones. There are tattoos that say "mother" and tattoos that are ten colors. There are tattoos of Irish symbols and a lot of tattoos of stars. There are tattoos behind ears and some on the back of the neck (not sure why you'd never want to see your tattoo). There are tattoos of finger prints and shoe prints and hammers and nails. Tattoos of babies and tattoos of crosses and many tattoos of skulls. There are tattoos of birds and tattoos of dolphins. There are tattoos you would never imagine would be on a woman and some that you can only imagine on a woman. It seems to not matter what the tattoos are of - just having one connects you to everyone else who has been "inked." I suppose in this one way, I fit in, in prison.
There was talk before I came to prison - by my former advisor (I think I may have mentioned this before) - for me to get a tattoo of my university's symbol. She had told me - "I want you to get the tattoo, so you can always look down and see where you are coming back to." She and I joked about it a month later, when we learned that someone who had tried to burn down a building at my university would also be in Carswell - she said, "ummm, maybe that tattoo is not the best idea now." We laughed. In a way, though, she was serious. She was supporting me so much and knew of my deep love for my university, that an idea of tattooing it's symbol on my body was not out of the question.
Now, I am on a ton of meds and have a lot of medical issues, so actually going through with the tattoo was never going to happen. I dreamed about how it may look, though, perhaps with my word, "hope," somewhere added to the tattoo. I have not been tattooed since I was 21 years of age, but the consideration was there. If I had done that tattoo, I would have worn it proudly - even today, after everything - as I do not blame the entire university for the acts of some people within the school. They still taught me SOOOO much and I appreciate all the opportunities I was provided. For the first time in my life, I actually believed I belonged in an academic setting, earning the degree I was seeking. I still "hope" that the dream is still going to happen, but I have many dreams and I can let go if I must. Just not yet.
So, the woman in Carswell that has no tattoo is the one that feels left out here. One woman, who sits at my table a lot, told everyone that she believes I would not have a tattoo - she believed it of South as well. When we both corrected her, she felt like such a minority. What a weird way for people to "fit in."
I have been wanting to write about tattoos. People in prison are from ALL walks of life, but one thing that could connect 90% of us is that we have tattoos. I happen to have two tattoos - one is on my left ankle and the second is in a more hidden spot on my body. Neither is large or flashy and neither would be considered "high art," but here, in prison, the art on people's body's is amazing. I'm not just talking about those who are young either. Even South, at 66 years of age, has a nice butterfly tattoo - and others older than her have tattoos. Somehow, tattoos became popular enough that it's crossed boundaries of lifestyle and age. Race does not matter with tattooing either. There are tattoos on people of every racial background here.
Some of the tattoos are incredible and have such vivid colors. There are some people who are highly tattooed, with their arms and legs covered (and I only imagine the rest of their bodies). There are some that have their spouses name tattooed on their ring finger, because they could not bring their lavish ring with them into prison. There are neck tattoos (a lot of them) that are sometimes scary and sometimes incredibly beautiful. One woman has the federal criminal code section that she violated tattooed on her neck. I don't ask questions such as "why?" There are people who get tattooed while in prison - using a needle and ink. So far, I've had two roommates who have been tattooed while I was their roommate. One got a huge star on her wrist, another got the name of her spouse on her ring finger. I am in disbelief that they would risk having dirty needles and unsafe environments for getting tattooed, but I have no idea what the places they were tattooed before being incarcerated were like to compare (I only went to tattoo parlors, but people do tattooing out of their homes and on the streets). Also, getting tattooed in prison could land you in the SHU - no body alteration of any type is allowed (unless there is a medical reason - such as cutting off a limb or a shaved head due to chemo).
There are people who have tattooed their heads, tattooed their entire legs, tattooed their toes. There are tattoos on shoulders and tattoos on wrists. There are full hand tattoos and tattoos that take up entire torsos. It is so common to see, that I do not even notice the heavily tattooed any more - it is just a part of the experience of prison. Many, many have tattoos of their former gang affiliations. Even the C.O.'s tend to have tattoos. There are tattoos of flowers, tattoos of mermaids, tattoos of ladders and fish and naked bodies and names of loved ones. There are tattoos that say "mother" and tattoos that are ten colors. There are tattoos of Irish symbols and a lot of tattoos of stars. There are tattoos behind ears and some on the back of the neck (not sure why you'd never want to see your tattoo). There are tattoos of finger prints and shoe prints and hammers and nails. Tattoos of babies and tattoos of crosses and many tattoos of skulls. There are tattoos of birds and tattoos of dolphins. There are tattoos you would never imagine would be on a woman and some that you can only imagine on a woman. It seems to not matter what the tattoos are of - just having one connects you to everyone else who has been "inked." I suppose in this one way, I fit in, in prison.
There was talk before I came to prison - by my former advisor (I think I may have mentioned this before) - for me to get a tattoo of my university's symbol. She had told me - "I want you to get the tattoo, so you can always look down and see where you are coming back to." She and I joked about it a month later, when we learned that someone who had tried to burn down a building at my university would also be in Carswell - she said, "ummm, maybe that tattoo is not the best idea now." We laughed. In a way, though, she was serious. She was supporting me so much and knew of my deep love for my university, that an idea of tattooing it's symbol on my body was not out of the question.
Now, I am on a ton of meds and have a lot of medical issues, so actually going through with the tattoo was never going to happen. I dreamed about how it may look, though, perhaps with my word, "hope," somewhere added to the tattoo. I have not been tattooed since I was 21 years of age, but the consideration was there. If I had done that tattoo, I would have worn it proudly - even today, after everything - as I do not blame the entire university for the acts of some people within the school. They still taught me SOOOO much and I appreciate all the opportunities I was provided. For the first time in my life, I actually believed I belonged in an academic setting, earning the degree I was seeking. I still "hope" that the dream is still going to happen, but I have many dreams and I can let go if I must. Just not yet.
So, the woman in Carswell that has no tattoo is the one that feels left out here. One woman, who sits at my table a lot, told everyone that she believes I would not have a tattoo - she believed it of South as well. When we both corrected her, she felt like such a minority. What a weird way for people to "fit in."
