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Periods, Hell, and CO’s

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.

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Helping Others Helps Grief–Who Knew??

Women’s Center 

9/1/2017

Day 59 

Friday

Nine days until Ethan’s birthday. And I just realized that I missed an appointment on 8/29/17 at 11am with my psych nurse. Great. Right at the wrong time to not get my meds evaluated. 

This place is SO DISORGANIZED IT DRIVES ME CRAZY.

I don’t feel good today and it’s making me irritable.

Book:

  1. Flashbacks 

Flashbacks come automatically without warning or apparent trigger. They haunt the mourner. They fill the mind; they intrude, blocking out  the present.

  1. Health Problems

Physical symptoms persist throughout the acute mourning.

  1. Meaninglessness

“What reason is there to get up in the morning after your child has died?” Coming to terms with this vacuum of purpose is one of the important tasks of the grief-work.

  1. Adapting
  2. “If we are unable to let go when death demands it, we are often unable to hang on when life requires it.”

–Vamik Volkan

  1. Staying Connected and Letting Go

Altruism seems to be an antidote to grief when the time is right.

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As for You–You Can Fuck All the Way Off

Muncy State Prison

May 8, 2024

Wednesday

I got some glasses today. Same ones I got at Cambridge Springs. Stryder messaged me yesterday and asked if I wanted him to visit. I originally said yes, but then I thought about it, and said no today. He can’t even send me money so I can be “comfortable” in prison. Like–decent food and hair conditioner and phone time and shit?? Fuck that noise He only sends money to people he’s fucking not to his “friends.” I’m in goddamn PRISON, asshole. Like, if we were actually friends, you would care if I had the things I needed. But no. He sent me a whole messaged (which he paid for) about how it’s Motorcycle’s “responsibility.” 

Whatever, douchebag.

No matter that you have a full-time job and Motorcycle is living on disability, which doesn’t even pay HIS bills, much less mine. But he sends me money anyway. It just doesn’t make sense.  Daisy says that he’s a freaking weirdo/wacko that betrayed me so many times that she doesn’t know why I talk to him anymore. I don’t, really, either.

Maybe I should write him a letter:

Stryder, 

The more that I look back on our relationship and friendship, and the way you’ve acted toward me in the past and are acting now, the more I realize that we are not friends, and have never been. You were instrumental in my kids getting taken from me. You only “care” about me and want to help me when I’m sleeping with you. You still talk to Elizabeth about me just to have drama in your life and fight with her over whether you’re fucking me. If you were really my friend, you’d want to help me while I’m in literally the worst place this country has to offer and can’t do anything to help myself. We are not friends. You just love drama. And your self-righteous bullshit. You think if I “give my life to Jesus,” then I won’t go to prison anymore? You’re so full of shit. A mental health professional that doesn’t believe in getting mental health for himself. Right. And the reason that I don’t have psychotic breakdowns in prison is because I don’t have to look at my kids cry for me with their broken hearts about why they can’t see me more often. And that’s all thanks to you. You spent time in my house when they were little just so you could feed information to my parents. And look at you–father of the fucking year–letting your son be raised by an ACTUAL Bipolar/alcoholic/drug addict the whole time. What a fucking joke. And you continue to judge me. Well, have fun with that. I tried for years to believe that you had good intentions for me and cared about me, but in the end, it was all self-serving bullshit so you could paint yourself as the hero. Have fun with that. You want to know why you have no friends? Because you’re a fake and people can see right through you. A genuinely shitty person. I’m so sorry it took me this long to realize it completely. Not for you–for me and my children. You are an evil person. And don’t contact me ever again. My life is better without you in it, you manipulative asshole.

Fuck you, Stryder.

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Bullying, Lesbians, and Grief

Women’s Center

August 31, 2017

Day 58

Ten days until Ethan’s  13th birthday. Of course there’s a baby shower party big to-do thing that day for Preggo #1, Megan.

I finally told her today that I didn’t want to be rude, but I wouldn’t be able to make it. I already gave her a gift. I hope I’m not a mess that day. I’ll probably be fine with no booze. My normal routine is to get drunk and cry a lot. With loud music. It’s therapeutic in it’s own right, I don’t care what anyone says.

Probably this is a sign that I should read my book.

*Sigh*

Went to get some clothes at the Community Center. For winter. Going to be here for all of the holidays. 

*Sigh* again.

I talked to the boys today. Our conversations have begun to mimic each other—what did you have for lunch, did you get to play outside, I’ll see you in a couple days, bla, bla. It’s really sad.

