Prison Life Takes Its Toll

March 1, 2011

“A good cry would probably do me some good, if I could. How sad? Tears, my soul is screaming, but there are no tears.”

9:44 p.m.

First off, thank you again and always for allowing me into your life and coming into mine! Sometimes…I just don’t know where I’d be mentally without you. I now, usually I try to send you positive letters, reciprocating strength and encouragement, but right now, I’m just not in that place. Forgive me for being so torn. God knows that I don’t always believe in the strength that I display. Some days are so much harder….Jeeze.

Um…honestly…I need someone to cry on right now. Really a good cry would probably do me some good, if I could. How sad? Tears, my soul is screaming, but there are no tears. My body just won’t produce them. That’s so sad. How do you forget how to cry? God, I hate this place!

You are the only person who has contacted me since the end of January. It feels like I don’t even have a family. At first I was upset that I wasted stamps on people who won’t write back, now there is no energy left for anger, just hurt. Hurt like someone has cleaved through my collarbone and hacked my heart in half. I feel so empty and so abandoned. My life is a lie. This feeling is too familiar. I’ve had to deal with it off and on for all of my life. You’d think I’d be numb to it by now. Am I so stupid that I keep letting them hurt me, over and over again? Do I have faith in them because there is nothing else to have faith in?

I feel so low it is scary right now. I’m doing better now than ever before in my adult life.  I’m so sorry! Maybe I shouldn’t be writing at all. But I feel that if I don’t get it out, I’m going to have a breakdown. I want to punch the wall, break my hand so I’ll have something, a physical pain to focus on. But you know I won’t because (deep breath) I know better. I’m not trying to scare you, I promise. I’m just so damn tired. You wouldn’t believe how tired I am. When do I get to stop hurting? When? I would never never turn my back on my babies, no matter what! I’d die before I made them feel unloved.

I’m sorry for putting this all on you. I can’t talk to people in here though. I can’t show any weaknesses. This is not the place for it. I can’t. Still, I’m afraid of what holding it in will do to me.

It’s amazing that your letter got here this fast. How can it take two days, but seven on other occasions? Man, I need a vacation! 

Guess it’s obvious that I’m losing my mind and your letter probably saved—is saving me from total self destruction. I’m a mess.  I’ve been hiding in reading books and workouts, working myself way too hard, blinding myself with pain, reading until I pass out to keep from have to think, to wonder.

Sorry to make you strain with this handwriting of mine. But when I try to write slowly, it’s impossible to keep my thoughts flowing, so I write at full sprint, trying to keep up with my mind.  Again, I ask you to forgive me? I’m just not in a positive mental place right now. Once can only pray that tomorrow is better.

P.S. I’ll be alright, okay? I know you care about me. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. I wouldn’t hurt you like that. I’m smart, just wounded. 

March 3, 2011

“I’m not as strong as people think. I just wish I was Superman.”

11:28 p.m.

So excited to hear from you again! But, so, so sleepy. Long day. Really long day. But, I’m back to me. Yes, I’m myself again. Pardon the nervous breakdown. I’m not as strong as people think. I just wish I was Superman.

Anyhow, I’m too tired to write this letter. So I’ll get back to it this weekend. Just wanted you to know that I’m better, and basking in the joy of your letter.

 

March 4, 2011

“Survival is the only option. And if I must survive, must live, I will not live in misery. Ah, learn to bob and weave. This round, I’ve got prison on the ropes.”

10:49 p.m.

Another grueling day, but I made it through. I’m still alive. Wow, you must really be excited. Can’t say that I’ve ever received back to back to back letters from you! Talk about making my day….um, days. 

Well, before I get to gushing and bubbling about how wonderful you are, let me catch you up, okay? You’re smiling right? Yeah, in my imagination, I always picture you smiling while you read my letters. Well, except for that last one. Sorry.

What can I say. That was really long overdue. Guess that’s just more insight into the hell which is my home. People don’t realize how powerful this place is. Of course there are physical burdens, but a fist fight…hell, a shank fight is less damaging than the psychological blows one must sustain. Even with a cage of mental forearms, the psychological jabs and haymakers smash through all defenses, finding their mark with vicious brutality. The other night, I was punch drink and on the ropes. Thank God that round came to an end.

Really it is only fair that you see me at my lows, since you mainly see highs. (Aussie voice over: “In captivity the male subject displays his most aggressive behavior, left to fend for himself. His resiliency though, leaves much to be desired. He is indeed a broken creature, hobbled by circumstances beyond what he was taught as a pup, leaving him to rely on sharp instincts and the need for survival.”) Yeah, something like that.

The next day I started fresh, embarrassed for having nearly lost control. Then I ran across a kat who reached out and gave me some much needed peace of mind. It’s amazing when a total stranger can tell his story, and it is also your story. And how morbid is it that we find comfort in knowing that someone else is struggling just like you are? Anyhow, he seemed to be taking the beating like a champ and that was inspiration enough for me.

I did a bunch of half-hearted praying, faith shaky, half put off by the unwarranted pain stalking my joy. Then I prayed for real and let it go.

When they called commissary, I went and had $30 down there. It’s not much but I hustle so hard, I can multiply that, so I had to count my blessings. The letter from you wan only the icing on top. So I’ve been on something of a natural high, floating on your words of kindness and loyalty. I hear clowns all the time, hollering that they don’t care about love, don’t know what love it. Idiots. Poor ignorant fools. Only someone who’s never basked in the joy of love would rebuke it. It’s good…great to have someone in my life who never lets me forget that I’m important. Loved.

Still no word from anyone in my family, but I can’t let that worry consume me. Regardless of what’s going on out there, my position is non-negotiable. Survival is the only option. And if I must survive, must live, I will not live in misery. Ah, learn to bob and weave. This round, I’ve got prison on the ropes.

Blog   

My Steak’s Too Tough

“Life is a bitch, and then you die”… right?  Or something along those lines?  Well, that’s a dish easier to digest for some than others.

Take me for instance.  I’m an even-natured, well mannered and intelligent young Black man.  I won’t say I could pass for Denzel,  but I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes.  Sounds peachy, huh?  Oh yeah, I’m in prison on a 40 year sentence.

If you just winced, you’ve already figured out that I’ve eaten a few servings of the “life’s a bitch” steak and washed it all down with a lukewarm glass of bitter regret.  But is there something between the “bitch…”and the “you die?”

Really, you’d be surprised at the amount of laughter that one hears in this place.  Even in an environment filled to the brim with the scum of the earth, where the air stinks of ignorance and hatred and hostility are laws, there is a lot of laughter.  Some of that laughter is owed to the same clowns that made you double over with tears in your eyes in elementary, middle and high school.  Most of that laughter though, is just to keep from crying.

Naturally, I can’t speak for everyone else, but I smile and laugh when I’m all by myself.  Why?  Because crying is a cardinal sin, because I’m so much like my mother who I adore, and so much like my father, who I barely even knew.  I laugh because the sound of my children’s giggles never lose clarity in my memory, because the grass is still green and the sky still blue even through these rusted ugly bars, because my smile doesn’t reflect my sins, because I still have potential, because I’m still my momma’s baby, because when Frankie Beverly sings about “happy feelings” I still feel that joy, because my body is imprisoned, but my mind and my heart are free!

So maybe I got too full on the “life’s a bitch” steak.  There will be plenty of meals before the last supper.  It’s funny now, because that steak wasn’t even that good.  Thank God I’ve learned to cook for myself.  And my hope tastes just like Mom’s apple pie.  Soul food, anyone?