It's when the worst things happen that I am so grateful for the recovery I've obtained and the new tools I've learned to help me "walk through" life's downs. It's so easy to walk through the ups, but it's the downs that balance those out that are so difficult for so many of us. For me, I found some healthy ways to walk through the bad news of yesterday...
My father has fast-growing, terminal, brain cancer... That word "terminal" just sat with me like having eaten the most foul brick of food in my life. In less than a year, my father will no longer walk this earth. With such a complicated past, this reality made me know for sure that I've forgiven my father. All I want to be is by his side. I hate thinking that he may be alone when he passes.
Of course my step-monster is there. However, when I called last night - at dinner time where they live, my dad's wife was no longer at the hospital. She was in her car, headed to her "bunko" night with her girlfriends. They received such horrible news just hours before, but she couldn't cancel her plans and be by his side. Perhaps he was sleeping, but he'll likely wake in a panic. Only nurses will be there. My dad can't express all his needs since his stroke. Only my step-monster knows his needs.
I can't get too mad at her, though. Everyone deals with loss in different ways. Everyone, especially care-givers, need to take time for themselves. You can't take care of another person if you fail to take care of yourself. But, I am selfish and I don't want my dad to die alone. I don't want him to lie in bed thinking of life's mistakes. I want him to feel loved, cared for, and prayed about. I want him to know that people are and will shed tears for him. If I were there, I would stay. I would help. I would happily be his voice and advocate.
Instead, I am in cinder block walls behind a barbed wire double fence. Never did I wish circumstances were different more than this moment. The powerlessness of loss, while incarcerated, is intolerable. I've learned of women losing children, spouses, siblings, parents, and best-friends. We mourn together and apart. No one here knows the loved one who is dying or died, but we all somehow feel it. We all understand that inability to be by the bedside or at the funeral. The real idea of "furlough" does not exist. It is rarely granted for even 24 hours, and it costs thousands when it is.
I'm lucky though. I have my program to lean on. I have all the tools I've been provided over the years to help me walk through this experience. I am unable to control this situation and I'm not going to waste my breaths trying to. My thoughts and prayers are with my father constantly. I will reach out to others and hold nothing inside. I will get a lot of fresh air. I will feel (something I failed to do for 20+ years). I will accept.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
From Dragonfly: A Human Zoo
Yesterday, I was reading "Vanishing Acts" by Jodi Picoult. I was caught by a metaphor she used, that I've often used since being in here --- "a human zoo..." On page 187, Piccoult's character states:
"We walk down the hallway that opens into a large, two-tiered room... What it resembles - what jail always resembles - is a human zoo. The animals are busy doing their own thing - sleeping, eating, socializing. Some of them notice me, some of them choose not to. It's really the only power they have left."
How true that statement is. A couple weeks ago, a group of students from a local university, took a tour of the prison, including our unit. There they were, standing in a group, staring in one of our rooms. They didn't talk to the woman who was laying on her bed - they just stared. I happened to walk by them. Some watched me walk - what were they thinking? Were they wondering what I'd done to get in here? Were they afraid I might be violent? I remember visiting a couple prisons/jails during my undergrad and law school experiences. I was them - I just stared as well. I'd always visited male institutions, and I was scared of the men in cages.
How horrible it is that we are equal to animals at a zoo. There is no respect for us as individuals. Our animal name must be deviant, criminally, opportunistic felon. While we are in there, we are no longer human.
Interestingly, another book that a friend is reading had quite a different paragraph about prisons:
"The American prison system illustrates the philosophical and practical difference between the choice to perceive sin or to perceive error. We see criminals as guilty and seek to punish them. But whatever we do to others, we are doing to ourselves. Statistics painfully prove that our prisons are schools for crime; a vast number of crimes are committed by people who have already spent time in prison. In punishing others, we end up punishing ourselves. Does that mean we're to forgive a rapist, tell him we know he just had a bad day and send him home? Of course not. We're to ask for a miracle. A miracle here would be a shift from perceiving prisons as houses of punishment to perceiving them as houses of rehabilitation. When we consciously change their purpose from FEAR to LOVE, we release infinite possibilities of healing." (A Return to Love by Marianna Williamson, pg. 99).
How different would our prisons look if any of what she says reform should do occurred. Would we no longer be zoo animals, but instead people trying to heal? Would everyone be appropriate for some services, instead of just those with drug/alcohol backgrounds? It was decades ago that our prison system changed from the ideal of rehabilitation to specifically punishment. Yet, how are we to rejoin society, if nothing in us has changed.
I can tell you that just one week in this place would have been enough punishment for many of the people I know. What they really need is help - help with their self-esteem, help with getting over abusive pasts, help with addiction, help with getting a foot up in life. Reform needs to happen. We should not allow our jails and prisons to just be human zoos.
