Forever??

I am mired with sorrow and regret. I am stuck in some other world of hell. I am out of prison physically but still living in prison. I dont know how to live this life that I have now. This life is foreign to me. A life without hopes, dreams, future. I kept holding on to the dream of a future; that is how I survived prison. 
Where do you go when you have lost everything and almost everyone you know? What do you do when you no longer are employable in any field that you have known? I am lost. I am floundering in a sea of despair. While in prison, the future seems so magical, so enchanted. The reality is not. I am tainted. I am scarred. I am hopeless. I have lost so much. I do not know how to regain it. Where do I begin? 
There is no transition for felons. You walk out the door of the prison and you hit the streets and sink or swim. You cope or you go back. I could not understand how the same people would return to prison over and over. I do now. It is easier. No bills. You don't have to worry about housing, rent, food or responsibility.
I have no plan to ever go back to prison. I will continue to get out of bed each day. I have children that need me. I have a family that loves me. I am not sure why, as I am not feeling very lovable right now. 

More............

Readjustment is a little harder than I thought. Very anxious today.

Still taking 5 minute showers. A hard habit to break. Good for the environment, but really??


Quiet. It is so quiet. I prayed for quiet and now that I have it, I am unnerved by it. 


I think I just need to get out of the house and go walk around the mall or something. Do something  "normal". 

Home at Last.

Well, a temporary home at least. Officially, I am homeless. I do not have a place to call my own. A home to live with just my husband and children. I am very fortunate to be able to live with my sister for the time being. But, it is very sad and discouraging to not have a place to call my own. I have owned my own homes since I was 19 years old. If it wasnt for my sister, I would be in a horrible situation. I left the center with eleven dollars to my name.

I was officially released yesterday and am feeling really depressed and out of sorts. I have waited for this day for so very long and now am at a loss. Where do I go from here? How do I begin to recover my life? Will I ever be able to recover my life? It really is terrifying to know that I will forever be a convicted felon and that info will prejudice me for the rest of my life. I am so much more than just a felon. Unfortunately, that info will be the first and last impression many will have of me. 

So, I am floundering today. I should be ecstatic. I should be elated that I am FREE. I am. But, it is shadowed with fear and uncertainty.  What does the future hold? How do I even begin? 

I am sure that tomorrow will be a better day. I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, too many people depend on me. But, I really would just like to curl up in bed and take about a weeks long nap.

Hoarding Food

Ok, I am not really hoarding food, but I am obsessing about it. Prison will do that to you. Food in prison is a requirement to stay strong and healthy. It has incredible bargaining power. It is pleasure where there is no other pleasure to be found.

I am a white woman, who has grown up in the U.S., with being told that thin is the only way to be. There is no other acceptable option. I have had this ingrained in my brain for as long as I can remember. I have battled, as many other woman have, with different forms of eating disorders. Never severe enough to warrant treatment. Just enough to fuck with my head. Do I really need that cookie? Will I be bad if I eat that cake? Should I weigh myself one more time just to make sure that I haven't gained a pound today? That kind of food crazy. 


Prison multiples those obsessions ten fold. The prison where I was locked up provided three "meals" per day as required by law. Breakfast each day at 6 am was a "sack" containing a single serving size of sugary cereal, two pieces of bread, a pat of some type of butter substitute, and a carton of milk. All carbs with a tiny amount of protein thrown in. Lunch was another very carb laden meal with mystery meats for the protein. And dinner more of the same. Dinner was served at 4:15 pm and then nothing else until the next morning. The daily calorie count, according to the dietitian, was roughly 2800-3000 calories per day. For women. Holy shit. Way too many calories and the majority of them carbs. 


I am not able to eat that many calories or carbs at one time. It just isn't physically possible for me. So, in the beginning I found myself eating too much at one time, trying to stay full for as long as possible. Essentially eating almost to the point of being sick. Because, I can tell you, that around 11:00 pm you will be starving.  So hungry that you will be shaky and headachey. It makes for cranky, pissed off inmates. The other thing that we were forced to do was hide food from your tray and smuggle it back to your room for later. It is a humbling experience the first time you wrap up some partially stale bread in a skimpy napkin and shove it down your pants for later.  I stuck to things like bread, cake or cookies. Things that are not terribly messy. Though, many woman who have no money sent in, would smuggle anything that they could.There was one woman who would smuggle anything, including loaves of bread she would dig out of the garbage. She had no shame. I have watched as she wrapped up the nasty, greasy, undercooked chicken thighs and shoved it in her jeans pocket. The  entire key to smuggling food is to be sneaky and not obvious. Not her, she just jammed it into her bra or jeans and damned anyone who saw. She spent a lot of time on room restriction as punishment.


Food as a bargaining tool in prison is very powerful. Being in prison is very expensive. Being able to order food from commissary is a luxury that not everyone can do. I was fortunate that I did have a small amount of money coming in on a regular basis. This enabled me to order snacks and food to survive on for the long nights.  It also allowed me to trade food for tampons, paper, envelopes, makeup. Pretty much anything could be bought for chocolate!


So, back to the obsessing. Now I am out and I am eating almost obsessively. Or wanting to eat obsessively. Being sent to the work release has continued the food obsession. Again meals at rigid times with nothing in between. Neither food or drink can be brought into the center, which really sucks, as the vending machines are expensive and unfortunately they call my name way to frequently. But, the real problem is when I am at home on a furlough. There is a real thrill the first time you can open the refrigerator and take anything that you want out of it. The freedom to chose your own food and the quantity is mind boggling at first. I must have gone to the fridge ten times that first day. Not necessarily getting anything out of it, just reveling in the ability to do so. Now, I find myself eating way too much when I am out home. And drinking. Tons of cold water with ice. No ice in prison that is for sure. Can after can of cold diet Pepsi. A little piece of real cheddar cheese. A salty, crisp cracker. Not a stale generic piece of crap that you can buy in prison.


