life it seems has been getting the best of me, sorry for not posting anything as of late. I may post a venting blog a little later, but as for my "Through Loss, Gain, and Questions Unanswered" story, it has proved to be more difficult to retell than I thought. Anxiety is new territory for me, so it comes to no surprise that I may stumble upon a hole or two. I will tell you more later in my vent blog, but just know I will finish my story, just not as soon as I expected. I will return after awhile with explanations.
Hello blogging friends,
life it seems has been getting the best of me, sorry for not posting anything as of late. I may post a venting blog a little later, but as for my "Through Loss, Gain, and Questions Unanswered" story, it has proved to be more difficult to retell than I thought. Anxiety is new territory for me, so it comes to no surprise that I may stumble upon a hole or two. I will tell you more later in my vent blog, but just know I will finish my story, just not as soon as I expected. I will return after awhile with explanations.
2 Comments
Wendy Davis... Truly a warrior for Pro-Choice-ers everywhere, but in this particular situation, Texas. I am nether Pro-choice or Pro-life, I stand as a neutral party for this argument of the feminine rights. I feel that there is good points to both sides and that is really all I am going to say about that. Not that I'm being elusive, but it seems to be a touchy subject for those who have definite sides. BUT! The reason for this post isn't about my opinion on the subject, it is the Filibuster that took place just awhile ago. You can read about the just of it here. What I find wrong is that the vote taken happened after midnight. It's not surprising that politicians do what they please, but it still happened, very publicly, to a very pissed off crowd. This isn't some scandal that can be swept under the rug, this is a serious error that was made, and if this isn't taken care of, I feel something big is going to happen. It will be a political war of the words that will be spectacular to witness.
well I was going to end this with another link to a support page, but cannot find one I am not currently restricted from by the court of law.... if you are a supporter of the Pro-choice movement, as my writing co-hort I'm sure is, and would like to support Windy Davis, find a website and do that, strength in numbers as they say... and if you find all of this "Pro-choice" stuff a bunch of bull, I'm sure there are websites that support that as well... although they tend to be a bit more stereotypical and hate shaming... The Picture to the left is humanity redeeming itself, and dealing with an issue that often is overlooked by general society. Sesame Street has covered many issues kids deal with in their lives, the next on the list to help kids cope with is having a parent in prison. This picture is actually some Sesame Street actors in a prison talking to kids about having parents in prison, WHILE there incarcerated parent gets to interact and share with the lesson. Sesame Street created a whole help program featuring a new character of Sesame Street by the name of Alex, Alex talks about how sad he is to have a father in prison and how embarrassing it is. Alex is shown here with the blue hair. I cannot stress how much of a good idea this is. During my time in the amazing state of Texas, my mother worked at a day care center. There was a little 4 or 5 year old boy there his name was Anthony. He was the sweetest kid you would find at that day care. He was always "yes mam, No Sir, thank you, please, your welcome", but he was seriously emotionally confused about his father's incarceration. I don't think anybody ever talked to him about it and he had no idea how to deal with it. While his father was in prison, however, he committed suicide by hanging himself. I don't know who, but someone thought it was a good Idea to tell him about that. The kid flipped. One day at daycare he took a toy and started beating another kid in the face with it screaming, "YOU KILLED MY FATHER! YOU KILLED MY DAD!" he then threw the toy and shattered a very big window. The kid was obviously suffering, and these emotional rages would be flipped on and off like a switch. One moment he would be his sweet and innocent self, the next he would destroy as much of the room as he could, with whatever he could. I feel Sesame Street taught me a lot growing up as a kid, as it did my parents as well, this next generation of kids have a whole new world of problems that no one feels safe to discuss. So kudos to you Sesame Street, for taking the road less traveled. If little Anthony had some sort of coping therapy like this for him to connect with, I feel the news of his fathers death wouldn't of lead to a psychological break in this kids mind. From recent experience I know that prisons are filled with different kinds of people; Those who are innocent and had the worst public attorney possible, People who are guilty of a crime, but don't really know a better life. Those people may have had rough childhoods and needed a release and that release may have come from drugs, which is what put them in prison, and in prison they take serious use of the rehabilitation classes to become better people by learning new ways to cope with life. Then there is people who break the law and treat prison like a vacation away from the world. They do what they do without any remorse for their actions and learn to play the system to get by with it. It is the Innocent and the ones learning to rehabilitate that need programs like Sesame Street to help them reconnect with their kids and share in their feeling of what they are going thru in life. I’m going to back the story up a little bit, and talk about something that will probably make me cry as I