"We walk down the hallway that opens into a large, two-tiered room... What it resembles - what jail always resembles - is a human zoo. The animals are busy doing their own thing - sleeping, eating, socializing. Some of them notice me, some of them choose not to. It's really the only power they have left."
How true that statement is. A couple weeks ago, a group of students from a local university, took a tour of the prison, including our unit. There they were, standing in a group, staring in one of our rooms. They didn't talk to the woman who was laying on her bed - they just stared. I happened to walk by them. Some watched me walk - what were they thinking? Were they wondering what I'd done to get in here? Were they afraid I might be violent? I remember visiting a couple prisons/jails during my undergrad and law school experiences. I was them - I just stared as well. I'd always visited male institutions, and I was scared of the men in cages.
How horrible it is that we are equal to animals at a zoo. There is no respect for us as individuals. Our animal name must be deviant, criminally, opportunistic felon. While we are in there, we are no longer human.
Interestingly, another book that a friend is reading had quite a different paragraph about prisons:
"The American prison system illustrates the philosophical and practical difference between the choice to perceive sin or to perceive error. We see criminals as guilty and seek to punish them. But whatever we do to others, we are doing to ourselves. Statistics painfully prove that our prisons are schools for crime; a vast number of crimes are committed by people who have already spent time in prison. In punishing others, we end up punishing ourselves. Does that mean we're to forgive a rapist, tell him we know he just had a bad day and send him home? Of course not. We're to ask for a miracle. A miracle here would be a shift from perceiving prisons as houses of punishment to perceiving them as houses of rehabilitation. When we consciously change their purpose from FEAR to LOVE, we release infinite possibilities of healing." (A Return to Love by Marianna Williamson, pg. 99).
How different would our prisons look if any of what she says reform should do occurred. Would we no longer be zoo animals, but instead people trying to heal? Would everyone be appropriate for some services, instead of just those with drug/alcohol backgrounds? It was decades ago that our prison system changed from the ideal of rehabilitation to specifically punishment. Yet, how are we to rejoin society, if nothing in us has changed.
I can tell you that just one week in this place would have been enough punishment for many of the people I know. What they really need is help - help with their self-esteem, help with getting over abusive pasts, help with addiction, help with getting a foot up in life. Reform needs to happen. We should not allow our jails and prisons to just be human zoos.
From Dragonfly: The Catwalk
Every morning, our current daytime C.O. yells, "get ready for inspection!" We are supposed to be inspection ready from 7:30am-4:00pm every day, but not every officer does rounds. Our current officer is serious about doing his rounds, taking anything anyone has out that does not belong - even a mug someone is drinking from but not at that second. In order to get your things back, you have to work extra duty (2+ hours of cleaning something in the unit). My room is always inspection ready in time. We all have our cleaning days and we are serious about making sure everything gets done - window, bars, lockers, floor, lining things at the back wall, desk, stool, dusting, etc. So far, so good.
When he yells, "get ready for inspection," everyone upstairs moves out to the catwalk. We sit on the hard, cement floor and read, crochet, talk, etc. Some days we sit there, against the wall for up to three hours, sometimes he will start upstairs and we'll just be there an hour or less. Most days, it's more than an hour. I sometimes take my blanket to sit on, because the cold cement can be horrible to sit on for a long period of time. Some people use their trash can, upside down as a chair. I find that uncomfortable due to the lip - but it's fine if I put a blanket folded on it and then sit. Mostly, I just sit on the ground. Up and down the corridor (which is what I would call the hallway, not a catwalk), everyone around is doing the same as me. We watch as our officer goes room to room - "what is he checking today?" "what did he just take from them?" Our conversations are usually the same questions everyday.
There will be those defiers, who choose to lay in their beds until he shows up. Then he bangs really hard on their locker to wake them up and asks them to step out of the room. His favorite phrase, "get your mind right," is constantly heard as he talks to folks that are in the way of his job. Most of us avoid that, so we tell our neighbor, "get me up when he comes upstairs..." We always do - inmates protecting each other.
It's an odd irony that we spend almost all morning on the catwalk, as our evening guard's favorite phrase is "get off the catwalk." With her, we are not allowed to sit anywhere on the corridor or stand by anyone's rooms. It is a constant to hear her yelling upstairs for people to "move out of doorways," and stop talking on the catwalk. As she walks into work each evening, we all yell, "get off the catwalk," and laugh. I wonder if she is annoyed with it. I think we do it out of respect - at least she is consistent!
On nights that she is not on duty, inmates will sit against their walls, or on their trashcans, and watch television from right outside their rooms. They keep the majority of the corridor free for people to walk, but they are able to avoid having to go up and down the 24 steps over and over again. The downstairs has a hallway/corridor, not a "catwalk," and people tend to go to the tables and atrium, rather than hang by their rooms. That's one of the "culture differences" between being on the second floor, to being on the first, there is more room visiting (against the rules but still happens) and people spending time just outside their rooms. Honestly, it is a more comfortable culture for me. I like being able to relax in/near my room, rather than always having to be surrounded by everyone.
