Love, Justine

Muncy State Prison

May 24th, 2024

Friday

I wrote Paul back and sent him my dirty/inappropriate blog. Motorcycle sent money, thank God. I asked Paul to send money, because Motorcycle sounded stressed about it when I asked him this week. I know he doesn’t have the money to spend.

Our roommate, Empire, moved out yesterday. This morning during Med Line, the Unit Manager walked by and someone screamed, “Shame on you for killing that girl! You’re more of a monster than some of us!!” Apparently, he had told one of the women who committed suicide that, “You keep talking about it, why don’t you do it?” I don’t know how true that is, but it’s horrible if it’s true. That guy is a real prick. I can imagine him saying something to that effect. 

May 25th, 2024

Saturday

6:11pm

I keep thinking about this 6-year old dead boy that was on the news last night whose father killed him. He was shown forcing the boy to run and run on a treadmill, even though he couldn’t keep up and was falling off, and they showed pictures of his injuries while he was alive, apparently taken by CPS. Of course the headline was something like, “COULD CPS HAVE PREVENTED 6-YEAR OLD’S DEATH??”

Duh. 

As far as I’m concerned, CPS isn’t good for anything. They break up families when they’re just poor, and when there is blatant abuse/neglect, they do nothing. Then kids die. But they take pictures of their injuries, so don’t worry. It’s pouring down rain, and we’re supposed to go to Med Line in this shit.

No thanks.

May 26th, 2024

Sunday

9:04pm

Officer Dickey Do just told a story about why he doesn’t eat here anymore that had rats in the kitchen, mice eating the bread (and people serving it anyway), mouse URINE on the served bread, and cockroaches. Then Kimberly chimed in with, “Oh, yeah, the kitchen’s full of cockroaches. We come in the morning and find them squished all over the floor from third shift.”

Oh. My. God.

May 27, 2024

Monday

Memorial Day

1:43pm 

Paul messaged me and said I could call him tonight, so I’m going to call him at 6:30pm. I talked to Motorcycle and he talked mostly about Moroccan olive oil and water purifying straws.

Ugh.

It feels like he’s getting old all of a sudden, and I don’t like it. He used to be fun and exciting, and now all he talks about is infomercials and aches and pains. I mean, I know the man’s in his sixties, but damn.

6:50pm

I called Paul. Things were kind of stilted and weird, and all he would say about his mental health was that things were “difficult.” When I asked him if things were improving, he repeated that things were difficult. He said he was worried about me and then we got off the phone. It was weird. I almost felt worse when I got off the phone.

Ugh.

Today was shit.

May 28th, 2024

Tuesday

12:31pm

So, I’m reading this book, “You Are a Badass,” by Jen Sincero, and here’s the part where I always have trouble–it basically says that we create our own reality. I balk at that because I would never create this for myself.

EVER!

So, I say this to Daisy, and she gets all nasty and tells me that I’m basically a miserable, horrible person all around. I said, “Not on the outside of prison I’m not! I love my life! I love my job!”  Etc., etc., to which she cocks her head to the side and says, “Come on. Come. On.” As if I’m being ridiculous and I am just the most negative, shitty person she’s ever met. Then she says, “Not being mean, but–your life was just great and then you had a mental breakdown and now you’re here?”

First of all, just because you say the words “not being mean” doesn’t in reality mean that you’re not being mean. Secondly, yes, basically, that is what happened. I have Bipolar Disorder. That means that sometimes things happen to me that I can’t control, like psychotic episodes. Like–no matter how many times you tell me I’m a miserable person and that I deserve to be here because I caused this, it doesn’t make it true.

I feel like I’m sorry I told Daisy ANY information about my life at all, because SHE’S so nasty and judgmental. Yesterday she tried to convince me that I’m an alcoholic. Like–do you think I wouldn’t know this about myself? After drinking until I blacked out for several years? Um…a glass or two of wine before bed doesn’t qualify, miss. I feel like she’s one of those people who pretends to be your friend and then turns around and says vicious, ultra-personal things about you behind your back to everyone.

Whatever.

Taylor Swift is on the radio singing “Shake It Off,” so that’s what I’m going to do. Repeat: It’s none of my business what other people think of me. It’s none of my business what other people think of me. I am raising my frequency. I am Love and Light. I am Awesome and made in God’s Image.

There.

I feel better.

1:16pm

I called the lawyer again–this time his secretary answered. She seemed to think that they were still waiting for Public Defender paperwork from me. I explained that no–my mother wanted to retain him as private counsel. She said she would talk to him tomorrow and someone would call my mother. Tomorrow is two weeks since he was supposed to give her an answer.

7:38pm

I talked to the boys–their last day of school is tomorrow. Next year-sixth grade. They’re going to Minecraft Camp over the summer and Wildwood in New Jersey.