Category: Life

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Money, Lawyers, and Fat Women

Muncy State Prison

May 5th, 2024

Saturday

11:27am

I have a phone call with my lawyer on Monday. Waiting for lunch. Burgundy’s new roommate was complaining about her in Med Line this morning, and how she won’t let her hang lines anywhere to dry all of her clothes and wants to use all of her stuff.

Sounds familiar.

Also, apparently, Burgundy tried to have sex with her. So much for her just being an “associate,” like Burgundy had described her a couple of weeks ago. From “associate” to “unwilling lover.”

Hm.

She still hasn’t said a word to me or Daisy since she got back on the Block. The rumor is that there’s something wrong with the toilet in their cell over on Echo Block, so when it gets fixed, they’ll be going back over. Thank God for THAT.

I have to ask Motorcycle for money this week and I don’t want to. He said since his half-brother’s mother died, he might be going to Philly to help him sell her house. He thinks he’s going to get money out of this deal and wants to build a new bike with it. Of course, no mention of me getting a lawyer with any extra money he might have.

Ugh.

I guess I’ll send him my dirty blog. I’m not sending a letter with it. Last night he answered the phone with a curt, “What’s up?” as if I was bothering him, because he was around other people.

Fuck that noise.

Any other time, it’s “Hello darling,” or “Hey, baby.” I didn’t call him this morning. I’m pretty sick of the guy. I’m sure my mood will change at some point, he’s just pissing me off right now.

7pm

I called my boys. They said Tiger got a new dog called Buck and he’s six months old and he bites. They played Roblox today with her and went fishing. They were making ice cubes out of Gatorade. I’m surprised that they are allowed to have Gatorade. I told them to be sure to tell my mother Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow. They’re looking forward to playing Roblox with their cousin tomorrow. I asked Kimberly if she wanted to do an interview today but she said no. I called Motorcycle earlier. He had just gotten a tattoo of a skull that his granddaughter drew. Our phone call got cut off because he was driving.

I wonder what my lawyer will say on Monday. I’m afraid of getting years in here. People keep saying, six months, six months, but they don’t know. I know better than that. Shoved into another plea deal probably. Fuck. More shit on my goddamn record. I wonder what would happen if I took my chances at a jury trial? Two cases. Two trials. I would be here through next year for sure.

We’re supposed to have some special meal tomorrow for Mother’s Day. Barbecued chicken or something. Big deal. I’m sure every mother here would give her right arm to be with her kids instead. I know I would. 

I’m sad.

I just read something that says that a woman’s weight may make jurors more likely to give her a guilty verdict if she is overweight. Thin men especially are more likely to give a guilty verdict to a heavy woman. The same bias does not exist for men. 

Figures.

The U.S. system is so flawed.

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Chatty Cathy, Guilt, and God

Women’s Center

September 5th, 2017

Tuesday

Geezoman.

Off to Smethport half an hour early with Freddie, the most conversational driver in the universe. I was waiting to have a cigarette, so I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet. 

Yuck.

I wasn’t expecting him until at least 8am. It certainly doesn’t take 2 ½ hours to get to Smethport. Geez. Of course he drives like a caterpillar. He wants to know ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL about me–what I do, where I was born, etc. Blech. If I had had a cigarette and coffee I wouldn’t mind. No such luck. Maybe I’ll feel better after my therapizing. Now he’s asking me if I have kids. 

Not the day, sir!!! So, I left my first two kids out (I don’t need his pity) and just told him about the other three. Turns out he has a pair of twin boys too. Hm. Oh! I just found out that my appointment was at 9am, not 10am! That makes more sense. Of course I had no idea.

10am

Appointment was good. I love my therapist. After 25 years of searching, I finally found a good one. Reading my book so that Chatty Cathy will leave me alone.

“The darkness of grief is a connection to the deceased that is hard to relinquish. Enjoyment feels like betrayal.”

“Parents  say they have to ‘climb out of the well,’ scratching, clawing, backsliding, inching toward the light, one agonizing day at a time.”

1pm

Parenting classes in a minute. We had to write a parent child vignette (story/basically). Here is mine:

Parent/Child Vignette

I was folding laundry, and Tiger, 3, was playing in her kitchen. She was trying to pour water into her teacups and kept accidentally spilling it on the floor. “Darnit!” she exclaimed. I said, Nobody’s perfect, honey, keep trying.” She considered this for a moment, and then said quietly, “Well, you are.” I went over to her and hugged her and told her that I loved her.

Tiger is:

*Forming a close bond with me

*Practicing her fine motor skills

*Learning to feel loved and safe

*Bonding with me and learning to trust

There, I did it.

Wow, all we talk about it violence against children in this class–not that the teacher wants them to. They all talk about how much they were beaten and how much they beat their children. Nice. It makes me so mad. If they had to bury a kid or two, would they still beat their existing children and take them for granted? I need to know.

Book:

“Just as you can’t teach a child to walk before his muscles are ready, you can’t force the mending to proceed before the mourner is ready.”