write this. It happens. I got a call on the button (the intercom of the jail cell) to call my mother. I grabbed my phone card from my little blue bible and called her up. My Step-Grandfather was in the hospital and wasn’t doing too well, so I correctly assumed that it was about that. She told me that they weren’t seeing any improvement in his health. He is hooked up to a machine that is helping him breathe. He had congestive heart failure and his lungs had filled with fluid, and they took him off the machine and let him pass. His heart beat for almost 20 minutes before he passed, despite his medical condition, it continued to fight for him as he went. As I told you earlier he had helped me out with money when I was first sent to jail 5 months before. He sent me $100 dollars so I could get phone cards to talk to my mother. Without his help I would have had to wait to talk to her until my mother got some money up to send me, even then it may not have been that much. I was able to get a few needed things on commissary and buy plenty of phone cards so I can keep in touch with my mother. Every time I got on the phone I told my mom to thank Howard for me, and I would try and pay him back soon if I could. I never got to talk to him before his death. In fact, the night before I was arrested, he had sent me a text message, and I ignored it. I know that sound like a bad thing and I do feel like an asshole, but Howard was always texting people at odd times during the night because he couldn’t sleep. Ignoring him wasn’t something we did to be mean, it became habit. He had a truck, but was prohibited to drive because of his medical condition. He was living at an assisted living home care center and didn’t have many people to talk to. We went and saw him almost every day, but as with anyone with an older family member, it became almost a burden to try and entertain him 24/7. It was 2 in the morning when he sent the text. “Hey, it’s Howard, you awake? I can’t sleep.” I glanced at it, quick read the message, saw the name, and then just shut my phone. 5 months later I couldn’t have been more sympathetic for Howard’s need for someone. Being locked in a place, with nowhere to go, no one to talk to, trying to reach out to anyone because being stuck up in a room for long periods can get depressingly lonely. All he wanted was a fucking conversation and I couldn’t do that. I would rather watched videos online then talk to him. I was then in the same position, trying to reach out to anyone. Hearing the voices of my brother and sister and to hear that they are doing well was literally the fuel that kept my fire burning. My flickering hope and sanity that was on the verge of extinguishing, fuel fed and kept alive by anything I could get from the outside of that jail. And knowing that I denied that fuel to somebody’s flame kills me, I feel it, I feel the pain he must of felt all those lonely nights he felt like the only one that existed. After his death it didn’t really hit me at first. I had only known the man for about 3 years, I had no real relationship (or so I thought) with him. He was the father of the guy my mom married, it’s sad he’s gone, but I didn’t expect to shed any tears for him. Until I heard a song. A cell mate of mine was flipping through the music stations on the TV, when U2’s “Where the streets have no name” started playing. I pointed at him and told him to stop, he looked at me weird, as if I was insane for being a fan of the song, but it wasn’t the band or the music that hit me, it was the lyrics. “I want to run I want to hide I want to tear down the walls That hold me inside I want to reach out And touch the flame Where the streets have no name” I fought it as hard as I could, but to no avail, I started to cry. I had of course announced that my Step-Grandfather had just died, so there was no need for explanations to others in the cell with me. They all sympathized with it and understood, otherwise it gets really awkward when grown men cry in jail. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t angry, the only emotion I could feel was regret. I never got to thank him for what he did for me. In that moment when I realized that, I also was never going to be able to tell him sorry. Sorry for ignoring him, sorry for not taking the 5 minutes out of my day to feed his flame. He was gone. Up until I first met him, I was told that he was a real hard ass. That he was an old Jewish man and I needed to watch what I say around him because he could be offended. My mom and stepdad panted quite the picture of someone I still haven’t met yet. When I saw him in the hotel room, he was in a wheel chair, breathing from oxygen assisted tanks, and my step-brother said something I don’t remember at the moment, but I responded with “God your such a Jew”… the room grew quiet. As the room grew quieter, Howard got louder, with laughter. He was one of the most easy going people to talk to. The most un-judgmental old guy I have ever met. We spent most of that night checking out college chicks that were swimming in the hotel pool. I got on the button and asked if they allowed detainees out to go to funerals, she said it was a possibility, but my lawyer would have to submit a claim, the judge would have to approve it, ect. I couldn’t get my lawyer to talk to me, I was never going to get him to do this. So, I called my Grandmother. Told her to do what she could to get me that pass, for his funeral was in two days. She called one guy, he called another, and without even talking to my lawyer she and my mom got me the release to go to his funeral. In jail house stripes, I got my opportunity to tell my Step-Grandfather thank you, I’m sorry, and “bye-ya Howard”. There was so much peace