From Dragonfly: Holiday Visitation
I am in the email room, having just left my strip search after my visit today with Sporty and T.S. It's best to leave the visit just a bit before the end of the time, because the line for the strip searches can be long. In fact, a brawl was about to happen between a couple people in wheel chairs about the order of the line. I kid you not. Luckily, the "cutters" rolled to the side and let the line go in the order we were originally waiting. It can take a half hour or more to get through the line into the side room, where four inmates at a time strip, squat, spread, and cough. I try to get the bathroom, so at least I don't have to see anyone else stripping and only the guard can see me. I also need the help of the walls to keep my balance at times.
Anyway, my visit with Sporty and T.S. was wonderful. I still cannot fathom why people believe that it would be too hard to have people visit. I got to sit and listen (without a 15 minute time limit) to everything T.S. did during her first semester of college. I got to talk in depth about ideas for the upcoming summer (job, internship, classes, study abroad, etc.). I got to hug her and tell her how beautiful she is. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. With Sporty, I was able to hear about many of my friends and family back home. We were able to talk about movies that are out, and books we each should read. Phone calls just cannot take the place of a visit with the ones you love. It is a long day, so if several friends come at once, it is probably better than just one person visiting and having to keep up the conversation. It's not an issue with Sporty or T.S. and I, but with some people, I can imagine they'd just get bored sitting in there. I did eat some yummy very-bad-for-you mini tacos, orange soda, and some microwaved popcorn - YUM!
Tonight, T.S. and Sporty are going to dinner with SIL and my niece. I'm so grateful to have family close by that are supportive. I think of how many people here that get no support from their families, or whose families will not/ can not visit and it makes me very sad. I could have another 6 months in here, so I value this special time with the people I love.
We also took pictures. In commissary, we can purchase "photo tickets." They are $1 each and that's how many digital shots we can get. They usually put up a backdrop, and we take photos in front of those - but today, the pictures were in front of a Christmas Tree. Never mind my religion, I will cherish these photos (which I will be able to receive in about a month). Yes, it takes a very long time for them to print our digital pictures. I have no idea why. These same photo tickets can be used in indoor rec, where we can take pictures with other inmates. I recently had a picture taken with Danbury and South (before Danbury left) and I also took one by myself to send to my mom. She got it just yesterday and I think she liked it. Yes, I do smile in the pictures. I may not be happy all the time, but I still laugh and I still smile. Being in prison is not the end of the world, it is a blip in a long life and we can refuse to have any happiness, or we can be grateful for the moments of smiles that we find. I choose the smiles.
Tomorrow, T.S. and Sporty will be back for another visit. I think T.S. wants to sleep in a bit later than the 5:30am they woke today - to be in the car line by 7am after breakfast. They were 14th in line at that time and got into the visitation room around 9am. Yes, it can take that long or longer. They officially open the gate at 8am, but it takes a long time to process, plus Sporty said that they were randomly searching cars. Sporty's was not searched.
A very sad thing happened as I was headed into the visitation room. I saw one of my former students, one I adore. She was all done up and excited that her mom was visiting from Nevada. Well, they refused her mom entry because she has a metal knee. In the past, her mom has been searched by wand and allowed to enter - but today she could not because they said she needed an official medical card about her titanium knee. They insisted that if she could not get through the metal detector without setting it off (impossible with a titanium knee) then they would not let her come in. My former student was heart broken. I don't blame her. As I was let into the building, her i.d. was returned to her and she was told to go back to her housing unit. Her mom flew all the way here and did not get to hug her daughter. Just awful.
I highly encourage everyone to read the visitation rules thoroughly before taking the trip to visit their loved one in prison. Every facility is different. I was told that "if" I do go to the camp across the street, I will not be strip searched. I will be able to walk outside with my visitors. I will be in a room with real tables. It will be a totally different experience than the one I have each time someone visits me here. Still no word on if this "camp thing" is really happening. I will try and talk to my case worker when she comes back from her vacation.
I'm off to nap. A long visit is very tiring for me, but I am so glad it happened! Thank you Sporty and T.S. for a wonderful day!
Anyway, my visit with Sporty and T.S. was wonderful. I still cannot fathom why people believe that it would be too hard to have people visit. I got to sit and listen (without a 15 minute time limit) to everything T.S. did during her first semester of college. I got to talk in depth about ideas for the upcoming summer (job, internship, classes, study abroad, etc.). I got to hug her and tell her how beautiful she is. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. With Sporty, I was able to hear about many of my friends and family back home. We were able to talk about movies that are out, and books we each should read. Phone calls just cannot take the place of a visit with the ones you love. It is a long day, so if several friends come at once, it is probably better than just one person visiting and having to keep up the conversation. It's not an issue with Sporty or T.S. and I, but with some people, I can imagine they'd just get bored sitting in there. I did eat some yummy very-bad-for-you mini tacos, orange soda, and some microwaved popcorn - YUM!
Tonight, T.S. and Sporty are going to dinner with SIL and my niece. I'm so grateful to have family close by that are supportive. I think of how many people here that get no support from their families, or whose families will not/ can not visit and it makes me very sad. I could have another 6 months in here, so I value this special time with the people I love.
We also took pictures. In commissary, we can purchase "photo tickets." They are $1 each and that's how many digital shots we can get. They usually put up a backdrop, and we take photos in front of those - but today, the pictures were in front of a Christmas Tree. Never mind my religion, I will cherish these photos (which I will be able to receive in about a month). Yes, it takes a very long time for them to print our digital pictures. I have no idea why. These same photo tickets can be used in indoor rec, where we can take pictures with other inmates. I recently had a picture taken with Danbury and South (before Danbury left) and I also took one by myself to send to my mom. She got it just yesterday and I think she liked it. Yes, I do smile in the pictures. I may not be happy all the time, but I still laugh and I still smile. Being in prison is not the end of the world, it is a blip in a long life and we can refuse to have any happiness, or we can be grateful for the moments of smiles that we find. I choose the smiles.
Tomorrow, T.S. and Sporty will be back for another visit. I think T.S. wants to sleep in a bit later than the 5:30am they woke today - to be in the car line by 7am after breakfast. They were 14th in line at that time and got into the visitation room around 9am. Yes, it can take that long or longer. They officially open the gate at 8am, but it takes a long time to process, plus Sporty said that they were randomly searching cars. Sporty's was not searched.