“Part of the grief in losing a child is knowing that your child was cheated out of life’s simple pleasures.”

September 6, 2017

Wednesday

Day 64

Of course my doctor’s appointment got rescheduled, but only until tomorrow, so that’s good. We had drug and alcohol group. It was about stereotyping surrounding men and women.

Now I’m watching “It’s kind of a Funny Story.” It’s about a kid who is suicidal and gets committed to a psych ward. It’s NOT kind of a funny story. It’s actually an extremely sad and boring story. I have to go ask if I can interview at Emperion. Now I find out that others have been denied their requests to work there because there are drugs there.

September 7th, 2017

Thursday

Day 65

9am

Time for group. Waiting for some exciting packet to read. Talking about suicide attempts. One of the women is leaving today. Lucky her. She’s telling a story about how she got kicked out of rehab for asking a worker if she could have a moustache ride on his moustache. Nice. She’s going to Maple Manor this time. Fifth rehab. Four kids. One’s a month and a half old.

Okay, group.

Understanding and Coping with Guilt and Shame

–Learn to forgive yourself

–Talk about it

– Change the related behavior

–Practice forgiving others

Munchy’s baby is doing backflips in her belly. She lets me touch her belly when she’s active. It’s so cool.

Now everybody’s talking about guilt. And using. And when everybody started. Most early teens.

“The first thing you put in front of your recovery is the first thing you lose.

–Crash

Now we’re talking about detoxing. I remember detoxing from alcohol–NO fun at ALL. At  least they gave me Librium to help. 

I was playing rummy with Old Toothless, but I went to smoke and she went to play solitaire on the computer. So now I’m watching Shameless by myself– everyone else left for Community Service. I didn’t go because I have a doctor’s appointment. Everyone is thin and beautiful on this show–it makes me really, REALLY miss being thin. No matter what I do, I can’t get under 150lbs.  I’m going to talk to my doctor about it. And the sleep study. And a referral to a rheumatologist. I want to go to the Lupus Center of Excellence in Pittsburgh. 

Off to my doctor’s appointment. This driver didn’t introduce himself, and he likes classic rock. 

Hm. 

It’s pretty chilly today. Makes my bones ache. Half the sky is dark grey clouds and the other, half blue. I miss my kids. Bindi, my mother, told me she is bringing all three this weekend. Good. Gets me out of that baby shower anyway. Jimi Hendrix is on. Not bad. 

Here comes the rain.

Welp, went to the meeting and got my 60 day chip. Then I talked about Ethan’s birthday for what seems like the millionth time, and felt marginally better.

The reading was on the second step–coming to terms with and learning to trust in God basically. I’m still learning about this part. 

On the board it usually says something stupid, but tonight it says, “God’s will for us becomes our own true will for ourselves.”

Mr. Big gave me an NA book of my own after the meeting tonight. He must have paid for it. That was super nice. I went to the doctor today and he gave me Prednisone–WOOHOO–now I will feel much better for a week. I got a referral to the Lupus Center of Excellence in Pittsburgh too–YAY!! And also my doctor is willing to prescribe me something to lose weight, (double YAY!!), but I have to wait until my liver tests are normal.

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Farts, fists, and minivans

May 11, 2024

Muncy State Prison

Saturday

Blog #4

Neither Here Nor There: Musings from the Other Side (of the Razor Wire Fence)

Welp, still here at Muncy, and because I feel like it, here’s an entire blog of dirty and/or inappropriate stuff. It’s ribbed, for your pleasure.

You’re welcome.

Daisy is measuring her release  date time by her menses. She has 15 periods left before she gets paroled. Raja, on the other hand, is having her period, and just remarked that there is a serial killer in her underwear. Jason Kelce was recently quoted in People magazine about not wearing underwear with, “I find it unnecessary and problematic to the freedom that my boys like to enjoy.”

Fun fact: Daisy doesn’t wear underpants either.

In other news, I’m gassy and it’s gross. 

Ever farted in front of 50 people? Everyone looks around and tries to fine the culprit  like they’re in kindergarten–”EW! Who farted??”

Over here. It’s me. I’m the problem, it’s me.

Meanwhile, the neighbors are insulting each other again. This time it’s: “You look like my ass without lotion,” and “You look like a long-titty-no-nipple-havin’-ass-bitch!”

Oh my stars, as Kimberly would say.

In other news, Daisy and I were talking about dating Black men, and I recounted a story about the first Black man I dated, when I was 19 and in college. He had the whitest name ever–Robert–and he sold a magazine where I worked as a bookstore clerk. He would buy me Boone’s Farm drinks and I would get drunk at his apartment where there was black shag carpeting and an entirely glass coffee table. When I broke up with him, he couldn’t believe it. He looked at me, aghast, and said incredulously, “But I licked your butthole!” I had no idea that asshole lickery had bonded us for life. I thought the man had just lost his way.

Silly me.

