Frustration

For years, I've been wearing my socks and underwear into the shower so I can wash them as well. I guess this has become habit because I even do this out in mainstream society. I floss my teeth with the elastic threading of my state issued socks. I have been doing this for years, too. The pen I am writing with consists of a pen-filler, but I have wrapped paper around it tightly, put plastic wrap (contraband) and the elastic sock string around it.

I have two pair of glasses, courtesy of Julie, I have 19 personal pictures on my wall and about one-half of them are extremely blurry. I also have pictorials from a lady's (skin, but not complete nudity) magazine in a separate location; I never mix the two. In my small cell is a toilet and sink and I keep an extra sheet, also considered contraband, and fold it up neatly and carefully place it over my toilet bowl to stifle the scent of toilet bowl water.

Bakari ends it here...he paints a pretty gruesome picture of his life. He did things that put him there but I still maintain 1. the system is screwed up; 2. it is inhumane (it resembles failure to thrive syndrome that infants get from lack of affection and human contact) and we are a touch starved society out here already; 3. Bakari is legally disabled; he is a drug addict and CDCR has the proof and knows that and yet, they imprison him instead of sending him to rehab or a psych facility. He is broken, but he has never really had the chance to see if he can be "fixed" or if he is wired differently, see whether it is too late, to "re-wire" him.

My heart is just crushed when I think about what he endures. Yeah, he put himself there, but he is still a human being and he is being deprived of his humanity in this situation. Will "the rehabilitation" part of CDCR ever really address his issues. Doubtful, huh? I miss him and long for him, but I also know he is going through a hugh trauma and he may emerge from this experience as an emotional child, as he has all other times. Why don't they want to help him and fix him?

Kids

I am the oldest prisoner in my little section of the tier. This drives me crazy because all of the gang-bangers act like they are just a bunch of distraught kids to me. They don't have the outlet which apparently doesn't matter since they apparently also lack the ability to express themselves in an articulate adult manner. And then they resort to childish games, making snide remarks, singing stupid songs or making indirect (passive-aggressive) comments.

I have to put my "homemade" ear plugs (made of plastic wrap and toilet paper) in and read out loud in order to focus. And I have to bury them deep into my ears. So these words describe my environment, oh yeah, God-help-me, my "home": mischief, evil, misery, ignorant, dumb, psychotic and insecure.

This is pure hell in here and I don't wish this on my worst enemy.

Hell that I Created

The battle to overcome addiction for me is the same as the battle to be mature and to remember that I am the only person or thing that I can control and those are my actions, perspective and how I conduct myself in a variety of situations, both positive and negative as I battle within to keep a cool head.

Everyday I am confronted with a vast array of opportunities to behave as a beast or child. I am surprised at how easily I succumb to the negative, even if I don't outwardly show it. I do not use illicit drugs or alcohol in here to cope, so all I experience is raw emotion that is not blunted by any kind of mind altering substance. If I don't get out of the shu, I will come out of this experience 'worse for wear".

I crave a conventional life, to be happy with Julie, my family and to enjoy the innocuous things most others enjoy as law-abiding citizens, even if that comes with routine and the some boredom that accompanies a stable existence. If there is someone out there who is wealthy, Julie and I need a little relief.

A day in the life in the shu: I have to keep disinfectant with me and mop my floor daily and I wipe down my toilet with disinfectant and toilet paper after each time I urinate. I have a coffee mug that I made with a milk carton, paper and the cloth from the inside of a state prison shoe.

I have a piece of a pen filler that I broke off and that serves as a tongue ring. I have pieces of a straw in my nose and ears and all of that is considered contraband. I use hair grease as lotion, tooth powder and deodorant that I have wrapped in plastic wrap, which again, is contraband.

Since I am in Ad-Seg I never leave my cell without being hand-cuffed. I do have photos on my wall of those out there I love, such as Julie & I, Julie, Mom, Sis, Step-Dad and my grand-parents. I have a picture of my father and my paternal sister from a magazine. I do not have any photos of Michael Elias Brown and it is unlikely that he will visit me while I am in prison.

I don't exercise much; I look forward to eating and receiving mail. I can spend $55/mo and I really need that amount, but since it is only Mom providing funds for me, I can only spend $25/mo. Small things like getting an extra cookie, a few pieces of bread ends up being very important during one of my mundane and yet very painful days of just existing.

Now my doctor says that my blood pressure is in the stroke range and my initial response is, "Ha. Oh well". Oh yeah, DVI has roaches the size of my thumb, so I clean continuously to keep them from occupying the cell with me. There are no mirrors in the this cell, the water is nasty...oh yeah, my toothbrush is all of 2 inches long. And my "pillow" is made out of a sheet and bunch of extra laundry. This is home?!?!

Where is home? Am I alone? Julie, Mom, Boo-Boo, Big Daddy, Garvin, Rissa...they aren't here.