A very sad thing happened as I was headed into the visitation room. I saw one of my former students, one I adore. She was all done up and excited that her mom was visiting from Nevada. Well, they refused her mom entry because she has a metal knee. In the past, her mom has been searched by wand and allowed to enter - but today she could not because they said she needed an official medical card about her titanium knee. They insisted that if she could not get through the metal detector without setting it off (impossible with a titanium knee) then they would not let her come in. My former student was heart broken. I don't blame her. As I was let into the building, her i.d. was returned to her and she was told to go back to her housing unit. Her mom flew all the way here and did not get to hug her daughter. Just awful.
I highly encourage everyone to read the visitation rules thoroughly before taking the trip to visit their loved one in prison. Every facility is different. I was told that "if" I do go to the camp across the street, I will not be strip searched. I will be able to walk outside with my visitors. I will be in a room with real tables. It will be a totally different experience than the one I have each time someone visits me here. Still no word on if this "camp thing" is really happening. I will try and talk to my case worker when she comes back from her vacation.
I'm off to nap. A long visit is very tiring for me, but I am so glad it happened! Thank you Sporty and T.S. for a wonderful day!
Friday, December 13, 2013
From Dragonfly: A Staff Member Who Does the Right Thing
So, I wrote yesterday about how my raise could not go through because I do not have proof of my high school diploma. Now, I know my probation officer in my PSI had to verify my education, but for some reason my PSI was never uploaded into the computer system. Turns out, all that is needed is for my "team" to do their job and upload the document. In fact, one staff member said to me that if there is no PSI in the system, they don't know how I can be held in prison. That's how important the PSI document is. (The PSI was referred to the PSR prior to my incarceration). Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I decided to go to one of the teachers in my department that "gets things done." I've worked for him several times - he is the teacher I started "volunteering with." He is also the teacher I just spent a month working with before they had me go with a new teacher and new class of students. He is also the teacher that officially "promoted" me to a Grade 3 (my 5 cent raise).
So, I went to his office yesterday afternoon and asked, "if somehow no one uploads my PSI and my mom is unsuccessful at getting my diploma, can you assist me in confirming my high school diploma." At first he laughed and said, "the PhD candidate is the one that we don't have high school confirmation for." I wanted to inform him that I was a PhD student, not candidate (yet), as I hadn't yet defended my dissertation topic. However, this was a time for humbleness. Anyway, he says that he is surprised that my "team" didn't upload my paperwork - as it is an essential part of their duties. So, he says, "I'll get on it." Next thing he does is call me back to his office and says, "let's do this now." I like someone who wants to do the right thing!!
So, I walk with him over to my housing unit. He walks fast, and I'm slow, so I am a bit behind. It's funny watching him walk through the compound, because he's constantly screaming at someone, "tuck in your shirt," "button your shirt," or "where is your uniform." He goes by the rules ALL the time!!!
Anyway, we get into the unit and he brings me into the "records" room (a conference style room that I've only been in for my two "team" meetings). He has a woman pull out my file and 'wah lah' in there is my PSI. He reads the education section and it says all the schools I've attended and that it was "verified" by the probation officer. That leads the teacher to then walk me directly to my "counselor's" office. The same counselor that would not allow me to speak with him about this about 2 hours prior. So, the teacher "informs" the counselor that my education has been verified and that he has to press a couple keys in the computer, so I am able to get my promotion. Additionally, he informs the counselor that my PSI has never been uploaded into the system. The counselor looks funny at the teacher and says, "really??!??!," knowing full well it was his job upon my arrival to do so. He says he will take care of it. I ask if he needs my inmate number (remember, we are all just numbers here), and he says, "I know who you are." He could have fooled me.
I have no idea if the counselor followed through with his promise to upload my PSI and change my education status as "verified" on the computer. I will follow up with the teacher early next week (give a couple days for it to be done - nothing gets done fast here). If it is not done, I know that this teacher will use his handy walky-talky and call the counselor once again... and will ask the questions that I am not able to ask, like "why." I appreciate SO MUCH his having my back on this. PLUS, my mother NO LONGER has to fight with the school to get my diploma (yes, mom, you are off duty on this now! Ha).
The teacher I am referring to here is all "police," as we say. He follows the rules. He started as a correctional officer. He takes down the largest inmates who are fighting in pill line. He screams at people who violate the rules. He expects perfection, not "I'll do my best." He treats everyone the same, yet helps those who want to help themselves. He says for me to have 40 occupation plans upon my release, no less. He tells me that halfway houses are dangerous. He tells me that I'll be bored at the camp. He says things the way they are. He will not send people to GED testing if they have not shown the effort and caring he expects. He's hard. Some people don't like him. I respect him more than most any staff member here. He wants the best for each inmate. He works very, very hard. He may sometimes overstep his expectations on inmates, and say things that people think are wrong, such as, "you are all inmates. Inmates lie. I am not going to believe your stories, even if you say you are not lying, because you are manipulative and criminals." That's tough that he puts us all into these categories. To me, what he's really saying is that some of us are authentic, but he has no way of knowing who - so he has to treat us all the same. It may hurt some people at times, but at least we know up front his expectations and that allows us to try and thrive to meet them.
So, I went to his office yesterday afternoon and asked, "if somehow no one uploads my PSI and my mom is unsuccessful at getting my diploma, can you assist me in confirming my high school diploma." At first he laughed and said, "the PhD candidate is the one that we don't have high school confirmation for." I wanted to inform him that I was a PhD student, not candidate (yet), as I hadn't yet defended my dissertation topic. However, this was a time for humbleness. Anyway, he says that he is surprised that my "team" didn't upload my paperwork - as it is an essential part of their duties. So, he says, "I'll get on it." Next thing he does is call me back to his office and says, "let's do this now." I like someone who wants to do the right thing!!
So, I walk with him over to my housing unit. He walks fast, and I'm slow, so I am a bit behind. It's funny watching him walk through the compound, because he's constantly screaming at someone, "tuck in your shirt," "button your shirt," or "where is your uniform." He goes by the rules ALL the time!!!