on his face, he laid there in the coffin with nothing else to worry about, he was free. What hurt me the most about Howards ending days is what he spent his time doing before his death, and that was write me letters. On 3 small hospital note pages, he wrote me; “Dear Issac, I'm sorry to hear you’re in jail. Just keep it cool, you will get out of it. And the ones that cause that problem will pay for it. Not now, but eventually. Love you just like my own. You’re a good kid. You don’t need this in your life, -Howard” “Dear Issac, I’m lying in the hospital wishing I could do something about getting you out. It’s always the innocent found guilty. Just hang in there. One day at a time. Before you know it, it will be over, and they will be found guilty. –Howard” “Dear Issac, I’m in the hospital thinking about you and how you got shafted. I think this whole world is crooked. I going…” The last letter was never finished. Howard was the third person I have known on a personal level to have passed away; the first two being in the last few years. Death was a new experience to me. I was only starting to learn about the effect it had on people. The first death was a good friend of mine’s mother, Lynnette Davis. She was the introduction into the subject. The second being a kind man I had the pleasure to meet in St. Louis, his name was Derrick “Big D” Simmons. He ran a coffee shop and kitchen at a St. Louis Christian College. He showed me the effect death had on a family. Howard was the lesson that taught me the importance of kindness even in the face of death. Howard never let go of it, even in the end he cared so much about a person he had only known 3 years of his 70+ years of life. I don’t know why I needed all of these “life lessons” in such a congested space of my life, but fate it seemed, was far from completing its lessons… ***************** Part V of my story is coming soon…. That's right, I may have not yet won the war, but I have sure won a battle. My blogging buddies, I have been absent for some time for the reasons asinine beyond all measure. It was in question, due to my recently given "title", that It may not be legal for me to have internet access, let alone blog to all you wonderful (2) people. Court Friday has decided to rule in the favor of mercy, I have the right to access the internet AND continue my blogs. I am currently in a battle to the death for my use of YouTube, hopes and prayer are still out on that one... and if you have been following my "Through Loss, Gain, and Questions Unanswered" story, you know I still continue to fight for my image and freedom. But lets not dwell in the pits of sadness, REJOICE! For this small but important battle hath been won! An honest question, and something I'm struggling with personally, but would there be guilt for doing certain things if religion wasn't a part of your life?
I'm not talking child's guilt for breaking mom's jade vase, or even guilt for doing a great injustice as killing someone or terroristic arson, but guilt as you would put with Guilty pleasures. I know the answer is simple, if you are going to live life based on a religion or spiritual aspect, you must follow the rules according to your religion. The answer is there, its living with it that questions the question. I will give a few examples, then I will explain my dilemma. Someone of the Hindu faith cannot eat meat. They believe in the rebirth of people souls into that of an animal or plant, Reincarnation as it were. On a cooking show I was watching at my grandmothers house, a woman of Indian decent was making a meal involving meat. I easily brushed off any concern about it, it had not yet said anything about her being a practicing Hindu, until she mentioned it. That in order for her to break this rule of her religion, she became a partial Hindu. Which I took as she negates the rules she doesn't want to follow, but still fasts for Mahashivaratri. ( I googled that just to make a point... lol, good luck pronouncing it.) Next, lets take a BIG topic discussed daily in America, Gays. I see this falling under the same category as what I am dealing with, and that is basically Sexual Immorality. People often reference the Bible in a debate on Homosexual Relationships. In it, it reads, "Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; that is detestable." Leviticus 18:22 and again, "If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads." Leviticus 20:13. So, what is read, if a man has sex with another man, it is a sin. Not the relationship they have together, not the midnight Rocky Horror Picture Show parties they have with a bunch of buddies, just the act of coitus. A lot of people look at homosexuality as an "ultimate sin" because they are choosing a life style based on a sin. That isn't true, what they do in that life style is what the Bible calls. a sin. So basically there not any more or less sinners then the rest of us. An every now and then dirty joke, taking a couple hundred from your neighbors dresser, A white lie here and there, and even a sexual act between men, its all sin. BUT, the whole argument wouldn't exist without Religious Guilt. The feeling that you have done bad, so you must point out other peoples wrongs, or the Suicides of Homosexuals because of the guilt put on them from the Bible, or religious family members. Religious guilt is the cause of a lot of depression, its what I have heard preachers call, "The Battle of the Flesh". I am really strong in my spirituality, I love Christ with all my heart, and try to follow God's word and wisdom daily. I also don't shove religious bull shit down peoples throat when they don't ask for it, but when they do, I will talk your ears numb. I love Christ, I love what he has done for me in life, but I cant help