The one thing we cannot ever do is hang out at the edge of the catwalk on the rails/poles that act as a fence to the great fall that would occur down to the first floor. Except during mail time, though, as many C.O.'s have us wait by the poles to see if our names are called. There is always an exception for every rule, and every C.O. does things differently. Otherwise, it is "get away from the rails!"
There are things that will have a hard time getting out of my head once I am back home. I have a feeling that, "get your mind right," and "get off the catwalk," will be statements in my dreams for years to come. It may be that inside joke that is shared by those of us who have survived this experience. In the meantime, I will sit in the catwalk during the day, avoid it at night, and never lean on the rails.
When he yells, "get ready for inspection," everyone upstairs moves out to the catwalk. We sit on the hard, cement floor and read, crochet, talk, etc. Some days we sit there, against the wall for up to three hours, sometimes he will start upstairs and we'll just be there an hour or less. Most days, it's more than an hour. I sometimes take my blanket to sit on, because the cold cement can be horrible to sit on for a long period of time. Some people use their trash can, upside down as a chair. I find that uncomfortable due to the lip - but it's fine if I put a blanket folded on it and then sit. Mostly, I just sit on the ground. Up and down the corridor (which is what I would call the hallway, not a catwalk), everyone around is doing the same as me. We watch as our officer goes room to room - "what is he checking today?" "what did he just take from them?" Our conversations are usually the same questions everyday.
There will be those defiers, who choose to lay in their beds until he shows up. Then he bangs really hard on their locker to wake them up and asks them to step out of the room. His favorite phrase, "get your mind right," is constantly heard as he talks to folks that are in the way of his job. Most of us avoid that, so we tell our neighbor, "get me up when he comes upstairs..." We always do - inmates protecting each other.
It's an odd irony that we spend almost all morning on the catwalk, as our evening guard's favorite phrase is "get off the catwalk." With her, we are not allowed to sit anywhere on the corridor or stand by anyone's rooms. It is a constant to hear her yelling upstairs for people to "move out of doorways," and stop talking on the catwalk. As she walks into work each evening, we all yell, "get off the catwalk," and laugh. I wonder if she is annoyed with it. I think we do it out of respect - at least she is consistent!
On nights that she is not on duty, inmates will sit against their walls, or on their trashcans, and watch television from right outside their rooms. They keep the majority of the corridor free for people to walk, but they are able to avoid having to go up and down the 24 steps over and over again. The downstairs has a hallway/corridor, not a "catwalk," and people tend to go to the tables and atrium, rather than hang by their rooms. That's one of the "culture differences" between being on the second floor, to being on the first, there is more room visiting (against the rules but still happens) and people spending time just outside their rooms. Honestly, it is a more comfortable culture for me. I like being able to relax in/near my room, rather than always having to be surrounded by everyone.
The one thing we cannot ever do is hang out at the edge of the catwalk on the rails/poles that act as a fence to the great fall that would occur down to the first floor. Except during mail time, though, as many C.O.'s have us wait by the poles to see if our names are called. There is always an exception for every rule, and every C.O. does things differently. Otherwise, it is "get away from the rails!"
There are things that will have a hard time getting out of my head once I am back home. I have a feeling that, "get your mind right," and "get off the catwalk," will be statements in my dreams for years to come. It may be that inside joke that is shared by those of us who have survived this experience. In the meantime, I will sit in the catwalk during the day, avoid it at night, and never lean on the rails.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
From Dragonfly: Is it violent?
I was laying in bed last night, reading the beginning of a new Jodi Piccoult (well, a 2005 book well read, but new to me) when my roommate Longwinded asked me a question. I had to take my orange ear plugs out of my ears and sit up to hear her. My bunkie was already asleep. She said, "Do you fear for violence here?" "Do you think the inmates are violent?"
I wasn't sure where the questions came from in her, is she being threatened? Has something happened? So, I started to answer by asking those questions, not direct answers to her questions. Then she explained further. She was talking with a staff member and the staff member had asked her these questions. Since the question, "do you think the inmates are violent?" was inclusive of all inmates (it wasn't just "some" inmates), Longwinded answered, "no, because I am not violent and I am an inmate..." I told her that I do believe some of the inmates are violent, but not the majority of us. There's enough to keep us on our toes, though. There are enough to take threats seriously.
The staff member, I guess, thought she was in "lala land," as he put it. He informed her, and a couple other inmates, that last week an inmate bit the pinky off of another inmate. I hadn't heard about this. Longwinded hadn't either. However, one of the other people in their conversation had. I don't know if it is true, but it does not surprise me. Perhaps it happened on one of the mental health units. They would be deemed "criminally insane." Most of them are not given the freedom to roam outside their unit too often, so perhaps it happened within their unit. However, it could have happened anywhere. There are many people here with substantial mental health issues, who are mainstreamed into the prison population.