Anyway, we get into the unit and he brings me into the "records" room (a conference style room that I've only been in for my two "team" meetings). He has a woman pull out my file and 'wah lah' in there is my PSI. He reads the education section and it says all the schools I've attended and that it was "verified" by the probation officer. That leads the teacher to then walk me directly to my "counselor's" office. The same counselor that would not allow me to speak with him about this about 2 hours prior. So, the teacher "informs" the counselor that my education has been verified and that he has to press a couple keys in the computer, so I am able to get my promotion. Additionally, he informs the counselor that my PSI has never been uploaded into the system. The counselor looks funny at the teacher and says, "really??!??!," knowing full well it was his job upon my arrival to do so. He says he will take care of it. I ask if he needs my inmate number (remember, we are all just numbers here), and he says, "I know who you are." He could have fooled me.
I have no idea if the counselor followed through with his promise to upload my PSI and change my education status as "verified" on the computer. I will follow up with the teacher early next week (give a couple days for it to be done - nothing gets done fast here). If it is not done, I know that this teacher will use his handy walky-talky and call the counselor once again... and will ask the questions that I am not able to ask, like "why." I appreciate SO MUCH his having my back on this. PLUS, my mother NO LONGER has to fight with the school to get my diploma (yes, mom, you are off duty on this now! Ha).
The teacher I am referring to here is all "police," as we say. He follows the rules. He started as a correctional officer. He takes down the largest inmates who are fighting in pill line. He screams at people who violate the rules. He expects perfection, not "I'll do my best." He treats everyone the same, yet helps those who want to help themselves. He says for me to have 40 occupation plans upon my release, no less. He tells me that halfway houses are dangerous. He tells me that I'll be bored at the camp. He says things the way they are. He will not send people to GED testing if they have not shown the effort and caring he expects. He's hard. Some people don't like him. I respect him more than most any staff member here. He wants the best for each inmate. He works very, very hard. He may sometimes overstep his expectations on inmates, and say things that people think are wrong, such as, "you are all inmates. Inmates lie. I am not going to believe your stories, even if you say you are not lying, because you are manipulative and criminals." That's tough that he puts us all into these categories. To me, what he's really saying is that some of us are authentic, but he has no way of knowing who - so he has to treat us all the same. It may hurt some people at times, but at least we know up front his expectations and that allows us to try and thrive to meet them.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
From Dragonfly: No Raise For Me
After three months on the job in education, we officially can get a grade increase - to 17 cents per hour. I was approved for one and my last paycheck should have reflected it. It did not. So, I went to the teacher involved in payroll and asked why my raise was not reflected. She informed me that it is because the system doesn't show that I have my HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMA. Still! So, I went to the teacher who is in charge of getting high school diplomas. 2 1/2 months ago, I filled out paperwork with her to obtain my degree (this is before I was brought in for the TABE test). I had assumed that my high school/ education department had ignored the request. I also asked my mom to have the school send the transcripts to carswell. Well, this teacher informed me that she HAD NOT sent the request to my school - yet. Ummm, 2 1/2 months? I asked if there was any way I could help in the process (I could punch in the fax numbers or write in the address or something), but she said "no." She informed me to have someone at home go to the school and/or education department for me. I have NO idea WHY they didn't send off my request or anyone elses (for that matter). In my new class, I have no less than 6 students who are forced to take GED classes, even though they already have a high school degree. Now, I learn that no one here has requested their degrees, so they have no chance of having it "show up." I'm not sure the hold up, but I do think it a bit unreasonable. Plus, I am missing out on my 5 cents per hour. An extra $5 per month could purchase me important hygeine items and/or go toward my FRP payments.
Okay, sometimes I just have to reflect on the insanity of this place - as I did above. Every day we are hit with something new that has no logic behind it. As someone who is very logically minded, it just continues to make me shake my head. I wonder if all prisons are like this.
I have something big to look forward to this weekend. Sporty and T.S. are coming for a visit. I will spend two days with them in the not-so-well setup visitation room. With 12-14 hours together, they'd better be thinking about the stuff they want to talk about. I don't want to spend all the time talking about this place! I'm so proud of T.S., today she finishes her last final of her first semester of college. She is doing well and has a good semester planned for the Spring. By the time she finishes off this first year, I will be heading home. I will probably just sit back this weekend and be in awe of her youth, stories, courage, intelligence, and kindness. She is such an awesome young woman!
No matter the fact that I am not getting my raise, even though it is for a ridiculous reason, I have SO much to continue to be grateful for. I am not dependent on my paycheck for all things I need/want to purchase. I have an incredible family and great friends who support me every day. I have a locker full of wonderful books that carry my thoughts away to a different world. I have wonderful craft supplies that allow me to explore my creativity. I have friends in prison, who can connect with me on the insanity of it all. I have this opportunity to write, something I hope to do more and more once this experience is over (and I'm not spending 5 cents per minute dishing out my thoughts, experiences and observations).
I am finding my hope once again and, also, concentrating on gratitude. Never give up hope!
Okay, sometimes I just have to reflect on the insanity of this place - as I did above. Every day we are hit with something new that has no logic behind it. As someone who is very logically minded, it just continues to make me shake my head. I wonder if all prisons are like this.
I have something big to look forward to this weekend. Sporty and T.S. are coming for a visit. I will spend two days with them in the not-so-well setup visitation room. With 12-14 hours together, they'd better be thinking about the stuff they want to talk about. I don't want to spend all the time talking about this place! I'm so proud of T.S., today she finishes her last final of her first semester of college. She is doing well and has a good semester planned for the Spring. By the time she finishes off this first year, I will be heading home. I will probably just sit back this weekend and be in awe of her youth, stories, courage, intelligence, and kindness. She is such an awesome young woman!
No matter the fact that I am not getting my raise, even though it is for a ridiculous reason, I have SO much to continue to be grateful for. I am not dependent on my paycheck for all things I need/want to purchase. I have an incredible family and great friends who support me every day. I have a locker full of wonderful books that carry my thoughts away to a different world. I have wonderful craft supplies that allow me to explore my creativity. I have friends in prison, who can connect with me on the insanity of it all. I have this opportunity to write, something I hope to do more and more once this experience is over (and I'm not spending 5 cents per minute dishing out my thoughts, experiences and observations).
