Love, Justine

Muncy State Prison

June 10th, 2024

Monday

Happy birthday to me and being 43. I went to Psych and they’re putting me on 10mg of Prozac and 20mg of Abilify. Wip-de-do. Now I’m depressed and sleeping forever. 

Fun. My mother never heard anything from the lawyer. I guess I’m stuck with the Public Defender. After all that.

The ladies here made me a card for my birthday and it was yellow with flowers cut out of a magazine on it. Very thoughtful. The cake was a cheesecake with chocolate. Very good and yummy. And tater tots made out of potato chips. I’ve lost 15lbs since March 2024. The ladies signed the car in their fake names that either I gave them or they gave themselves.

Aw.

June 11th, 2024

Tuesday

4pm

Gem sent me a birthday card. I went to see some mental health lady named Ms. Talon, who asked me if there was anything she could do for me from a mental health standpoint. I don’t even know why she’s there. I said no and left. I did tell her that they took me off Wellbutrin because I have a substance abuse history, and she said, stupidly, “Well, they watch you take your meds, so why wouldn’t they let you have Wellbutrin?” as if she actually wanted an answer from me. Like–I don’t know, lady, you’re the one that works here! Why don’t you fucking tell me?!

UGH.

June 13th, 2024

Thursday

5:48pm

I have felt absolutely awful since they stopped my Wellbutrin. We were locked down today and I barely noticed because I was sleeping all day. I feel like my brain is working in slow motion. Every time I talk to Motorcycle, he tells me about something new he bought, while saying at the same time that he is broke. He also said he’s never missed anyone like he misses me and that he thinks we are now “a part of each other.” Sweet, but seems to ring kind of hollow as of late. That’s probably just because of my attitude, though.

June 14th, 2024

Friday

11:23am

I kind of hate the new roommate, Swiper. She’s a leech. I can’t even eat something without her asking for some. Plus coffee, plus cigarettes, etc., etc., etc. I barely have enough money to support myself, miss. I can’t possibly support you too. She says she’ll pay me back the coffee and the e-cig I loaned her. We’ll see.

In other news, I have court on Monday. I hope they drop at least one set of the charges. I mean, it should be probation. They’re misdemeanor charges. I’m so sick of this shit. It never seems to end. 

1pm

I talked to my mother. She says the lawyer has no predictions about what is going to happen on Monday. I feel like I’m going to cry. He said Potter County is one of the worst places in the country to have mental health and addiction issues.

No fucking kidding.

My mother wanted to know if Motorcycle had any insight into what happened that Friday before the incidents with the police. He said I went to see the kids, but I was extremely sad afterward. He took me to my apartment, I wanted to be alone and take a shower and whatever. I showed up a couple of hours later talking about the end of the world and God and shit. Then I got into a fight with the cops and my world did end. 

Now I’m here.

The Public Defender, Mr. Dick, told my mother that it was nice to meet her and see that she didn’t have horns. He told her I hated her, and hated him too, for that matter.

Jesus Christ.

I guess I’ll write my mother a letter thanking her for trying.

Mom,

I appreciate you talking to Mr. Dick and emailing the District Attorney and trying to get a lawyer for me. I am so very sick of this. I seems neverending. I’ve been doing this in and out of jail thing for almost 10 years now, and I’m very tired.

I talked to Motorcycle, and he, too, said that I seemed fine after seeing the boys that Friday, and I asked him to take me to my apartment. Well, I wasn’t fine–I was crying–but I wasn’t delusional. Then, a couple of hours later I came to his house talking about the world ending and wanting to go get the boys. He said no, and that he wasn’t going to be the reason I went back to prison. I don’t know how long this went on, but he was very confused and didn’t know what to do. 

He says he would be happy to testify on my behalf if this case goes to trial. He’s known me for almost four years, and knows that this was very out of character for me and that I don’t use drugs. He didn’t see me with cold medicine, and was unaware that I had taken anything.

I don’t know whether to take this case to trial or take a plea deal. I I take a plea deal, it’s more charges on my record and then I’ll get a hit from parole, and I don’t know how much time that will be. If I take it to trial and get found guilty, then the judge will sentence me. I don’t know what my OGS score is or what the sentencing guidelines are for these charges. I have to talk to Mr. Dick about that and see what he thinks. In a perfect world, I would take it to trial, because I can’t see a jury convicting me when I was clearly insane at the time of the crime. I don’t know how much I trust Mr. Dick to represent me, though, and I don’t know if I have that much faith in a jury full of people from Coudersport.

I don’t hate you. 

I don’t understand you. I don’t understand a mother working so hard to keep her daughter’s children from her for 10-plus years when they clearly love each other and have a strong bond to each other. 

I know I have addiction problems, and I know I have mental health problems, but you want to know what studies show helps those both the most?

Family support.

And family support and contact with her children is also the number one recidivism reducer for women in jail/prison.

That, and a stable place to live and meaningful work. I haven’t had a stable place to live since Pittsburgh. I tried to work. I gave up on being a vet tech, which was very hard for me, and became a writer, with no help for anyone.

I tried.

I am trying. 

I keep picking myself up off the pavement with no help or support from any of you, most of the time with you actively working against me. 

I’m glad that you are helping now, but I have no idea why, or if it’s something you’re going to use against me in the future. You’ve used my mental health problems against me as a weapon for 10 years now, ever since I told you, in confidence, trusting you, about being bipolar when I was in Clarion Psych.

You went straight to Dr. Religious and had her recommend taking my kids away, no questions asked. Not, “What can we do to help you?” but, “How can we use this against you?” 

So, no, I’ll never understand you. If it were my daughter, I would have bent over backwards to help. That’s what heals people. Caring about them. Not hatred and judgment. That makes it worse.

I feel like this entire thing could have been prevented had you let me see the boys more when I asked. But somehow you don’t think that this is hard for me. Not being able to be around my children has been the worst punishment I’ve been given. Not rehabs, jail, or prisons. Not being given the opportunity to raise my own children. 

It’s tantamount to torture. 

Every minute of every day, I miss them and I grieve for them. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I have to go on living my life as if I don’t have any kids at all. 

Five children and nothing to show for it.

It’s no wonder my brain cracked in half. This is the worst possible thing you could do to a mother. I’ve interviewed over 50 women in prison, and they all say separation from their children is the worst part of prison. But then, most of them get their kids back from  family members when they get out.

But not me.

Of all the women I’ve spoken to, I’m the only one whose own mother took her kids away. 

On purpose.

Forever.

With no intention of ever giving them back.

It still blows my mind.

So, while I am very grateful for any help that you are willing to give me, I can’t help but wonder what your ulterior motives are. I can only hope that you’ve had a change of heart and are actually being nice to me

So, for what it’s worth, thank you.

Justine