This conversation led my roommate to say that she has no idea the truth behind most anyone's crimes. Her bunky could be a murderer (I don't believe she is, but she is right, she "could" be). Her best friend on the compound could have violently attacked a child. She doesn't know and neither do I. That's the thing about this place. We are all together and we look just like each other. We are your tutors, your plumbers, your nurses, your neighbors. No one knows anything, except for gossip or what is shared. People lie. There's no way to know the full truth.
I told Longwinded that many people here scare me, but it is not based on what they look like or even how they hold themselves. I've been around lots of different kinds of people in my life and do my best to never judge a book by it's cover. What does scare me is the eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. The person who I believe would have hit me had that meanness in their eyes. I'd never feared her before that moment. Sometimes you can see it all the time in someone, sometimes it just comes out at the moments of their anger.
There is a young woman, from one of the mental health floors, who walks in circles, talking to herself, and punching air. I do not fear her. I am not going to say that she has not done violence, I have no idea of her name, much less her past or crimes. But, she has scared eyes. She acts "out" and doesn't hold back. It's makes it easy to know how to be around someone when they make it obvious as to their need for space. The people that scare me the most are those who hold it all inside, only to one day "break" and the violence erupts from them.
So, it is violent? Yes. However, it is also possible to keep oneself insulated from it. We need to avoid confrontation. We need to spend our time with people who are not threatening. We shouldn't be locked up with violent offenders, but we are. We just need to always keep aware of who is around. I still get scared sometimes. I fear Longwinded is now scared as well. I don't know why the staff member asked her about it, but her defenses are now up. Maybe, just maybe, it will save her from a bad situation down the road. One never knows why we receive the messages we do, only that we get the messages we need at the times we need them.
I wasn't sure where the questions came from in her, is she being threatened? Has something happened? So, I started to answer by asking those questions, not direct answers to her questions. Then she explained further. She was talking with a staff member and the staff member had asked her these questions. Since the question, "do you think the inmates are violent?" was inclusive of all inmates (it wasn't just "some" inmates), Longwinded answered, "no, because I am not violent and I am an inmate..." I told her that I do believe some of the inmates are violent, but not the majority of us. There's enough to keep us on our toes, though. There are enough to take threats seriously.
The staff member, I guess, thought she was in "lala land," as he put it. He informed her, and a couple other inmates, that last week an inmate bit the pinky off of another inmate. I hadn't heard about this. Longwinded hadn't either. However, one of the other people in their conversation had. I don't know if it is true, but it does not surprise me. Perhaps it happened on one of the mental health units. They would be deemed "criminally insane." Most of them are not given the freedom to roam outside their unit too often, so perhaps it happened within their unit. However, it could have happened anywhere. There are many people here with substantial mental health issues, who are mainstreamed into the prison population.
This conversation led my roommate to say that she has no idea the truth behind most anyone's crimes. Her bunky could be a murderer (I don't believe she is, but she is right, she "could" be). Her best friend on the compound could have violently attacked a child. She doesn't know and neither do I. That's the thing about this place. We are all together and we look just like each other. We are your tutors, your plumbers, your nurses, your neighbors. No one knows anything, except for gossip or what is shared. People lie. There's no way to know the full truth.
I told Longwinded that many people here scare me, but it is not based on what they look like or even how they hold themselves. I've been around lots of different kinds of people in my life and do my best to never judge a book by it's cover. What does scare me is the eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. The person who I believe would have hit me had that meanness in their eyes. I'd never feared her before that moment. Sometimes you can see it all the time in someone, sometimes it just comes out at the moments of their anger.
There is a young woman, from one of the mental health floors, who walks in circles, talking to herself, and punching air. I do not fear her. I am not going to say that she has not done violence, I have no idea of her name, much less her past or crimes. But, she has scared eyes. She acts "out" and doesn't hold back. It's makes it easy to know how to be around someone when they make it obvious as to their need for space. The people that scare me the most are those who hold it all inside, only to one day "break" and the violence erupts from them.
So, it is violent? Yes. However, it is also possible to keep oneself insulated from it. We need to avoid confrontation. We need to spend our time with people who are not threatening. We shouldn't be locked up with violent offenders, but we are. We just need to always keep aware of who is around. I still get scared sometimes. I fear Longwinded is now scared as well. I don't know why the staff member asked her about it, but her defenses are now up. Maybe, just maybe, it will save her from a bad situation down the road. One never knows why we receive the messages we do, only that we get the messages we need at the times we need them.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
From Dragonfly: Yelling
I'm not sure why, but some staff (not all) find it so much easier to scream at us, than just talk to us. It is certainly a belittling technique - especially when the person is in the position of power. It is difficult for me to accept yelling as a way of communication. One staff member, here, does a great job of yelling things like "4pm count," but being softer at other times. In fact, when we lost another inmate a week ago, totally unexpected, she held a town hall. Although her voice was raised so we could all hear her (we were surrounding her in the atrium and she stood on a table), she gave words of grief and caring to us all. We lost a sister - someone who'd been here for years and was about to go home. She was close to many, but even those who didn't know her well, found tears in her eyes as this staff member spoke to us.