I am finding my hope once again and, also, concentrating on gratitude. Never give up hope!
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
From Dragonfly: The Size of Your World
On Wednesdays and Fridays, I don't meet up with Freckles for breakfast. I don't care enough about bananas to wait in a line that long. So, I eat my breakfast in the news/sports room (today was pop tarts and V8 - not a lot of choices from commissary). I always try to watch CNN on the news television, so I can try and see what is happening in the world. For example, today I learned about Obama shaking hands with Castro, a family mourning the shooting death of their child by campus police at a Texas university, and a bad weather system heading to the Northeastern U.S. However, when others are in the news room, they don't want to watch CNN, they will watch local news or a morning show.
I was thinking about "why" they don't want to watch national/international news. I think it is because of perspective. Depending on how long you've been locked up, the world beyond prison becomes much less relevant (unless it is congress changing mandatory minimums or something like that). Instead, it is inmate.com that is the most important news of the day. Who is dating who? Who is fighting who? Who went to the SHU? Who got shots (in trouble) last night? Who got caught doing what with whom? Who will be the next daytime C.O. in the unit? That is their relevant news.
Of course, I'm not talking all inmates, but many cannot connect to a world they have never seen. Some of these inmates have been locked up since their late teens. Prior to that, they may never have traveled out of their small town or city, much less state. For some, Conair is the first airplane they were ever on. For others, they never had the opportunity to go past 7th grade and simply don't have the words or perspective to consider the world beyond their existence.
In GED classes, we realized that we cannot teach social studies - especially the political cartoon unit - without giving the students a perspective that is assumed they have. If the students don't know what happened with President Roosevelt, how can they interpret a political cartoon about him? So, we have to take a large step back and give them the underlying information that GED study book writers assume they have.
I watch the national and international news, because I know that what happens in the world affects me - perhaps not directly, but always indirectly. I also know that by next summer, I will be a part of that world again. When the Philippines recently saw devastation, only Nurse and I would want to see the news about it. We both know people living there. I remember I was once on a cruise ship for 7 days with a friend, when I was in my young 20's. During the time we took the cruise, having too much "fun" to pay attention to the news, we came home to two deaths - one of a Kennedy and the other was Sonny Bono. Everyone was walking about football on skis, and we had no "perspective" to understand the conversation. That's exactly what it is like for many people in prison. I imagine that the longer I am inside these fences, the less the world beyond will matter. When survival, shock, and stress are at their maximum, one can only concentrate on getting through each day. When I leave here, everyone will be talking about some new technology that they are using, and I will need to catch up. I will need to catch up on a lot. At least, I am trying to maintain some sense of the world beyond prison, with what national/international news I can get.
I was thinking about "why" they don't want to watch national/international news. I think it is because of perspective. Depending on how long you've been locked up, the world beyond prison becomes much less relevant (unless it is congress changing mandatory minimums or something like that). Instead, it is inmate.com that is the most important news of the day. Who is dating who? Who is fighting who? Who went to the SHU? Who got shots (in trouble) last night? Who got caught doing what with whom? Who will be the next daytime C.O. in the unit? That is their relevant news.
Of course, I'm not talking all inmates, but many cannot connect to a world they have never seen. Some of these inmates have been locked up since their late teens. Prior to that, they may never have traveled out of their small town or city, much less state. For some, Conair is the first airplane they were ever on. For others, they never had the opportunity to go past 7th grade and simply don't have the words or perspective to consider the world beyond their existence.
In GED classes, we realized that we cannot teach social studies - especially the political cartoon unit - without giving the students a perspective that is assumed they have. If the students don't know what happened with President Roosevelt, how can they interpret a political cartoon about him? So, we have to take a large step back and give them the underlying information that GED study book writers assume they have.
I watch the national and international news, because I know that what happens in the world affects me - perhaps not directly, but always indirectly. I also know that by next summer, I will be a part of that world again. When the Philippines recently saw devastation, only Nurse and I would want to see the news about it. We both know people living there. I remember I was once on a cruise ship for 7 days with a friend, when I was in my young 20's. During the time we took the cruise, having too much "fun" to pay attention to the news, we came home to two deaths - one of a Kennedy and the other was Sonny Bono. Everyone was walking about football on skis, and we had no "perspective" to understand the conversation. That's exactly what it is like for many people in prison. I imagine that the longer I am inside these fences, the less the world beyond will matter. When survival, shock, and stress are at their maximum, one can only concentrate on getting through each day. When I leave here, everyone will be talking about some new technology that they are using, and I will need to catch up. I will need to catch up on a lot. At least, I am trying to maintain some sense of the world beyond prison, with what national/international news I can get.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
From Dragonfly: What a Difference a Year Makes
One year ago, I was taking my final exams, preparing for my comprehensive exams, traveling to my hometown to spend time with family and friends, and trying to deal with my new health issues. I was not driving. I was testing my oxygen levels all the time. I was waiting to find out when the legal case against me would move forward. It would not be until late February that I would be officially indicted and March when I was arraigned. One year ago, I had no idea that I would be spending my holidays in prison. I also had no idea what prison would be like. I wrongly thought it was "behind bars" and that I would be in a typical cell seen on television. I had never met a cold-blooded killer or a person accused of insidious sex crimes. I'd never met a bank robber or someone that had illegally sold guns internationally. One year ago, I lived by myself, creating a welcoming space for Cache who would soon move in for a couple months as she sought her own housing. I had a holiday party that included hot chocolate with ALL the fixings. One year ago, the most important news I'd received was that I was accepted for the professional experience in South Africa. I prayed that my health would not keep me from going. One year ago, I was seeing at least two doctors per week - getting new diagnoses almost weekly - and trying to accept that my physical life would never be the same again. One year ago, T.S. visited me for a long break and we spent many special days together. One year ago, T.S.'s applications to various colleges were being considered and we were waiting on pins and needles for results. One year ago, I would sit on my computer for hours every day and do research, hang out on Facebook, and email directly to friends. One year ago, I wrote a conference proposal, interviewed several people for research, and worked closely with Traveler as we had many projects together. One year ago, I was an upstanding member of my academic department and my Adviser had my back and I was earning scholarships and fellowships.
