Love, Justine

MUNCY STATE PRISON

December 3rd, 2024

Tuesday

9:30pm

We finally got Commissary today, after going without it for a week and a half. I drank too much coffee, pooped three times, and talked a lot. Previous to today, I had slept for a week, so I had some excess energy, which is new for me here. Usually, I feel like I’m slogging through every day, waiting for the next time I can lie down.

I’m wondering if I should write Mr. Big a letter apologizing for my last email to him, and telling him that I was manic and talking crazy. Probably I should. 

(I didn’t.)

I tried to call my lawyer today, but no answer. I called Gem, Motorcycle, Stryder (twice), and Paul. Paul didn’t answer and he had said that we have a video visit tomorrow, but it’s not on the schedule, so I asked Stryder to message him and ask what’s up.

Everything is so difficult here.

There are almost 100 people on this Unit, and over 1100 on the “campus” now. I don’t know why they call it a campus, it’s much more like a hostile military compound. 

I got another interview for Thursday. 

Daisy made a giant peanut butter/chocolate cookie roll today. She called it “Death by Chocolate” and Swiper said that’s the best way to die. My hips are killing me. I can’t even sit cross-legged anymore. I’m wondering how I’m ever going to have sex. Something’s gotta give. I need better pain control than Mobic, but the pills I was taking apparently make me an insane crazy person, and nobody prescribes narcotics anymore. Sometimes weed makes me think I’m Jesus and fall down a lot.

No.

Vicodin seems like the answer, but you can’t get it anywhere now, which is bullshit. I don’t ever want to be addicted to it again, but that takes a lot of effort. You don’t get addicted by taking one or two tablets a day. I wonder if my rheumatologist would prescribe it. I guess I’ll find out in a year. I can probably reestablish a relationship with him while I’m at the Women’s Center, but he probably would never prescribe them with my history of addiction.

It’s no wonder people use heroin.

It’s cheaper and easier to get than Vicodin.

Bullshit.

Also bullshit? Momma Bear chairing the AA/NA meetings on the Unit and then telling someone during a fight this morning to go get high. She’s supposed to be a role model, not someone who digs to the bottom of the garbage dumpster for insults about addicts.

I got new mascara today and Lolita gave me some Pink Oil, so I did my hair and face pretty. 

It made me feel better.

Lolita is leaving in 11 days. I wonder if she’d do an interview. Her story is crazy. She was kidnapped and held in a trap house basement for days and raped and beaten several times. Then a man was sent downstairs, presumably to rape her, and he felt sorry for her, so he came back the next day with a sawed-off shotgun to rescue her, but was killed by her captors.

Then they made her clean up the mess.

She was charged with something ridiculous like abuse of a corpse and accessory to homicide and served seven years in prison. She’s back on a technical parole violation for drinking alcohol.

Ridiculous.

December 4th, 2024

Wednesday

3:15am

Nightmares.

The kind where you wonder how your brain is so very imaginative.

Horrifying.

Stryder was in it.

In the nightmare I was was having nightmares, and he was the only one who cared enough to ask me to describe it to him.

But then he seemed evil too.

Do dreams really mean anything?

Last night when we were talking on the phone, he said he didn’t know if he wanted to set up a video visit, because when he saw me it would be hard not to fall in love with me again. 

In the dream, I got the distinct feeling that he was toying with me, the way a cat will torture a small animal to death before he devours it.

Is that what he’s doing?

Or does it mean nothing?

I’m tired, but I don’t want to go back to sleep. 

In another nightmare, I thought I woke up, and stood up to go over to some man I was with and cuddle him and tell him about my nightmare, but some laughing, evil spirit-lady was trying to invade my body. She kept laughing and giggling and saying that I couldn’t keep her out of me, no matter how hard I tried. I had the distinct feeling that she was my mental illness.

Bipolar disorder in a cackling, sinister apparition. 

Then I woke up again, or thought I did, and actually saw the wall I sleep next to, but I wasn’t awake at all.

I see prison walls in my nightmares.

When I realized I wasn’t really awake, and it was a trick, I summoned all of my strength to open my eyes. 

Who would’ve thought I’d be so glad to see a prison wall?

Same wall. 

I prayed to God twice today to get me out of here, but it’s no use. I’m just going to another prison. A much nicer prison, but still a prison. 2025 isn’t even here, and it’s already gone. This one-to-three year sentence turned into four. 

That’s how the “justice” system works.

I don’t want to go back to sleep.

I have to push Ms. Grumpy Crabass all over creation tomorrow (today) in my new, surprisingly painful boots. I should’ve kept my old boots with holes in them. 

That’s the thing about prison–just when you think something better is going to happen, something much worse happens.

Prison Rule #1: Things can always get worse.

Like having the first decent day in a long time and then having nightmares all night following it.