I heard many inmates say, "I respect that woman," referring to the staff member. I have only heard that about a couple people working here - the teacher that I respect and a couple other folks. It's too bad that most the staff doesn't try to earn our respect. It would only enhance our ability to listen to them and know that, even if we don't like what they are saying, they respect us enough to be kind when appropriate. We are not just inmates. We are women. We are human beings. Some treat us like we are animals, and I am not just exaggerating when I say that.
I have to say that the Warden is one of the people most inmates respect. I've never seen him yelling at anyone. He stands mainline nearly everyday, and will listen to inmate complaints/issues. He reads and responds to his emails. Sometimes he can't do what we want him to, but he's honest about that as well. He has beautified the campus. I, for one, respect him.
I'm not sure why staff don't get that if they are yelling at us, some inmates will see it as an opportunity to also communicate by yelling. There are verbal fights constantly in the unit and on the yard. There is backtalk to the officers. Not everyone hates confrontation, like I do; they fight back, they yell back. Yelling seems to be acceptable, as long as it is not during quiet hours. The only times I see people get in trouble for screaming is when it leads to a more serious fight or if it is right at an officer and includes something derogatory. They will get a "time-out" - perhaps 2-3 days in the SHU to calm down.
So, screaming is everywhere, between girlfriends, between enemies, between staff and inmates... When I say there's no quiet, there's also no time where someone is not yelling something at someone else. Being curious minded, it leads to my roommates and I constantly going to our door or in the hall to see what is going on. I've never been on a school-yard like you see in the movies, where two kids get into a fight and everyone gathers screaming, "fight, fight, fight," until a school teacher breaks it up. But that's kind of like what it's like here, only the crowd watches and says nothing. It is just all in a day's life in prison.
I wonder if there could be a calmer culture in prison. Perhaps the camps have it. Perhaps other institutions have it. I wouldn't know. I do know, though, that I can't wait to be away from all the yelling and screaming. No one listens when you are yelling at them. No one.
I heard many inmates say, "I respect that woman," referring to the staff member. I have only heard that about a couple people working here - the teacher that I respect and a couple other folks. It's too bad that most the staff doesn't try to earn our respect. It would only enhance our ability to listen to them and know that, even if we don't like what they are saying, they respect us enough to be kind when appropriate. We are not just inmates. We are women. We are human beings. Some treat us like we are animals, and I am not just exaggerating when I say that.
I have to say that the Warden is one of the people most inmates respect. I've never seen him yelling at anyone. He stands mainline nearly everyday, and will listen to inmate complaints/issues. He reads and responds to his emails. Sometimes he can't do what we want him to, but he's honest about that as well. He has beautified the campus. I, for one, respect him.
I'm not sure why staff don't get that if they are yelling at us, some inmates will see it as an opportunity to also communicate by yelling. There are verbal fights constantly in the unit and on the yard. There is backtalk to the officers. Not everyone hates confrontation, like I do; they fight back, they yell back. Yelling seems to be acceptable, as long as it is not during quiet hours. The only times I see people get in trouble for screaming is when it leads to a more serious fight or if it is right at an officer and includes something derogatory. They will get a "time-out" - perhaps 2-3 days in the SHU to calm down.
So, screaming is everywhere, between girlfriends, between enemies, between staff and inmates... When I say there's no quiet, there's also no time where someone is not yelling something at someone else. Being curious minded, it leads to my roommates and I constantly going to our door or in the hall to see what is going on. I've never been on a school-yard like you see in the movies, where two kids get into a fight and everyone gathers screaming, "fight, fight, fight," until a school teacher breaks it up. But that's kind of like what it's like here, only the crowd watches and says nothing. It is just all in a day's life in prison.
I wonder if there could be a calmer culture in prison. Perhaps the camps have it. Perhaps other institutions have it. I wouldn't know. I do know, though, that I can't wait to be away from all the yelling and screaming. No one listens when you are yelling at them. No one.
From Dragonfly: Game Play
Somehow, recently, my life has once again changed here. I don't have a new job or a new room, I suddenly have competition. The healthy kind of competition. For the last few nights, I have sat at a small table with a couple women I didn't even know the names of until this week, as well as Red and sometimes Taz, and played Spades (the card game). There are those who play cards, here, all the time. I've mostly stayed away from cards, as too much could lead into some sort of gamble. But these women are not like that, we play for fun, and it is fun!