I worry when I am at home whether there is enough food or not. To clarify, the fridge is full, but I worry about having extra. Just in case. Just in case, what? I am not sure, but it is important to me.The  concept of being able to just run to the store and pick up something has not kicked in yet. I also am having great trouble throwing food away. Nothing is thrown away in prison. The food that you don't finish on your plate, someone else will.  I  find myself offering the food on my plate to everyone in the room, while they look as if I am crazy. I can clearly remember being hungry many nights in prison, that kind of thing leaves a mark on a person.


Dont get me wrong, I am not stashing partially eaten food all over the house. I love the show Hoarders, and I am a clean freak. So, no I am not hoarding food. But, I kinda want to.

Welcome to Prison

Until the day I die, I will forever remember the day that I walked into the medical classification center. The start of my prison sentence. The indoctrination into a totally new way of living. I had been told by the women in county jail that the medical classification stay would be the most difficult. They said that after that it would be a breeze. Kiddy Kamp was to be in my future. I just had to get through the MCC. I arrived in orange with hand cuffs, waist chain and ankle shackles. I had been reduced to a number. I had been transported in the back of a tiny transport truck, crammed into a tiny compartment with three other women. The back of the truck was filled with men being sent to prison. The men kept yelling trying to be heard and to flirt with us. It was a very cold, cramped and and frightening ride. The two and half hour ride was one filled with fear and trepidation. It was also relief at getting out of county jail and starting on the next part of my "journey." I had just spent 63 days in county and was very ready to get to prison and get the time going. 


After briefly being processed in and changing my orange scrubs for black and white striped ones, I was led to my unit. 


OMG....the minute you step through the doors, it hits you. This is prison. This is my life. This is not just a bad dream. This is real. I am in Prison. Prison with a fucking capital P. The unit looked seriously like something out of a 1950's prison movie. I kid you not. A large, two tiered gray square with multiple cells with steel doors. The common area had a few steel tables and chair for eating meals and "rec" time. But, the overwhelming impression was of "Gray." The entire area was lighted by a few dirty, dusty windows set high up on the walls near the ceiling. The light that filtered in showed all of the dirt and dust that wafted through the air. Every where you looked it was gray. As I stood in the doorway, with the steel door clanging shut behind me, I felt an acute shock of terror run through my body. I swear I could hear the voices and smell the fear of the women who had been there before me. At that moment, I thought I would never survive a day in prison let alone years. I have never felt more alone in my life. I have never felt such shame and remorse that my own actions had put me there.

FYI

Please keep in mind that I am only able to get on the internet when I am on furlough or on a pass. My husband brings me the laptop so that I can post. I am posting many events from memory and new ones as they occur. Unfortunately, that mean that many of the entries will be out of sequence. Also, I may write many entries in one day. It may take me quite awhile to be able to write about the events that sent me to prison. I am still living the nightmare that is my life. Some days it is too painful to think of what was then.

Riding the Bus

Riding the city bus is a fucking nightmare!! While in the work release center unless you are a federal parolee, you are not allowed to drive or have your car. I am not a federal parolee. So, my life consists of a lot of walking and riding the city bus. I am in a small city in the Midwest. A small city that is basically a factory town. Public transportation is not a priority. I have ridden on buses and trains while in Europe and in big cities here in the U.S. This is not that kind of public transportation. I am not sure what this is exactly........other than a type of social experience or experiment. This is white trash meets the ghetto meets the substance abuser. The routes are hopeless and only come once per hour. The only connection is downtown at one terminal. If you miss one bus, you are screwed because it will be at least an hour before the next one.

The first and most important step of the work release is obviously finding work. Unless your family lives near by and can drive you, you must take the bus. Imagine my first time out....I have never ridden the bus in this city. I havent been in the city since I was a child. I have no idea where anything is or where to even begin looking. But, I head out and walk the 15 mins to the nearest bus stop. Convenient, not!  I am armed with a bus ticket and a schedule. I am to apply to 6 jobs per day. I climb aboard and am first met with a very distinctive odor...unwashed pits and crotch. Oh, boy. Here I go. The first trip is only 10 minutes to the transfer spot. That is where you get the full experience of people milling around smoking, bumming cigarettes, borrowing cell phones and worst of all macking all over each other. We are talking full on, tongue down the throat kissing. Most of the couples are climbing and groping each other in full view. Giving each other hickeys on the benches. Didnt that end in highschool? Seriously?


After walking about a million miles while applying for jobs, I am finally ready to head back to the center. I get on the final bus and lo and behold...who is sitting spread eagle on the back seat of the bench? None other than LaShonda. It is easy to see that she is up to something. I walk closer to the back of the bus, part fascinated and curious and part horrified. This 400 pound woman is spread eagle, partly sitting up with her hand down the front of her pants. Remember, she is facing the front of the bus. The almost empty bus. I dare to ask her "What the hell are you doing?" Without missing a beat, she tells me that she is attempting to put her cell phone "up my twat."  I just looked at her and said "Excuse me?" She tells me that she is putting her cell phone up her twat so that she can get it into the center. Another rule of the center: no cell phones. This is how she smuggles it in. I look at her and say, "OMG, my eyes are burning out of my head." She calmly replies in her yelling voice, without stopping the shoving of the cell phone, "What? It is in a ziplock bag." 


This is what I now live with every day.