but think if I didn't have Christ in my life, besides all the pain and evil that would of ran it rampant, I wouldn't have religious guilt, but I have Christ and religious guilt. which is dumb because I don't like religion. Religion is a man made faction to control people into main ideas on how God works. Catholicism Doesn't preach being "born again" because once you die you face judgment, nor are they allowed to talk to God directly, hence the confessional. Baptist looks down on speaking in tongues because it's charismatic, but the Pentecost thrive on the whole idea of charismatic worship. There is WAY to many contradictions in religion to say I'm religious. I can tell you I have a relationship with God, but I wont claim to be religious. But the fact of the matter stands, religious or spiritual, guilt runs ramped in Christians. I like women, I like having sex, I like looking at beautiful women, what guy on the face of the earth is going to tell you otherwise. Following my personal walk with God I have made it 23 years without drinking, smoking, drugs, sculpting a life out of crime, or even being a total asshole. Lust is the one sin that seems to hammer and weigh me down. Every time I look at a woman and think sexual thoughts I feel bad. Every time I perform sexual acts, whether it be with someone or not, I feel like I just smacked my Grandmother. I don't have many vices in my life, but this one seems to be big enough to cover for it. Having "Impure thoughts" or acts is a sin, but its also a way of life. Without it, the world wouldn't have been populated. I have studied this subject hours on end. It comes down to a chemical level in your brain. Dopamine and Serotonin are the "feel good" chemicals in your brain. They get produced when you get a hug, when you go "awww" when you see a cute animal, when your significant other surprises you with a gift, and even during an orgasm. During an orgasm, every muscle in your body tightens, releasing a bunch of acetone. (which is why an orgasm makes you tired) Your brain fires electrical impulses to nowhere, the dopamine and serotonin gets dumped by the bucket loads, your breathing gets deep and swift, pain respecters stop registering as a bad thing, for however long it lasts, your entire body is doing something. After its done, your muscles are tired, your breathing is shallow, your nerves are ultra sensitive, everything takes a moment to reset except the chemical bath your brain just got. You feel good, your happy, cuddles are sought after, you feel the need to touch, rest, and wallow in your happiness. After a few years of that, your brain gets addicted to it. The self made chemicals in your brain become an addictive drug. There is no natural way of stopping it. Once you show your brain a few time how invigorating an orgasm is, it begins to crave it. Releasing a bit of sexual tension is healthy. People like to feel wanted and loved, even if its just for a "one-night". Aside from all the fear of STD's and pregnancy's, because they are both preventable, there is nothing wrong with a one night stand, unless you are a Christian.... It is 5 am, I have church in 5 hours, (yeah a late morning church, thank you GOD!) and I have to walk with the guilt of sexual thoughts and feelings because I am taught and was raised that it is wrong, and I'm not arguing that it isn't, but the freedom of life, and the liberation of having faith in my opinion cant coexist. So its either abandon my faith, or live life in guilt because there is no stopping human nature. So, my blog reading friend, (or Ani) in your opinion, and this might take a blog post of your own to answer, Can Religious Guilt and Life's Guilty Pleasures exist together? Munch on that food for thought and Vomit your answer below. (BTW may the Fourth be with you) Part IV
I continued my routine; I started to add some things to make more out of my time. I asked if they had a bible or if I could have one brought to me. The only one they had was a little blue bible that usually handed out to homeless and children. It was just the New Testament, Palms, and Proverbs, but it was better than nothing. I would read in the morning, and before I went to bed. My pastor could visit on Sundays without taking away from my weekly visits, and he told me that there are 31 proverbs in the bible, and 31 days i most months, so I should start reading one a day. It was a brilliant idea; I started getting more and more out of the bible than I feel I had ever before. It’s an ongoing joke in jails and prisons that people are always finding God while they are inside. I don’t feel like I fall under that category, I didn’t find him, I reconnected. I had always had a relationship with God, but while I was in jail I started to pay more attention to what he was doing in my life, what he had done for my life, and that I need to pray for what he is going to do next. In jail you pay attention to everything, how people act, where they are at, what time it is, where you left your things, etc. I don’t want to come off as a religious nut; I have never been big in religion. With religion you get humanity made guidelines with life. Jesus broke down the 10 commandments to just two rules; love god, and love others as you love yourself. Basically the hippy way of living life. Jail is the perfect environment to test your love for others. The dude I got into an argument with over falsely learned Spanish, I started to watch a little closer than most. After he would return from court, he was in a “fuck the world” kinda demeanor, proud of his charges, boasting about telling the judge off and he turned down probation, and asked for 3 years in prison. (Or so he says, people in jail can come up with some off the wall stories, and being in a position to where