Two nights ago, as we played, I'd mentioned that I am a compulsive gambler. It came out as I was joking around about something. The woman next to me asked if I ever played Pai Gow Poker. I told her, "that was my game of choice..." She started to say that we should play some, but she didn't even get the words out when I said that I would never play the game again, or any game that I played in the casinos, or anything that would constitute gambling. I explained how sick I became - that I have not gambled in nearly 6 years - and that one day at a time, I pray to never gamble again. I'm glad I still have my guard up. Some people innocuously fall back into old habits. I am reminded every day, here, how low my addiction took me; it brought me to prison and nearly to death.
So, a little competition of Spades is right on cue for me. I enjoy the time with new friends, doing something that makes the time go by quickly. I'm sad that Lola is not in my unit, as she would enjoy it as well. Word is that we are all moving back to our old unit. Really?!?!? It hasn't happened yet, but Lola and I will be together again, until she is officially moved across the street to the camp. It sucks when your closest friends are no longer in your unit.
I've also been feeling a little ill lately. I sweat when everyone is cold (no, it's not my hormones - they've been tested). I'm tired to the point of napping a lot, and still sleeping through most nights. Perhaps my stress is affecting my body. I wouldn't be surprised. With my dad ill, no word yet on my papers from region, and the reality of watching people in here get sicker and/or die, it just gets to you sometimes.
I try to work my program of recovery to help me through it all. It's something that gambling brought to my life, rather than what it took away from me. I've actually learned to meditate. I've learned to breathe away my stress. I've learned to fill my time with things that bring me a smile or laughter. With just a short time left, I've found one of those things - the game of Spades.
Two nights ago, as we played, I'd mentioned that I am a compulsive gambler. It came out as I was joking around about something. The woman next to me asked if I ever played Pai Gow Poker. I told her, "that was my game of choice..." She started to say that we should play some, but she didn't even get the words out when I said that I would never play the game again, or any game that I played in the casinos, or anything that would constitute gambling. I explained how sick I became - that I have not gambled in nearly 6 years - and that one day at a time, I pray to never gamble again. I'm glad I still have my guard up. Some people innocuously fall back into old habits. I am reminded every day, here, how low my addiction took me; it brought me to prison and nearly to death.
So, a little competition of Spades is right on cue for me. I enjoy the time with new friends, doing something that makes the time go by quickly. I'm sad that Lola is not in my unit, as she would enjoy it as well. Word is that we are all moving back to our old unit. Really?!?!? It hasn't happened yet, but Lola and I will be together again, until she is officially moved across the street to the camp. It sucks when your closest friends are no longer in your unit.
I've also been feeling a little ill lately. I sweat when everyone is cold (no, it's not my hormones - they've been tested). I'm tired to the point of napping a lot, and still sleeping through most nights. Perhaps my stress is affecting my body. I wouldn't be surprised. With my dad ill, no word yet on my papers from region, and the reality of watching people in here get sicker and/or die, it just gets to you sometimes.
I try to work my program of recovery to help me through it all. It's something that gambling brought to my life, rather than what it took away from me. I've actually learned to meditate. I've learned to breathe away my stress. I've learned to fill my time with things that bring me a smile or laughter. With just a short time left, I've found one of those things - the game of Spades.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
From Dragonfly: Dad
It's always hard to get difficult news in prison. Yesterday, it was my turn. I learned that my Dad has a brain tumor. It is on the bone, so even if they operate, they will not be able to get it all out. My father is still in his 60's, yet his Mother passed away in his 90's three years ago, his sister in her 70's two years ago...
Life with my father has been a difficult ride. He was not the kind of father any child should have - angry, abusive, distant... When he left my home in the late 80's, it was months before my sister or I heard anything from him. We didn't miss him. We felt safer and were happy that my Mom was free of the crazy life with my dad.
For a while, I would see my dad every so often. Sometimes, it would be at least monthly, sometimes less frequent. My parents fought in their divorce for four years before it could be finalized. By the time it was, they were both living with the people who would be their new spouses. They married these spouses on the exact same day - forcing my sister and I to attend both their weddings, hold up their Chupahs, and take family pictures twice in the same day. I was too young to drink, but my sister was not... it was the kind of day one would probably want to drink at (although, I've never had that inkling to want to drink...). Anyway, my father and I grew more and more distant. I always had so much anger at him, but was passive in his presence, as I was to anyone and everyone.
As I became an adult, we went for long periods of time without talking, then periods of time connecting. He changed over the years. He became softer. At times, that same old personality came out, made worst by my step-mother, who I refer to as my "step-monster." Perhaps that is enough said about her. But, somehow, my dad and I maintained a distant relationship. There are many ways I am like him - luckily, the good ways... computer ability, analytical thinking, interest in nerdy type things. My dad was never a "nerd," but he could have been. He was just too angry and too "broken" to be much of anything. He is intelligent, though, and always enjoyed finding cool electronics. Although, he went Beta, when the rest of the world went VHS, swearing it would win out, he was wrong...