The Sleep Nazi is picking on me today. She’s pissed because somebody called off and she had to come in at 4am. Poor her. I told her she was a bully and to knock it off.

Now we’re talking about lesbianism. Hm. Tori says she’s 80% lesbian with a side of a husband. Ha! Nice. One of the staff here is a lesbian. She talks about her girlfriend a lot. It’s kind of nice to see some diversity in Potter County. 

Ew. 

Now they’re talking about whether they would lick their own vaginas if they could. This is hilarious. And moderately disgusting. It’s amazing the questions people will answer candidly. Especially when they’re bored. I should be a reporter.

9:50pm

Omg. 

Meditation is taking FOR-FUCKING-EVER.

Unbelievable.

Everyone has to make fun of how the new woman–Elaine–reads. Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m starting to feel really bad for her. 

Even if she is a child molester, she’s still basically a mentally incapacitated child herself who deserves a basic level of human decency.

I spoke at the meeting about the fact that I’ll be in the Center for all five of my children’s birthdays  AND Ethan and Kaylee’s death anniversaries.

Ugh.

Book: The Courage to Grieve

Judy Tatelbaum

Stages of Grief

  1. Numbing–When you cut yourself with a knife, your body reacts by numbing. The pain is delayed. The psyche seems to react similarly. When assaulted with the news of a sudden death, many people appear to go on automatic pilot…This zombie-like phase can last for weeks or longer and subsides gradually. There is no real pain, just a profound immobilizing deadness. Ultimately, there is no avoiding the pain of grief. The sadness, the longing, the anger, the guilt, creep in like a tide, slowly and inevitably, in different forms, at different times, and expressed differently for each.
  2. Acute Mourning–Mourners feel a loss of control over their destiny, a sense of spinning helplessly, not knowing how to get through each day. Nothing has meaning…All of the following symptoms are common and usual during this time of active grieving:
    1. Denying
    2. Yearning
    3. Pining
    4. Symptoms of shock
    5. Depression
    6. Numbness
    7. Anger
    8. Guilt
    9. Irritability
    10. Hyperactivity
    11. Disorganized behavior
    12. Difficulty making decisions
    13. Loss of interest in personal appearance or hygiene
    14. Obsessive preoccupation with events surrounding the loss
    15. Flashbacks
    16. Repetitive day and night dreams
    17. Seeking to be reunited through spiritual connection
    18. Sleep and eating disturbances
    19. Health problems
    20. A sense of meaninglessness

These symptoms alternate in rapid succession.

  1. Denying– Denial is a shock absorber that helps us slowly absorb the truth–Vamik Volkan
  2. Yearning–The yearning was profound–”All her senses cried out for just one more sight or smell or touch of him”
  3. Obsessive Preoccupation–Almost all the parents we interviewed related in the clearest detail the events surrounding the death. It’s as if the tape of the event is indelibly etched on their souls and replays whenever something triggers it, even years and decades later.
  4. Anger–Anger is sometimes displaced onto others such as family members, doctors, hospital staff, and God, all of whom can be charged, directly or indirectly, with failing to protect the child.
  5. Irritability–The newly bereaved are impatient, have little frustration tolerance, jump out of their skins at sudden sounds, are generally keyed up or over-reactive because the adrenaline in their nervous systems is pumping…
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Respect, Humiliation, and Zoo Animals

Muncy State Prison

May 7th, 2024

Tuesday

10:36am

There is a modified lockdown later for a “Friends and Family” day where the CO’s bring their families to tour the compound. 

Jesus Christ.

Where am I?

I knew this was a fucking zoo, and we are the exhibits.

Wait–Paul wrote me!

4/26/24

Dearest Justine, 

I received your letter early last week, thank you for replying, and for your apology. I’m not comfortable talking about what has been going on with me right now, however: 

I do forgive you.

The last thing I want in my life is to not be a dear friend of yours. Your life enriches mine SO MUCH that I only want the best for you and your safety, while preserving your independence and mine. Your soul, spirit, and brilliance are VERY valuable to me.

I hope you can find a good attorney soon, hopefully that good one you had before, because I know you like him and think he’s a good attorney. I am glad that the hospital sent you to Clarion Psych. I can’t recall if you have been in a psych facility previously or not. You are welcome to tell me what they discovered about you if you are comfortable doing so. I know that being in the psych facility for a few weeks is tremendously better than being monitored on a weekly basis overall. My psychiatrist suggested I go to a psych facility also.