you can’t check the facts on it, you either listen, or ignore)He had tattoos of swastikas, and 666 symbols, he “hated everybody and everything”. Was always being a prick and pushing people around. He had this persona all the way up till the morning he was called out to prison. From head to toe, his body language changed. He wasn’t proud anymore, he was scared. I could have told him off, I could have called him out on it, I would have waved my dick in the air and made a huge scene about it, but I didn’t. For the first time in my life, I felt for a complete asshole. I could almost see his past, and see where it went wrong. He wasn’t born a total prick, life made him this way. I saw in the fear in his face someone else. I saw someone dealing with life the way he was taught, and he was scared. He passed out all his personals to people, (can’t take anything with you when you get transferred) packed his blankets and sheet in his box, and waited by the door. The guards called him out, and I held the door open for him, as he walked by I said to him, “whether you like it or not, I’ll be praying for you”. He looked at me and quietly said, “thank you”. He left, everyone else went back to bed, I stayed up and listened to some music off the TV, and prayed, I prayed for someone I barely knew. Not in the way you pray for someone when a pastor tells you they are ill, “Dear God, help them, amen”, I prayed for him as if I was praying for my own brother. It wasn’t long after that I began to cry. I really felt for this guy, I saw his pain, I saw the cards life dealt to him and the game he was taught to play. This wasn’t his fault. This was the result of a shitty, unguided life. Now, I don’t mean he is in prison because he didn’t grow up with Christ, that would have been nice, but everyone needs morals, respect, and responsibility taught to them as a child. As time went on, I began to see that in everybody I met in jail. The ones in for drugs are on drugs because life to them isn’t fair. Either they take drugs to feel numb from the pain of depression, or they sell drugs because jobs are scarce, or both. There may have been only one guy in jail I met that took drugs simply because he liked drugs, but I’m sure even he has an underlying cause for the start of them. Soon, my cell of people emptied. All that remained was my Celly, Andy, and I. some came, and went. It wasn’t long before the next list of “residents” came to stay a while. This would be about my 3rd month in jail, by now I would be considered an intermediate detainee in the eyes of new comers. I started to become the source of answers to questions and advice. Of course, jail isn’t rocket science, but one of the things I learned in jail is to be proud of my education. Common sense it seems isn’t for everybody. The next group of people is the group I got to know the best. This one guy named Diggs was a coal miner, sports nut, and a shunner of anything that “wasn’t real” like cartoons, fantasy movies, or TV shows. He was a really nice guy, and bluntly honest. I liked him a lot. He was about 52 years old and in jail because of this new law passed pushing back a date for Drug related felons, and them buying drug precursors. He got some Sudafed at Wal-Mart, and because 10 years ago he was in prison for drugs, they arrested him for buying the cold meds. Resetting this new date sent a lot of people to jail; another guy by the name of Brad was in for the same thing. Brad was a cool guy too, but it seemed his drug past burnt him to a crisp. He always fidgeted, could never sit down for long, and was always moving around. Brad also considered himself a “lifer, in and outta jail since he was 17 years old” and here he was going on 50. Brad was also a pretty funny guy, had a story for every minute of the day. His appearance fit his personality as well; he once said that, “he was easier to jump over than he was to walk around”. Ha-ha. Another guy that came in, not for too long, but long enough to mention, we called him “frooska”; It was a play on his last name. He wasn’t born in the US; he was from the Check republic. He was in for basically defending his daughter from an asshole. He used to be a boxer in his younger days, so he worked out all the time to pass the time. Then there was “PEE”, a nickname derived from an event/story (again, you can never be too sure in jail) of him peeing on a cop. He slept all the time, and was the trustee to the jail. He had already been sentenced and was waiting to go home. He was pretty funny when he was awake. Also, he was the only one in the cell around my age in this group of inmates. “Hooha Bob” is next. Standing at a lanky 6 ft 7 in, he towered over everybody, including me. He was as grumpy as old guys got. If he wasn’t bitching about something, he was thinking about something to bitch about. We would give each other shit all the time just to make time go by. He would tell me to shut my fat lip, I’d tell him to take his wrinkly old ass to his bunk for a nap. It was all in good fun, but part of the sport was to be as insulting as possible. We had loads of fun with it. I liked him a lot, and I’m sure somewhere down in his wrinkly, old, decrepit heart he likes me too. He was in jail for a paragraph of meth charges. He was kinda set up though. He is guilty of what he did, he doesn’t deny that, but the police got some dude to bring some stuff to make meth to his house, and he started it. Then the guy was all like, “I’ll be back I got to go get something”, it wasn’t long after he left the cops busted in and arrested everyone in the house. When you are arrested for drugs, the amount is factored in with your charge and sentencing. The stuff Hooha had would have made just a gram or two of dope, but when they busted in, it wasn’t