None of these changes matter, though, because we cannot live in the past. I am where I am, today, and one year from now, my life will be 100% different than it is today. That is true for me, but for many people around me, they will still be in Carswell, doing the same thing every day, and not even remembering what life is like on the outside. For some of them, I'm glad they are not part of the general population. They did terrible acts and/or are scary people. Others, though, are not, and yet they are sentenced to an incredibly long time away.
Every meal at Chow, more people than not, put their heads down and pray before they eat. I wonder if they prayed before they came to prison. I wonder if they pray for freedom or just for their gratitude to have food on their tray. Prison, it seems, brings people closer to their spirituality and religion. Some change religions. Some learn about different forms of spirituality.
Things change when we go to prison. It's inevitable. Many of my friends are taking their finals this week (mostly just writing papers). They are preparing for their last academic class, where they will work on their dissertation proposal, having already passed comps last year. Their lives are moving forward, yet are very similar to a year ago. A couple of my friends have new babies in their lives and are loving watching them develop into little people. My father is still recovering from his stroke. My mother has a new job. Sporty and T.S. are living in a new city and state. Many people could look back a year and say that their life is very different from before.
We must believe that it is all for a purpose, that we are not in control, and that we will be somewhere else again soon. If we let go, we move forward. I don't know exactly what my life will consist of in one year, but I do know, it will be entirely different from what it is right now.
None of these changes matter, though, because we cannot live in the past. I am where I am, today, and one year from now, my life will be 100% different than it is today. That is true for me, but for many people around me, they will still be in Carswell, doing the same thing every day, and not even remembering what life is like on the outside. For some of them, I'm glad they are not part of the general population. They did terrible acts and/or are scary people. Others, though, are not, and yet they are sentenced to an incredibly long time away.
Every meal at Chow, more people than not, put their heads down and pray before they eat. I wonder if they prayed before they came to prison. I wonder if they pray for freedom or just for their gratitude to have food on their tray. Prison, it seems, brings people closer to their spirituality and religion. Some change religions. Some learn about different forms of spirituality.
Things change when we go to prison. It's inevitable. Many of my friends are taking their finals this week (mostly just writing papers). They are preparing for their last academic class, where they will work on their dissertation proposal, having already passed comps last year. Their lives are moving forward, yet are very similar to a year ago. A couple of my friends have new babies in their lives and are loving watching them develop into little people. My father is still recovering from his stroke. My mother has a new job. Sporty and T.S. are living in a new city and state. Many people could look back a year and say that their life is very different from before.
We must believe that it is all for a purpose, that we are not in control, and that we will be somewhere else again soon. If we let go, we move forward. I don't know exactly what my life will consist of in one year, but I do know, it will be entirely different from what it is right now.
From Dragonfly: Passivity
In my life, prior to recovery, I was very, very passive. Everyone who knew me, knew that I could stand up for others, but not myself. I was always concerned with what others thought of me - my entire self-esteem was built on reputation. I took it incredibly personal when someone was mean to me - and I allowed myself to be the victim of all types of abuse. In many ways, I believed I deserved it. This was in my "broken" sense of self, lost in addiction and victimization.
It took a couple years of recovery and counseling, but I learned to say, "no," and mean it. I learned to set limits and have healthy relationships. I learned where my passivity stemmed from and I worked hard to change myself. It is a process, likely lifelong, but it is always interesting to see me not act passive. It shocks me as much as anyone else. I used to just allow myself to be pushed around, I didn't even think about it, and, now, I have boundaries.
I had a test as to my passivity last night. As I've written before, three days of being iced in has made everyone restless... and I must add that today is ANOTHER day of being iced in... no work, no education, no activities... anyway, I digress.
Anyway, last night after dinner, I came back to the unit (no where else to go) and wanted to work on a creative project I am doing. The atrium offered no available tables or chairs, so I set up at the small desk in my room. No one was there, and it's the perfect surface. It is about a foot and a half long and 2 feet wide. I took all my items and set them up on the table and my bed (which is directly to the left). Colored pencils, markers, glue, notes, pictures, drawings, cards, etc. Everything was placed where I could easily reach it and I started to work on my project.
Next thing I know, my roommate walks in and asks me, "how long are you going to be at the table?" I respond that I don't know, I'm working on a project. She informs me that she is unable to be in her bed if I am sitting at the table, because she is 'clausterphobic.' I tell her that I don't know how long I will be, but she's welcome to sit on her bed. She continues to argue with me that my being at the table is disrespectful to her. Now, just two days ago, she was at the table for hours working on making a cheese cake. I said nothing. It's a table that all four of us can use - that's why it is there.
I tell her that I'm sorry she is uncomfortable on her bed with me on the table stool, but I really want to work on my project and there are no available chairs or table space in the atrium. So, she starts to scream at me that I am inconveniencing her and not respecting her needs. I say nothing and go back to my project. She then informs me that when I am on my bed wanting to sit, she will sit at the desk. I say, "That's fine. That's the reason the small desk is here." I go back to my project. She calls me a bunch of really ugly names, says I'm being inconsiderate, and storms off.
I sit there shocked for a minute. In my past life, I would have done anything and everything to avoid any confrontation. I knew she was being unreasonable, but I would have still given in and moved and stopped working on my project. As always, others heard this disagreement from outside the room and was telling me how insane she is, that she is so selfish, and that they are glad I stood up for myself. I am, too. Of course, now, she has not said a word to me in a day. I'm fine with that.
Funny thing is an observation Army and I made about Bandana. As soon as one of us starts talking to the other, Bandana will start singing loudly or start a conversation with Braids. She does it intentionally to make it difficult for me and Army to talk. Just last night, I was working on a crossword and asked Army if she knew the name of a Venetian boat ("Gondola" - but I'd spaced on it). Anyway, Bandana starts loudly singing her song as we discuss the word. Army thinks it is because Army is intimidated by the more intelligent conversations Army and I have. I don't know the reason, all I know is that Bandana is much more inconsiderate than I could ever be!