The bank has been on an upward positive trend. We have a teller line of mostly people with bank experience that makes the job tolerable. The other tellers all share the same sense of humor as me, so it is finally nice to have a full staff of experienced, easy-going ladies. I have been reiterating to them that they are doing well and constantly bribe them with gifts (mainly coffee and cookies). I hope they choose to stay for a long time.

The sun has been out more often, so I placed that wooden hand plane that you and Motorcycle found for me out in the sun. The sun  is supposed to be able to sterilize mold and mildewed wood with UV rays. So far it has been effective, but I have to leave it out some more. I closed the bicycle shop for this year only due to what has been going on. It will reopen next year. In response to your hope: Yes, I’m okay, at least for now, but I have a long way to go.

Warmest Regards,

Paul 🙂

I wrote him back and told him what’s going on with me and the prison and whatever. And that I’m sorry again and I can’t imagine my life without him.

Ugh.

I’m a jerk.

6pm

In other news, there are people walking around the grounds seeing how apparently great and wonderful the prison is while we’re all locked inside, sweltering. It must be close to 90 degrees outside, and inside it’s humid and stuffy too. Ms Grumpy Crabass said it used to be worse on “Family Day,” or whatever it is, and they would be locked in and the people could look through the windows on the doors at them.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Way to dehumanize people, Muncy.

Way to fucking go.

In other, other news, Bambi has recruited me to write a memoir of sorts  about her affair with a master manipulator/liar that is also a pastor. Here’s the problem: her story isn’t that interesting. It’s really not. She says she wants to “expose” him, but I looked at her tablet messages between the two of them, and she still appears to be in love with this man AND still in a relationship with him. Like….listen, miss. Nobody can end a book that way. There’s nothing inspirational about that. He still sends her money every week and he has all of her things in storage and won’t give her son the key. Like–are you serious?? What is this book for? Slander? Is defaming this guy your sole purpose for writing it? I am SO not interested, lady. Anybody who’s dated anybody for more than a year has been through the exact same thing you’ve been through. Your story isn’t special. Sorry, Miss.

Ugh.

7:50pm

Oh. My. God. So we went to Med Line, which is outside, and there’s this crowd of people standing there staring at us. Like–ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? As if this place isn’t already humiliating enough, now this. And then they’re telling the inmates to “have some respect.” Like–IS there anything less respectful than having people watch us be paraded in front of them like fucking animals?? Like we’re subhuman??

Fuck my fucking life.

One good thing–Burgundy left for another Unit today. Thank God. It’s like a weight has been lifted and the air is clearer in this cell.

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Judgment, Discrimination, and Grief

Women’s Center

August 30, 2017

Wednesday

Day 57

My sleep study came back, and I’m waiting on the results. Now we’re doing a drug and alcohol class.

12pm

That was fun. Not. Self-esteem stuff. Now it’s time to go mulch. More fun.

The lady who had a baby a month ago is crying on the phone with CYS an they’re making Chantilly mulch even though she had an allergic reaction to the dye they gave her at the hospital with her MRI/CT scan, so they gave her a bunch of Benadryl. She looks half dead. She says Mr. Big needs to choke and die. And Tori’s the opposite today, because she had a sex dream about Mr. Big last night, so she’s following him around drooling like a dog in heat. 

Drama, drama, drama.

Jesus God. People are being so mean to ChoMo. I’m so sick of hearing that word that I’m going to have to change her name–it’s slang for Child Molester. I thought it was funny at first, but now the bullying is so bad that it is definitely NOT funny anymore. I feel like it’s taken on the viciousness of the N-word, which I do not say. I guess I’ll name her…Elaine. Pubescent volatility–that’s what I’ll call what’s going on here. I feel like she’s a new version of Chantilly–child-like, compulsive liar, multiple personalities. I feel like no matter what she did, she deserves to be treated like a human. People are nice to Old Toothless, for God’s sake, and she burned her house down with her husband in it.

I’m reading my book again. This is some more stuff I can relate to: “…bad advice increases the sense of being crazy and out of control. It adds to the burden of feeling they are mourning all wrong, that they are violating the customs of this alien land without knowing how to do it right and certainly not having the power to do it differently.

Stages of Mourning

THE HOUR OF LEAD

This is the hour of lead

Remembered if outlived

As freezing persons

Recollect

The snow–

First chill, then stupor, then

The letting go.

