Love, Justine

May 5th, 2024

Muncy State Prison

Thursday

Stryder wrote me a message this morning that he’s done trying to be a part of my life, so I guess I don’t have to send this letter after all. 

Whatever.

I should have known that was coming when I said don’t visit me. He only cares about me when he can stick his dick in me. Well, fuck that noise. I’m better off without him.

3:15pm

I got legal mail–arraignment and criminal conference June 17th, 2024 at 10:30am.

I’m writing Bambi’s first story for her. It’s as boring as dirt.

 There’s just no good news today. I wrote this to Medical on 5/2/24: 

“On 4/22/24, I was charged for the second time for a refill of Mobic. I should not have been charged either time. This is a medication I was on when I came in, every day. It should not have been prescribed as a prn (as needed) and I shouldn’t have to pay five dollars every month because it’s “expired.”

Response: 

“This is not a chronic medication per State of Pennsylvania. You will be charged five dollars every time it is refilled for a 30 day supply.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Why would I not have to pay for it at Cambridge Springs but have to pay for it here? I’m still in the state of Pennsylvania. I’m over this day. I hate everything. I’m reading “Spare” by Prince Harry. It’s pretty good. I have class and library tomorrow. Not sure why I have library. I just went on Monday. At least I don’t have to get Burgundy some stupid hood book she’s too lazy to go to the library herself. I’m so glad she’s not in this room anymore. But I have a feeling it won’t last–she left a bottom-bunk open, which are a hot commodity around here. 

In other news, Raja is having her period, and she remarked that there’s a serial killer in her underwear. 

Funny.

Periods in prison. Like–isn’t the period bad enough itself without having to get up every couple of hours, make sure you’re dressed correctly to leave your cell, go down and then up a long flight of metal stairs, and ask some man for sanitary napkins and pads–or else pay for them on Commissary yourself??

Anyway, I talked to Motorcycle–he says that he wants to come bunk with me. That would be nice. I told him that he sounded muffled, and he told me that he had my underwear on his head.

He’s so funny. 

We were locked down today for some fucking “Employee Appreciation” day, so the employees could have a fucking barbecue and play cornhole while 1,000 women were locked in their cells all Goddamn day.

This place is hell on Earth.