done separating. So when they weighed it, they weighed it jar, liquid and all. So instead of going to jail for manufacturing, and possession of just a couple grams, he got manufacturing and possession of 130 something grams of meth. Class X felony, he was facing a 10 year sentence. It’s not right to be set up like he did, but he saw it as a wake-up up call. He swore after he got out, he wouldn’t touch the stuff ever again. And finally, pulling up the rear is Bruce. The oldest in the cell, in for charges similar to mine, he was a “go with the flow” kinda guy for a while. He read his bible a lot, and sipped on his instant coffee. So the second group of people in the cell with Andy and I was a bunch of old farts set in there old fart ways. You can say things got more stressful and tense, but it wasn’t so bad if you didn’t fight it as hard. As far as court goes, nothing happened for the next two or three court dates. My lawyer talked to me about my Trial, the plea agreement (if I had intended on taking one) was crap, and I was continually told that this was a no evidence case and it should be an easy win. I got papers explaining my case called my motion of discovery. What I got out of it is my friends…. My old friends… didn’t seem to care that I was being shafted. I can understand if they continued with an investigation, and tried to find out if what happened did or not. I can understand if they took their daughters side and followed her to the end of the case, but Bill ended up writing a statement that described a night a while back of me putting his daughter to bed, the middle child, not the one that is accusing me, and it gave him an unsettling feeling. That he began to feel like it wasn’t a good idea if I babysat for them anymore because of it, but not tell or even ask me about it. I watched his girls countless nights for 4 years, whatever night he is talking about isn’t any different than any other night I babysat. I don’t know about whatever pot induced feeling he got that night, but it ended up as a statement in my discovery. Reading that statement broke my heart, I couldn’t believe it. In it he mentioned, that I was a friend, he even put “friend” in quotes. Four years of fantastic friendship, and I read in a statement that he didn’t care to have one anymore. Per the circumstances I was in that point is apparent, but I never expected to read or hear any of them to say it. It killed me. I also gathered in my Discovery, that a search warrant for my phone was retrieved AFTER the dick took my phone, that I was arrested two months after the investigation ended, and my charge gradually went from “sexual penetration” to “he touched her thigh”. Not once did someone give me a real reason as to why I was in jail. A little girl told somebody that I “maybe” touched her thigh in her sleep, and boom; seven months in jail, 4 years of probation, a lifetime of registering as a sexual predator. My discovery was basically a bunch of “well, we heard this” and “we think that…” no real, factual evidence was present, yet I sit in jail. The only really exciting thing that happened in this time period was moving cell blocks. The guys in Cell block 4 were right next to the women’s cell. Whoevers bright idea it was to put a door between cells is a mystery, but they were just asking for communication to happen. You can’t lock someone up for more than 3 months and not expect them to talk to chicks next door. After many times of being told to stop, their final punishment was to be moved, and we were the cell they swapped with. The big difference between two and four was four was an open dorm, no little cell rooms to be locked in at night. A big open aria with beds, toilets, tables, TV, all under the brightest damn lights they could find to put in a building. The best part? They never… shut… off…. 24/7 of light. A lot of us felt like we were the ones being punished. Being locked in a little cell sounds bad, but for a while, I missed it. Time continued to drag on. By now I was a jail-house resident. I was given seniority ruling on decisions, I started working out to keep myself from wasting away, and I started a business. I never demanded payment or set prices, usually if I waited they would set their own and I would go from there, but I had a rare skill. Well, rare in our immediate jail block, but I could draw. Letters is my best talent, little doodle cartoons, I would write poems, people started to ask me to make them cards for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day, Birthdays. After a while it grew to calendars, little posters to toothpaste on their bunk walls. Of course it wasn’t long before we started writing the women next door, and when we got that going I was doing things for them as well. I would get Cheetos, envelopes/stamps, dinner trays, snacks; I didn’t have to worry about anything after that. Well, now we have reached December. Everyone is depressed for being in jail during the holidays, and I’m doing my hardest to keep everyone happy. I even used an old TV guide, a juice cup and tooth paste to make a little Christmas tree. I used the foil from the juice cup and made a star to put on top. Guys were giving me shit about it for a while, but they soon looked at it as a reminder of home, that made a few of them feel good. Eventually my cell of guys began to change out again. Diggs and Hooha Bob got prison time, Brad and Frooska bailed out, and Pee finished his sentence and is on TASC probation. Andy, Bruce and I remained. One by one our cell began to fill back up with guys. Nate was first. He was a rock n roll loving asshole. Ha-ha. He spent every day trying to be tough. He would do his workouts and flex as if it could intimidate anybody. He had been in juvenile DOC before, but now he was