–Emily Dickinson

“Books and groups of other bereaved parents provide an anchor. It is reassuring to see that others are indeed experiencing the same violent, chaotic emotions. A few souls wander this barren desert together.”

7pm

NA meeting: Easy does it, but do it. Honesty, Openmindedness, and Willingness. 

Freedom from Ourselves

One of the NA members’ kids is doing cartwheels outside. I feel bad for her. Her mother is a monster to her, which is hard to find in NA. Most are completely reformed people in every way–good people.

“Practicing a better way of life by living according to Spiritual principles will eventually have an effect on our thinking.”

“We sometimes encounter remarkable coincidences in our lives that have no rational explanation.”

“Religion is for people who are scared to go to Hell. Spirituality is for people who have been to Hell.

  1. I can’t
  2. He can
  3. I think I’ll let him

“The longer we stay clean, the more evident it becomes that our addiction runs much deeper than drugs.”

Real life truly is excruciating. That’s all I have to say about that.

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Get the Picture?

Muncy State Prison

May 6, 2024

Monday

2:20pm

I haven’t done anything today. Library in five minutes. Everything’s scheduled down to the minute here. Hopefully I’ll find something good  to read.

Book:

Women Doing Life: Gender Punishment, and the Struggle for Identity, by Lora Bex Lempert © 2016

P. 1-2

“One thor of all the incarcerated women in the world are in U.S. prisons. Although men constitute 93% of the U.S. prison population, the number of women under state and federal correctional authority is the fastest growing segment of the U.S. prison population. Between 1980 and 2010 the population of incarcerated women increased 646%. In 2011 more than 1,400,00 women were under the supervision of the criminal-processing system, that is, on probation or parole incarcerated, or subject to other forms of formal justice control. Race is significant in these incarcerations, as black non-Hispanic women are incarcerated at 2-3 times the rate of white women (129 vs. 51 per 100,000) and Latina women are incarcerated at 1.4 times the rate of white women (71 vs. 51 per 100,000), although reflecting their higher percentage in the U.S. population, more white than black or Hispanic women are incarcerated. Age is also significant: About 60% of both white and black imprisoned females are 39 or younger, as are 67% of Hispanic females.

Additionally, many incarcerated women were single heads of households and mothers of dependent children prior to imprisonment…”

P. 2

“The dramatic increase in female imprisonment, the 646% increase, have not been a response to more violent female criminality as media constructions would have us believe. Women’s share of violent crime as remained more or less stable since the 1980s. There are, however, more female arrests now than in the past.” 

P. 9

“Criminologists have convincingly demonstrated that maternal incarceration is more damaging to children than the incarceration of fathers. The children of incarcerated mothers feel their mothers’ absence more acutely, and they experience more disruption than the children of incarcerated fathers, putting them at risk for adverse outcomes. Children with imprisoned mothers suffer the shame and stigma of maternal incarceration; face particular challenges of family instability (e.g., moving to new home environments one or more times); undergo disrupted attachments, not only from a mother, but also from siblings, other family members, friends, schools, and communities; experience school failures; engage in antisocial, aggressive, and delinquent behaviors; and are two and a half times more likely to be incarcerated as adults than are children of incarcerated fathers.

Additionally, criminologists Vernetta Young and Rebecca Reviere and Jane Seigel have demonstrated that prisons do not meet the needs of women or the hundreds of thousands of children they leave behind…The Bureau of Justice Statistics reports that 59% of parents in state facilities and 45% in federal facilities have had no personal visits with their dependent children during the periods of their incarceration.

P. 10

“As Erin George, an incarcerated poet and mother, notes, such forfeiture of contact with children is a “soul-killing loss” borne by both life-sentenced mothers and their children.”

P. 11-12

“Most criminal-processing books are geared toward men, as are penal codes, sentencing guidelines, and correctional programs and opportunities. Officials at every level of the criminal-processing system are overwhelmingly male…The continuing focus on men has meant fewer carceral resources for increasing numbers of women, reliance on one-size-fits all gender-stereotyped programming, and inattention to gender-specific needs like substance abuse, HIV treatment, obstetrics and gynecology, child care, and psychological needs. In a system designed for violent men, it is a challenge to get adequate health care for women’s particular physical and mental needs…In their pre-incarceration lives, women experience higher rates of drug and alcohol abuse; report disproportionately more histories of rape, incest, and physical abuse; are diagnosed with higher rates of illness and mental health problems; and are the primary caretakers of dependent children. The Bureau of Justice Statistics provides evidence for these claims: 57% of women in state prisons have been victims of violence in their lifetimes, 47% have experienced physical abuse, and 39% have been victims of sexual abuse. Many have experienced multiple types of abuse. One-third of women in state prisons (33%) reported having been raped prior to their imprisonments.”