When Daisy dated her first Black man, they went to see the Exorcist, and to hear her tell it, the theater was so cold that her nipples were hard so she tried to cuddle up to this guy, but she couldn’t get too close because his breath was so bad. “He had a turd in his cheek!” she shrieked, and then fell over on her bed laughing. “Never again,” she declared.

This started a sex-story-athon, so next, my first husband apparently thought I wasn’t very good at blow jobs, because he bought some DVD when I was 20 to teach me the ABC’s of giving head.

The nerve!

It featured real couples and also featured some of the least sexy sex I had ever seen. Some of these couples had to be 60 years old, with mom-bods and beer guts galore. “Oh, that’s hot,” I thought, and proceeded never to give him a blow job again.

 Daisy then told me about some porn she saw where a woman had a ton of sex toys up in her vagina. She was like, “She had the Mary Poppins of pussies! Like–just when you thought she was done, out comes another one!”

Then she asked her boyfriend, Wizard, to look up Urban Sex Positions for entertainment while she was incarcerated, and he came back with “The Minivan.”

Soooooooooo….you’ve heard of “The Shocker,” right? Two in the pink and one in the stink? Okay, so this one is two in the front and FIVE in the back, like a freakin’ minivan!

“What, you just punch them in the butthole? I asked, mouth agape. She shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Some people like being fisted.”

Ew.

Then we got into a conversation about men on meth who want to fuck for six hours straight with their “al dente” dicks and to butt stuff, but never get off.

Boy, do I not miss THOSE days.

*sigh*

Good times.

Like I said, you’re welcome.

And who farted?

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Rape, Haldol, and Speech Impediments

Women’s Center

Day 62

Labor Day

Monday

September 4th, 2017

I had another dream last night about when I was a Vet Tech. I really miss the work. This afternoon I laid down, but weirdly, all I could think about was two years ago, when this whole mess started, and how the nurse at the hospital catheterized me against my will. That still really bothers me. It was like being drugged and raped. Haldol, handcuffs, and a nasty nurse with a catheter. In front of a police officer.

Horrible.

I wish I could sue that woman personally. I probably could. But what would you call it? Rape? Illegal invasion of a body cavity? Assault? I’ll have to look it up. That’ll be a fun time.

More of my book:

The curriculum for mourning includes:

  1. Undoing emotional bonds with the deceased
  2. Devising comforting ways to maintain bonds
  3. Finding meaningful activities that give life new purpose
  4. Banishing guilt
  5. Allowing pleasure to revive

“Somewhere along the line, the load get a little lighter and the sky a little brighter.”

7:30pm

Off to a meeting. Drama about who’s going and who isn’t. Luckily, I get to go–I needed some time away, and I only got to go to two meetings last week. And bonus–this one has candy! Most of the time anyway. Munchy is getting pissed off at Chantilly always being right up her ass. Also, Chantilly made a mistake and told a few residents that she and Munchy had slept together. Of course that spread like wildfire and got back to Munchy, who of course adamantly denied it.

Then Chantilly tried to act like she had never said it, but I know she did, because she said it to me. I didn’t tell anyone, but when Munchy asked me if it was true, I told her the truth. I don’t know why she does it, but Chantilly is a chronic liar and can’t be trusted. It sucks because I never know whether to believe her. 

Went to the meeting–there’s this  one guy there named Rick, and he’s a running joke with the women here because he has a speech impediment and can’t pronounce “R”’s. Like–what the fuck–the poor man can’t even pronounce his own name. So he’s relentlessly getting made fun of, anyway, and today he spoke three times at the meeting about what a hard time he was having, and even started crying once. So they all said he was drunk! Sometimes I just think that some of these people are nasty, egomaniacal shitheads. 

Then one of the women there asked me what was wrong with me after the meeting. I told her that I had lost a son, and that his birthday was coming up, so I was sad. It’s funny, she misunderstood me and thought that social services had taken him away from me, and that’s what I meant by “lost.” You can’t win, I tell ya. 

If you say that you lost a child to people outside AA, they think you had a miscarriage, and if you’re in AA, they think you had a bad run-in with social services. No one thinks they actually DIED. Ugh. I have to read more of my book–or practice the serenity prayer more. Anyway, she said she could relate, because she had lost children, but they were reunited now.

Then, when she realized that they were DEAD and not LOST she told me a bizarre story about how she, too, had lost four children at 16 years old (Is that even possible–four kids by 16??!!) AND a husband in a house fire and then spent four years in a psych ward in a catatonic state afterward. I was like–WHOA. I don’t even know how to respond to that because it is so fantastical. She told me she was married at 13, and four kids by 16?? The only one she told me an age of was six months old.

I’m beginning to think she’s got a touch Chantilly Lace’s disease. I don’t know. Hopefully that really didn’t happen to her. I just don’t know. Anyway, she told me to call her (I won’t), and to talk about it with someone I trust (I’ll try).

Time for lights out.

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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.

Categories
Life Uncategorized

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.