facing prison. He had/has a shitty set up for a charge similar to mine. He was dating a chick younger than him, but he was over 18 and she was under. They ended up getting a place together, having a kid, and he is still with her today. It didn’t take much, though, to piss her mom off and get him sent to jail for it. When he went to court, the judge saw him, his girlfriend, and his son there and granted him probation. It was a probation violation that got him sent back to jail. Bare was second. He too was charged with a case similar to mine, and also in for probation violation. This was another day in the life of Bare, ha-ha, he had already been to prison twice, and was now facing his third. At first bare did nothing but sleep and read… after a while he got up and was sociable, then close to the end he went back to sleeping and reading. He is a pretty cool guy with a pretty dark past. He didn’t talk about what happened, and I never wanted to ask how it happened, but his daughter was killed a while back, and he had me draw up a memorial tattoo for him. I don’t know if he will ever get it, but he seemed happy I made it for him. Danny was next, in also for a charge similar to mine, and also probation violation. He made it clear to everybody he was Wiccan, and we should keep our Jesus to ourselves. Ha-ha. Calm collective guy, racist as a mother fucker, but a kind person to white folk. Had a thousand stories, and only one, monotone, slow way of telling each one…. But he was entertaining. Loved his kids, and loved his wife, he talked about them often. If he wasn’t talking or sleeping he was trying to steal your food. Not to eat it, but to see how long it would take you to notice. He too had some prison time under his belt, and loved to tell people what they were facing in prison. Soon came Damion. His favorite thing to do was piss off Nate any chance he got. They always resolved the issue with a handshake, but it was a daily thing to hear they threaten each other for an hour, and then let it go. He was a big kid, and by that I mean mentally. He was a smart guy don’t get me wrong, but it seemed his maturity in dealing with life was offset a few years in the negative. He loved his Honda cars though. He could tell you everything you didn’t care to know about Hondas. Working on cars was his passion. His down fall though was drugs, which is what got him in jail. He didn’t have any drug charges, but he blacks out while high, and is violent. He had a girlfriend, who ended up moving in with him beside the fact there was an alleged violent attack. No one can say for sure, he can’t remember anything. It must have not been so back because when he woke up from his black out, all of her shit was in his house. It was her mom that reported the “attack” and put him in jail. His girlfriend dropped charges, but was later persuaded to pursue it by her mother. He is another “shafting” case I have seen in jail. When he isn’t on drugs, he’s a nice guy, a total asshole, but in an understandable kind of way. Everyone always has an asshole in their circle of friends. He is a misunderstood product of bad upbringing. He has a good heart; it just has all the wrong motives. Well, I met with my lawyer one last time before my trial. To paint a picture of how worried he was about this case; we talked for 3 and a half hours… but spent around 10 minutes talking about my case. The rest was WWII stories about his dad, Peter O’toole movies, and his days as a Marine. We talked more about other cases than we did mine. It was also around this time he first mentioned that the case may not go the way we would want it to. That jury cases are a “coin flip” and it’s hard to determine the outcome of a deliberation. 4 months in jail, and he finally shows doubt on my case. By now it’s too late to do anything about it. I couldn’t call for character witnesses even if I had known I could. He left me with a pit in my stomach and a new building hatred for lawyers. At this time though, my faith was in God and in him. I depended on him to get me out of this; after all, I didn’t know anything. Especially what was going to happen at my trial. He didn’t prepare me for much, and I definitely wasn’t prepared for the train that was scheduled to run me over. =-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= This is the end of Part IV… Part V coming soon. "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you." Isaiah 43:2 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4 My heart and prayers go out to the families in West, Texas. My blogging cohort mentioned the lack of help the government decided to lend, but as pathetic and sad that may be, in it brought a unity of Texans in a time of turmoil. I have never lived in a place where help for the smallest troubles was literally a knock away. Every Mature southern belle is willing to take up the roll of "second mom", every Stetson wearing man's wisdom is handed out with love and care. When something this tragic happens, Texas proves, yet again, "We don't need no stinkin' FEMA". If there is any Texans in the aria of West reading this, I implore you to join the relief, even if in just a small way. Buy some water, send some blankets, hell, fill up your truck with gas and move some shit out of the way. Time is the cheapest and most valuable thing you could donate. Thoughts, prayers, and blessings to the 200+ injured, the 14 families who lost loved ones, including the 12 volunteer firefighters that lost their lives helping with rescue. That to me is an ultimate sacrifice, these men weren't paid to do this, they had no gain but had everything to lose, and by going in to help the victims of West, they gave it all. Well done guys. This isn't over, especially for the 200+ hurt or grieving, but with prayer, time, and the help of everybody, we can move forward. Answer questions, lay loved ones to rest, and rebuild homes. Thank you all who is helping, thank you all for prayers. God Bless West. "You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone." "Save me