P. 13

“Most often, women’s offenses are crimes generated by poverty and ensuing strategies for survival.”

P. 14 “Mass imprisonment is silently absorbing women who have been abandoned by formal and informal safety nets, and, in the process, it is destroying and demoralizing communities.”

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Self-Worth AA, and Acceptance

Women’ s Center

Day 56 

August 29, 17

Tuesday


We’re going to Coudersport to do some running around, I have to get bloodwork and go to the Courthouse to file that paperwork on Tiger.

Of course Old James was in the Courthouse. He’s having trouble with his heat, poor guy. He’s a 72-year old guard who I used to live with before this nightmare. At least he’s still got a job. I feel bad I’m costing him money because my cats are there. I wish I could help somehow. He told me to take care of myself. I told him to do the same. 

6pm

AA stepwork now. No meeting again tonight. Third day in a row. I do like meetings I hate just reading out of the book. I hate not having cigarettes. I hate not seeing my therapist. Pray for patience and tolerance, she says, and stay away from the “fuck it’s.” 

Good advice. 

The lady they shipped in to teach us the steps of AA is named Tina. Maybe I’ll ask her to be my sponsor. 

“Don’t self-sabotage”

“Lead by your actions”

“When you get out, you want to be the best person that you can be”

I haven’t talked to Chantilly much today. She sticks pretty much with Munchie now. Probably because I’m so gloomy. I need more sleep. I’m exhausted.

Tina has the weirdest hair. Pixie cut with a braided rat tail. Hm.

P. 417 Acceptance

“And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, or thing, or situation–some fact of my life–unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake. 

Unless I can accept life on life’ s terms, I cannot be happy, basically. 

I cannot be happy. 

Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

Tina: Consequences teach us how to be who we intend to be: human beings of love and light.”

“You’re giving up on you. And you’re worth not giving up on.” 

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Motorcycle, Sporks, and Quacks

Muncy State Prison

May 5th, 2024

Sunday

8:38am

I dreamed about Dubya last night. That I was in love with him and trying to get back together with him. I still think of him every time I hear country music. 

*sigh*

In this book, “Women Who Love Men Who Kill,” these women say that they didn’t have a choice in loving those men, they were just sort of thunderstruck with love. That got my thinking about me and Motorcycle. No thunder strikes there. We love each other–I think–I mean, I know I love him, but…I have a hard time believing that he loves me sometimes. I mean, he says that he does, but it’s just recently that he said he “thought we would make it,” and he stayed in a loveless marriage for 12 years. I mean, should it really take three or four years to believe in a relationship? And the way he didn’t help me when I really needed him to. And the way he somehow saw getting my belongings as a financial opportunity…What the fuck is up with that? Last night he said he took those things of Facebook Marketplace, but that’s probably just because they didn’t sell. He said it was because he “didn’t want anything between us.”

Whatever.

They were for sale for three weeks.

In other news, Bambi wants me to ghostwrite a book about her life. I tol her we could get together at Day Room tonight. She also said she wants to expose pastors who are corrupt for various reasons, so I don’t know if that’s another book, or what. 

You know another thing about Motorcycle? When I asked him on the phone why he didn’t help me when I was psychotic and why he left me alone, his first response was, “Okay, then, you don’t trust me? Why don’t we just not do this anymore.” Like–he tried to break up with me! He’s always saying that he takes care of me and does what’s best for me, but in reality, when it counts, he doesn’t. He breaks up with me rather than take responsibility and face the music. I said, “Oh–THAT’S how you want to handle this??”  And then he changed his tuned and said he was sorry and it would never happen again. I just hate how, when this happens, I’m completely incapable of helping myself and I have to rely totally on other people for help.

It sucks.

It really sucks, because they never come through. 

2:24pm

Daisy was supposed to give me an ecig on Friday and she didn’t, so I 2-for-1’d one. I hate doing that. It’s just wasting a cigarette, and these things are expensive. I tried to take a nap, but it was too fucking loud in here. I called the boys and Motorcycle. The boys were playing a game and had a soccer game in Ridgeway at 1pm. Motorcycle was busy talking about himself, as usual.  It amazes me that he can fill up an entire 15-minute phone call and never ask how I’m doing. I say maybe five words the whole call. I think I’m getting sick of him. Maybe he is just a narcissist, like Gem says. She would know–she’s married to one. I didn’t go to lunch. Daisy gave me some oatmeal to eat, which I didn’t ask for. That was nice of her. I’d rather have the cigarette she said she’d give me. 