Now, I could have just given in to Bandana and stopped using the desk. There was no where else I could go to do my project, but I could have just given in to her and things would be much less stressful. That's what she wants. She wants to see that she can "control" me. She's been locked up for 12 years - since she was 19 years old - and only knows life as a convict. On the other hand, I will leave here in months and I need to leave here being at least as strong as I was when I entered. Sure, I am passive at times... Braids asks me to get something out of her locker almost every time I'm standing at mine. I say, "yes," because it is in no way out of my way and there's no good reason for me to say, "no." She doesn't ask if I'm in my bed.
It's important in prison to not be passive. It is also important to always remember that others' attitudes, activities, choices, aggression, bad behaviors, smells, passivity, violence, etc. has nothing to do with you. It is about them. Best thing to do is to separate yourself from their negativity and find something to keep you busy - for me it's all my projects. Usually, work also helps. When I have none of these things, I read. It's just like "filling the void" with recovery - we need to find healthy activities to keep us busy and away from the craziness.
I am no longer the passive person that everyone can push around. I am proud of this growth. It makes me a better person, even if it pisses off those who want a victim. I am not their victim. They may be angry, but that is not my fault. "No," is a very real part of my vocabulary now.
It took a couple years of recovery and counseling, but I learned to say, "no," and mean it. I learned to set limits and have healthy relationships. I learned where my passivity stemmed from and I worked hard to change myself. It is a process, likely lifelong, but it is always interesting to see me not act passive. It shocks me as much as anyone else. I used to just allow myself to be pushed around, I didn't even think about it, and, now, I have boundaries.
I had a test as to my passivity last night. As I've written before, three days of being iced in has made everyone restless... and I must add that today is ANOTHER day of being iced in... no work, no education, no activities... anyway, I digress.
Anyway, last night after dinner, I came back to the unit (no where else to go) and wanted to work on a creative project I am doing. The atrium offered no available tables or chairs, so I set up at the small desk in my room. No one was there, and it's the perfect surface. It is about a foot and a half long and 2 feet wide. I took all my items and set them up on the table and my bed (which is directly to the left). Colored pencils, markers, glue, notes, pictures, drawings, cards, etc. Everything was placed where I could easily reach it and I started to work on my project.
Next thing I know, my roommate walks in and asks me, "how long are you going to be at the table?" I respond that I don't know, I'm working on a project. She informs me that she is unable to be in her bed if I am sitting at the table, because she is 'clausterphobic.' I tell her that I don't know how long I will be, but she's welcome to sit on her bed. She continues to argue with me that my being at the table is disrespectful to her. Now, just two days ago, she was at the table for hours working on making a cheese cake. I said nothing. It's a table that all four of us can use - that's why it is there.
I tell her that I'm sorry she is uncomfortable on her bed with me on the table stool, but I really want to work on my project and there are no available chairs or table space in the atrium. So, she starts to scream at me that I am inconveniencing her and not respecting her needs. I say nothing and go back to my project. She then informs me that when I am on my bed wanting to sit, she will sit at the desk. I say, "That's fine. That's the reason the small desk is here." I go back to my project. She calls me a bunch of really ugly names, says I'm being inconsiderate, and storms off.
I sit there shocked for a minute. In my past life, I would have done anything and everything to avoid any confrontation. I knew she was being unreasonable, but I would have still given in and moved and stopped working on my project. As always, others heard this disagreement from outside the room and was telling me how insane she is, that she is so selfish, and that they are glad I stood up for myself. I am, too. Of course, now, she has not said a word to me in a day. I'm fine with that.
Funny thing is an observation Army and I made about Bandana. As soon as one of us starts talking to the other, Bandana will start singing loudly or start a conversation with Braids. She does it intentionally to make it difficult for me and Army to talk. Just last night, I was working on a crossword and asked Army if she knew the name of a Venetian boat ("Gondola" - but I'd spaced on it). Anyway, Bandana starts loudly singing her song as we discuss the word. Army thinks it is because Army is intimidated by the more intelligent conversations Army and I have. I don't know the reason, all I know is that Bandana is much more inconsiderate than I could ever be!
Now, I could have just given in to Bandana and stopped using the desk. There was no where else I could go to do my project, but I could have just given in to her and things would be much less stressful. That's what she wants. She wants to see that she can "control" me. She's been locked up for 12 years - since she was 19 years old - and only knows life as a convict. On the other hand, I will leave here in months and I need to leave here being at least as strong as I was when I entered. Sure, I am passive at times... Braids asks me to get something out of her locker almost every time I'm standing at mine. I say, "yes," because it is in no way out of my way and there's no good reason for me to say, "no." She doesn't ask if I'm in my bed.
It's important in prison to not be passive. It is also important to always remember that others' attitudes, activities, choices, aggression, bad behaviors, smells, passivity, violence, etc. has nothing to do with you. It is about them. Best thing to do is to separate yourself from their negativity and find something to keep you busy - for me it's all my projects. Usually, work also helps. When I have none of these things, I read. It's just like "filling the void" with recovery - we need to find healthy activities to keep us busy and away from the craziness.
I am no longer the passive person that everyone can push around. I am proud of this growth. It makes me a better person, even if it pisses off those who want a victim. I am not their victim. They may be angry, but that is not my fault. "No," is a very real part of my vocabulary now.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
From Dragonfly: Iced In
Grand Rapids/Dallas is at a stand-still, ever since Thursday night's sleet storm. People cannot get out of their homes because their cars are in the garage and their streets are covered in ice. People around here do not have the northerners experience of driving on ice (not that anyone should - I tore my ACL for the 4th time when I fell on black ice on my campus almost 2 years ago). Anyway, the ice has given everyone a couple days at home with their families. This morning, I even saw that a ton of churches cancelled services.
With this storm, many officers have not made it to Carswell. There is only one cleared sidewalk - the shortest distance between the housing unit and the main/medical building. Therefore, the Carswell Compound is closed. They even cancelled visitation for the entire weekend. I feel horrible for any family members who made the trek (possibly from far distances) to see their loved one, only to find out that they cancelled visitation. Now, I need to say that the ice is about a half inch at places and is mostly snowy ice on the grass areas. Back in the Midwest, a bunch of sand and/or salt would have cleared this campus in hours. However, they do not stock these things here, because these kinds of storms don't happen here (usually).