Even as you break me Every time you rape me Leave me coming all undone Praise me Turn your back and hate me Every time you waste me Keep me underneath your thumb" --Seether, Holding onto Strings Better left to Fray. This is a venting blog. If it seems like a random stream of thoughts and ideas, that’s because it is. The easily offended, the super religious and judgmental pricks… you might as well go read something else. This is going to get rough. Depression is a BITCH! It is a pool of tar, and the deeper you get in it, the more of a hold it has on you. For those of you keeping up with my blog, (because I’m sure there is just so many of you, hi ani) you should be in the middle of my Blog entries “Through Loss, Gain and Questions Unanswered”. It is understandable to be in a state of depression after going through all of that. The part of the story I haven’t gotten to yet, and eventually I will, is that I have four years of probation, there are a lot of ridiculous guide lines to follow, I am ordered to attend Sexual Offender Therapy Classes, as a felon and a registered sex offender, I cannot find a job, but alas I have over $1500 in court fees and fines, if they are not paid on a normal basis, I go back to jail, if I step off the path of these ludicrous rules I must follow, I go back to jail, if someone wants to fuck with me, and knows I am a registered sex offender, all they have to do is cry wolf, and I go back to jail. Life for me, for the first time, is run by paranoia. Never have I been so stressed or unsure of what I have control of and what I don’t. So yeah, I’m a bit depressed. To add to the misery, my mother felt it necessary to inform me that because I didn’t listen to her in the first place, that “those people are not good people, you don’t need to hang around them” is why I ended up in jail. If I had listened to her, this wouldn’t have happened. Just like when she told me that being with my Ex-fiancé, Whitney, was a mistake and she was right that is wasn’t going to work out. That if I just start listening to her my life wouldn’t be in the MOTHER FUCKING TAR PIT! Thank you so very FUCKING mush for bringing up the two most poignant failures in my damn life. That was just the word of encouragement I needed to get through this new depression, was telling me all about my old depression. Thus creating a mixture of super hybrid depression, that is just dandy. FUCK!!! I can’t live a normal life anymore. I can’t be me. I have to be someone else, a fucking pedophile in the eyes of the court, a felon, stressed, paranoid, angry, and to top it all off, I can’t be a normal brother anymore because of this shit. My little sister came home early from hanging out with friends, but I was home by myself, and I can’t be alone with anyone under 18 per court order without someone over 18 with me. So I had to go outside and walk around for almost 2 hours until someone came home. THAT IS FUCKING BULL SHIT!! The other day, we had a yard sale at my grandmother’s house, and a chick pulled in the driveway next door, she had just moved in next door to my grandma. I walked over and started talking to her, she told me she had heard of me, and not only heard of me, she seemed to be a bit interested in me. She is cute, short, and kinda thick, which is always nice. Has a dark sense of style like me, we talked for a little while. She started flirting with me, and I returned the sentiment by being funny and charming. Ha-ha, she went in her house and brought out pretzel M&Ms and gave me some. I definitely would like to get to know this chick more. But… My step-father pulled me aside and informed me that I am a registered sex offender, and I don’t know her. She could do something that would put me in jail. And he thinks that I need to tone it down. FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC Thank you so much court system, thank you so much 12 mother fucking jury members for not looking into what this would do to me and my life and running to that damn guilty verdict like a diabetic after penicillin. THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, you lazy ass, overconfident washed up, washed out pathetic excuse of a lawyer. I don’t doubt that at one time, when it was convenient to you and your career, that you were a good lawyer, but when everybody, EVERYBODY, that has ever had you as a public defender tells me that you have fucked them over, that tells me you don’t give a shit anymore, you are sitting back and soaking in those state checks, you pompous, arrogant, bowlegged bastard. You are lucky I was raised to be a morally driven man; otherwise I would have hit you in your fucking mouth for calling me an idiot. It must do wonders for your practice to cuss people out. I bet it makes you feel 10 feet tall huh? You fucking prick. I can’t be a normal older brother, I can’t meet new people, I can’t be romantically involved with anyone without having to report it to the fucking sheriff’s office, I have been forcefully introverted, and my outgoing personality has been chained. I am restricted from lakes, parks, public pools. I have to have a babysitter everywhere I go. I am in a box, stamped with the court seal. Yeah, life for me is just wonderful; I get to be the model citizen, minus some. |
AuthorThis is Word Vomit. Invited by an awesome friend of mine, I am going to, as the site title states, Vomit my mind on this blog. Any and all that shall be shared, will be shared. Archives
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