I’m gassy and it’s gross. And embarrassing. Ever farted in front of 50 people? Everyone looks around and tries to find the culprit like they’re in kindergarten— “Ew! Who farted??” 

Ugh.

 I’m so sick of being here I could scream. 

No news on the woman who hung herself two days ago. It’s like it’s old news already. Tonight’s dinner is “chef salad,” which consists of a piece of ham, iceberg lettuce, and a boiled egg. Oh, and once in a while, a teaspoon of shredded yellow cheese. Ever tried to eat lettuce with a spoon? Or spaghetti? It doesn’t work. I don’t know how people gain weight here. I’m losing weight, as per usual, which I’m not complaining about. Last time I got out, I managed to gain 30 pounds in three months. Hypothyroidism is a bitch. I can’t eat anything and not gain weight. Now Burgundy came into the room, apparently mad, and said, “When I tell you something, it’s a FACT.” Daisy said, “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” and Burgundy replied, “I don’t know either.”

What.

Ever.

She told the whole unit that I’m a racist, so obviously when she talks about people, it’s NOT always true. Now there’ s tension and silence in the room.

Fun. 

Whatever–back to my book, which references psychiatrist Dr. Money, who was widely discredited as a quack after he recommended that a boy with a botched circumcision be raised as a girl in the 1960s. He also made the boy and his twin sister perform make-believe sex acts in his office later in life. I read the book, called, “As Nature Made Him.”

Straight quack.

Now Burgundy apologized to Daisy and is explaining what she meant. At least it wasn’t me this time. 

Interestingly, in this book, the author finds that all of these women come from Catholic backgrounds. Many had alcoholic, abusive fathers. 

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Suicide, Zuko, and Chopper

Muncy State Prison

May 5th, 2024

1:35pm

According to inmate.com, the woman who attempted suicide yesterday is on life support. Very sad. Tragic, really. Daisy surmised that to the woman, death might be preferable to coming back here.

The last woman hung herself on 4/10/24. That’s two suicides in less than a month. The woman who asked me how long I’m here in the bathroom a while ago (with the 18-year min) apparently shot her girlfriend dead because she had threatened to shoot her dog. Then she stayed with the body for three days. God. Her name is Zuko. We’re often in the bathroom at the same time, for some reason. She calls us “bathroom buddies.”

Cute. 

I still don’t think she knows my name. 

This book, “Women Who Love Men Who Kill” by Sheila Isenberg isn’t written very well. She sensationalizes both the crimes committed and the women who love the men who have killed people. This book makes me think about Chopper, a man I went to high school with who allegedly shot and killed a Kane police officer. He was shot too, in the neck, and barely survived. There were two other teenagers in the car that night, and Chopper doesn’t remember the events, but I’ve always felt like the blame was pinned on him because everyone thought he was going to die. I slept with him once in the back of his mother’s car when I was 16. I ended up later working with his mother at the local veterinary clinic. She died of breast cancer years ago. Maybe I’ll look him up and write him sometime. Of course, he got a life sentence. 

6:09pm

I just got back from dinner, where a woman was talking about the lady who hung herself on J Unit yesterday. She’s on J Unit too, and she, like the last lady, was asking for help for three days and saying that she was suicidal before she hung herself. Mr. Reibsome, the Unit Manager, put her in a single cell in response to this, apparently. She said she wanted to go be with her baby that died. The woman also said that there’s going to be “people” here Monday, like inspectors or something, or investigators. When I asked her who they were, she repeated, “people.” Like–lady–we’re all in the same fucking boat. Why wouldn’t you want to share information if you knew something?!

7pm 

I talked to the boys-they were in the tub. They went to the Maple Festival today but couldn’t go into the bouncy house because it rained.

Called Motorcycle–he was excited because he got a new pair of jeans and some costume jewelry from Good Will. I told him another woman hung herself and he changed the subject to fishing.

Strange.

I messaged D. Owl, the reporter from Spotlight, PA, and told her that two women who have hung themselves here in the past two weeks. Same Unit, both asked for help, both were put in single cells by the Unit Mgr., Mr. Reibsome.

We’ll see if she responds.