Since it is not a cleared walkway, we are not able to go to indoor rec for days. So, since people depend on the equipment to work out at indoor rec, they are doing laps in the housing units - upstairs, walk a hallway, down stair, walk the floor, back upstairs, walk a hallway, downstairs... and so on. One woman I know walked 3 miles that way yesterday. I wanted to go to indoor rec to order some different colors of yarn for crocheting. The order was due by last night - for delivery in late January... I am hoping they extend the deadline due to them being closed. But, here at Carswell, rules, not logic, make decisions. If I have to wait, I will not receive the yarn until late February. Talk about needing to plan ahead!!
It is also not allowed for anyone to stay outside, other than the walk between buildings. I've seen many people, especially those from Mexico, trying to touch snow for the first time in their life. I heard one say, "It's so cold." I can't imagine having only seen snow on television and never played in it in real life. Anyway, since they were off the walking path, they got in trouble for being on the snow. My dream snowman was never built.
Everyone is pretty much stuck inside their housing units, now, for the third day in a row. If you want to see restlessness, that's what it is like. I've seen fighting come from nothing, screaming about mundane issues, and rudeness like never before. There are not even enough chairs for the number of people in the unit, so when someone goes to the bathroom, their chair disappears with someone taking it elsewhere and claiming it for their own butt.
I spent the last couple days crocheting, card sending, doing crosswords, reading, and watching football. I was able to sign up for the sports television yesterday in order to watch a couple AMAZING college football championships. I must have looked a lot like my mother does when she sits with my step-dad and watches football. I was crocheting and watching. She knits sometimes. I always watched her and couldn't figure out how she does her knitting and television, but yesterday, I did both as well. Guess I am becoming a better crocheter. Oh, and I crochet like NOONE else... I can't hold the hook and string right because of pain in my hands, but I have a two handed way of doing it that works great. It's slower than most crocheters. My friends say I am 'knitcheting' because it almost looks like I am knitting, but with the single crochet hook.
Iced-in days are very slow. All we do is sit around. The C.O.s that make it to Carswell are restless as well. Yesterday, 18 people had to do "extra duty" because they got into trouble in my unit.
People are also trying to hustle hard this weekend for the things they want. I've been asked for some of my yarn many, many times. I am not engaging in the mass hustle this weekend. I have everything I need and plan to shop commissary again tomorrow (if it is open). People are paying crazy amounts of money for their hustles too --- robes going for $75, food items for 2x their normal cost, and coffee is at a premium right now. In addition, the line for phones and in the email room are absolutely crazy.
I hope that tomorrow becomes a normal day at Carswell once again. Today the weather should be above freezing for a couple hours and then tomorrow it warms up even more. Throughout this week, we will be on a warming trend - not hot, but above freezing. I hope this weekend may prompt Carswell to have weather contingency plans in the future.
With this storm, many officers have not made it to Carswell. There is only one cleared sidewalk - the shortest distance between the housing unit and the main/medical building. Therefore, the Carswell Compound is closed. They even cancelled visitation for the entire weekend. I feel horrible for any family members who made the trek (possibly from far distances) to see their loved one, only to find out that they cancelled visitation. Now, I need to say that the ice is about a half inch at places and is mostly snowy ice on the grass areas. Back in the Midwest, a bunch of sand and/or salt would have cleared this campus in hours. However, they do not stock these things here, because these kinds of storms don't happen here (usually).
Since it is not a cleared walkway, we are not able to go to indoor rec for days. So, since people depend on the equipment to work out at indoor rec, they are doing laps in the housing units - upstairs, walk a hallway, down stair, walk the floor, back upstairs, walk a hallway, downstairs... and so on. One woman I know walked 3 miles that way yesterday. I wanted to go to indoor rec to order some different colors of yarn for crocheting. The order was due by last night - for delivery in late January... I am hoping they extend the deadline due to them being closed. But, here at Carswell, rules, not logic, make decisions. If I have to wait, I will not receive the yarn until late February. Talk about needing to plan ahead!!
It is also not allowed for anyone to stay outside, other than the walk between buildings. I've seen many people, especially those from Mexico, trying to touch snow for the first time in their life. I heard one say, "It's so cold." I can't imagine having only seen snow on television and never played in it in real life. Anyway, since they were off the walking path, they got in trouble for being on the snow. My dream snowman was never built.
Everyone is pretty much stuck inside their housing units, now, for the third day in a row. If you want to see restlessness, that's what it is like. I've seen fighting come from nothing, screaming about mundane issues, and rudeness like never before. There are not even enough chairs for the number of people in the unit, so when someone goes to the bathroom, their chair disappears with someone taking it elsewhere and claiming it for their own butt.
I spent the last couple days crocheting, card sending, doing crosswords, reading, and watching football. I was able to sign up for the sports television yesterday in order to watch a couple AMAZING college football championships. I must have looked a lot like my mother does when she sits with my step-dad and watches football. I was crocheting and watching. She knits sometimes. I always watched her and couldn't figure out how she does her knitting and television, but yesterday, I did both as well. Guess I am becoming a better crocheter. Oh, and I crochet like NOONE else... I can't hold the hook and string right because of pain in my hands, but I have a two handed way of doing it that works great. It's slower than most crocheters. My friends say I am 'knitcheting' because it almost looks like I am knitting, but with the single crochet hook.
Iced-in days are very slow. All we do is sit around. The C.O.s that make it to Carswell are restless as well. Yesterday, 18 people had to do "extra duty" because they got into trouble in my unit.
People are also trying to hustle hard this weekend for the things they want. I've been asked for some of my yarn many, many times. I am not engaging in the mass hustle this weekend. I have everything I need and plan to shop commissary again tomorrow (if it is open). People are paying crazy amounts of money for their hustles too --- robes going for $75, food items for 2x their normal cost, and coffee is at a premium right now. In addition, the line for phones and in the email room are absolutely crazy.
I hope that tomorrow becomes a normal day at Carswell once again. Today the weather should be above freezing for a couple hours and then tomorrow it warms up even more. Throughout this week, we will be on a warming trend - not hot, but above freezing. I hope this weekend may prompt Carswell to have weather contingency plans in the future.
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