In recent years, my dad I and have gotten closer. We lost my grandma and my aunt in the last several years, I am the only person who still talks to him in my family. My sister and him have had no relationship for nearly 15 years. He doesn't know her children (his grandchildren). Too many lies, too much hurt, could ever repair that relationship. My first cousins would not call when he had his first bought with cancer last year - bladder cancer. They said that they got it all.
Two days after his surgery for bladder cancer, two days before my sentencing, my dad had his first stroke. Perhaps his only one, but who knows. The stroke was bad, and he was in ICU for a long time, rehab for longer, and then continued with rehab from home. He was doing well, but he cannot verbalize his thoughts well. Phone conversations are difficult. I know he wants to say things to me, but he can't connect his words. His wife helps him communicate. He doesn't even use the computer much anymore. He lived his life on his computer!
He was only told that I was going to prison two days before I self-surrendered. The doctors were concerned that he would have another stroke due to the shock. So he didn't know. I hated that. But, he accepted it when I told him. We'd been tighter since my recovery started. I even spent a week with him in his nice southwestern state a couple years ago. As I said, he's gentler now. I know he cares about me. Other than his wife, I am his only family.
So, when I got the news yesterday, I was incredibly saddened. He does not have the strength he had a year ago, when he fought his bladder cancer. He does not have the words to express how he feels. I fear he will not be able to advocate for himself - something we all must do in today's healthcare world. So, I pray for him, his health, and that I will be able to see him again. The last two times I saw him were funerals, I pray the next time I see him is not his. Although his wife told me that they won't have funerals - "no one would come," she said. Perhaps, but I would be there.
My home confinement date - May 28th, is my dad's birthday. Perhaps that is no coincidence. As my friend in G.A. says, "there are no coincidences, just god-instances." My prayers are that I will be able to get permission to see him after my release. I pray he makes it to then, or beyond for years. One never knows. Don't give up Dad! Stay strong! That's what I told him on the phone yesterday. Perhaps he could tell I was crying. Someone does love him. It is me!
His first procedure is this Friday. It is a procedure through his nose - just an overnight in the hospital. We'll know more after that. Stay strong. That message is for my dad, and myself.
Life with my father has been a difficult ride. He was not the kind of father any child should have - angry, abusive, distant... When he left my home in the late 80's, it was months before my sister or I heard anything from him. We didn't miss him. We felt safer and were happy that my Mom was free of the crazy life with my dad.
For a while, I would see my dad every so often. Sometimes, it would be at least monthly, sometimes less frequent. My parents fought in their divorce for four years before it could be finalized. By the time it was, they were both living with the people who would be their new spouses. They married these spouses on the exact same day - forcing my sister and I to attend both their weddings, hold up their Chupahs, and take family pictures twice in the same day. I was too young to drink, but my sister was not... it was the kind of day one would probably want to drink at (although, I've never had that inkling to want to drink...). Anyway, my father and I grew more and more distant. I always had so much anger at him, but was passive in his presence, as I was to anyone and everyone.
As I became an adult, we went for long periods of time without talking, then periods of time connecting. He changed over the years. He became softer. At times, that same old personality came out, made worst by my step-mother, who I refer to as my "step-monster." Perhaps that is enough said about her. But, somehow, my dad and I maintained a distant relationship. There are many ways I am like him - luckily, the good ways... computer ability, analytical thinking, interest in nerdy type things. My dad was never a "nerd," but he could have been. He was just too angry and too "broken" to be much of anything. He is intelligent, though, and always enjoyed finding cool electronics. Although, he went Beta, when the rest of the world went VHS, swearing it would win out, he was wrong...
In recent years, my dad I and have gotten closer. We lost my grandma and my aunt in the last several years, I am the only person who still talks to him in my family. My sister and him have had no relationship for nearly 15 years. He doesn't know her children (his grandchildren). Too many lies, too much hurt, could ever repair that relationship. My first cousins would not call when he had his first bought with cancer last year - bladder cancer. They said that they got it all.
Two days after his surgery for bladder cancer, two days before my sentencing, my dad had his first stroke. Perhaps his only one, but who knows. The stroke was bad, and he was in ICU for a long time, rehab for longer, and then continued with rehab from home. He was doing well, but he cannot verbalize his thoughts well. Phone conversations are difficult. I know he wants to say things to me, but he can't connect his words. His wife helps him communicate. He doesn't even use the computer much anymore. He lived his life on his computer!
He was only told that I was going to prison two days before I self-surrendered. The doctors were concerned that he would have another stroke due to the shock. So he didn't know. I hated that. But, he accepted it when I told him. We'd been tighter since my recovery started. I even spent a week with him in his nice southwestern state a couple years ago. As I said, he's gentler now. I know he cares about me. Other than his wife, I am his only family.
So, when I got the news yesterday, I was incredibly saddened. He does not have the strength he had a year ago, when he fought his bladder cancer. He does not have the words to express how he feels. I fear he will not be able to advocate for himself - something we all must do in today's healthcare world. So, I pray for him, his health, and that I will be able to see him again. The last two times I saw him were funerals, I pray the next time I see him is not his. Although his wife told me that they won't have funerals - "no one would come," she said. Perhaps, but I would be there.
My home confinement date - May 28th, is my dad's birthday. Perhaps that is no coincidence. As my friend in G.A. says, "there are no coincidences, just god-instances." My prayers are that I will be able to get permission to see him after my release. I pray he makes it to then, or beyond for years. One never knows. Don't give up Dad! Stay strong! That's what I told him on the phone yesterday. Perhaps he could tell I was crying. Someone does love him. It is me!
His first procedure is this Friday. It is a procedure through his nose - just an overnight in the hospital. We'll know more after that. Stay strong. That message is for my dad, and myself.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
From Dragonfly: Easter Weekend
There are many options this weekend for services... 6am - sunrise service; 8am - Catholic mass; 6pm - Resurrection Service; etc. Depending on your beliefs, you have options to celebrate. There's no special meal, from what I understand, but perhaps we'll have hard-boiled eggs available. There will be no egg hunt, but perhaps you'll find something interesting as you help rake the new dirt on the ball field. Easter weekend is here.
It's actually been quite beautiful outside. Yesterday (Saturday), I spent the afternoon at outdoor rec making bracelets for friends. Lola sat with me and made cards for her family. Freckles came and went, as she did many, many laps around the track. Chi was there as well. In fact, just about everyone I know made their way to outdoor rec at some point yesterday.
There is a sound system by outdoor rec and people working there change the radio stations every 20-30 minutes (I don't know why). It started out 70's rock, then some current hits, then it was Mexican polka type music, then Mexican country, then American country music... Meanwhile, more than twenty people were out on new reddish dirt, spreading it evenly on the softball field, trying to make it perfect. Hundreds of people walked the track. At one point, I said to Lola, "It looks like a walk-athon here." It was just that crowded. Of course, there was no festival, but that didn't stop it from feeling festive.
At one point, with the sun beaming down on us, Lola and Freckles were reading magazines, I was working on my bracelets, and the Mexican music was blaring, Lola or was it Freckles or perhaps it was me said, "for just a moment, if feels like we are on vacation in Cancun." Then one of them said, "Service... I'd like a margarita..." Then we laughed. I wanted some good chips and pico. We kept the joke going for a while. Sometimes that happens here. If only we could live such wonderful moments all the time. But if we did, we wouldn't think them so wonderful.
Of course, then it was time for recall, and we all have to leave our places at outdoor rec, or on the compound, and find ourselves back to our units, for rack-up time and standing count. Never forget this is prison. But, it doesn't take away that happiness that we were able to feel, even for a couple moments, on a Saturday afternoon.
Today, as it is Easter Sunday, many people will be very reflective, missing their children and families, and praying to be home for next Easter. While I do not celebrate the holiday, I can understand their inner strife. Everyone has that in common here. Perhaps some nice weather and positive attitudes will help bring those struggling some laughter and happiness. That's what life is all about. Let's make today a good day! Happy Easter!
It's actually been quite beautiful outside. Yesterday (Saturday), I spent the afternoon at outdoor rec making bracelets for friends. Lola sat with me and made cards for her family. Freckles came and went, as she did many, many laps around the track. Chi was there as well. In fact, just about everyone I know made their way to outdoor rec at some point yesterday.
There is a sound system by outdoor rec and people working there change the radio stations every 20-30 minutes (I don't know why). It started out 70's rock, then some current hits, then it was Mexican polka type music, then Mexican country, then American country music... Meanwhile, more than twenty people were out on new reddish dirt, spreading it evenly on the softball field, trying to make it perfect. Hundreds of people walked the track. At one point, I said to Lola, "It looks like a walk-athon here." It was just that crowded. Of course, there was no festival, but that didn't stop it from feeling festive.
At one point, with the sun beaming down on us, Lola and Freckles were reading magazines, I was working on my bracelets, and the Mexican music was blaring, Lola or was it Freckles or perhaps it was me said, "for just a moment, if feels like we are on vacation in Cancun." Then one of them said, "Service... I'd like a margarita..." Then we laughed. I wanted some good chips and pico. We kept the joke going for a while. Sometimes that happens here. If only we could live such wonderful moments all the time. But if we did, we wouldn't think them so wonderful.
Of course, then it was time for recall, and we all have to leave our places at outdoor rec, or on the compound, and find ourselves back to our units, for rack-up time and standing count. Never forget this is prison. But, it doesn't take away that happiness that we were able to feel, even for a couple moments, on a Saturday afternoon.
Today, as it is Easter Sunday, many people will be very reflective, missing their children and families, and praying to be home for next Easter. While I do not celebrate the holiday, I can understand their inner strife. Everyone has that in common here. Perhaps some nice weather and positive attitudes will help bring those struggling some laughter and happiness. That's what life is all about. Let's make today a good day! Happy Easter!
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