Tag: Babies

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Zuko Love, Dead Babies, and Fucking Bipolar Disorder

MUNCY STATE PRISON

February 28th, 2025

Friday

10:54am

Commissary day. Yay for coffee and ecigs. Tomorrow is Kaylee’s 17th death anniversary.

5:49pm

Everyone has Steve Wilkos on their TVs. Some story about a woman who’s here who killed a baby, hid the body, and only got 15 years. 

She’s here, of course.

Of course she’s here.

People are outraged that they got the same amount of time for drug offenses and shit. Everyone’s talking about dead babies today. A few years ago this would have been traumatic for me. Today it’s merely noteworthy.

On the radio:

“I’m at the deep end

Watch as I dive in

I’ll never leave the ground

Crash through the surface

Where they can’t hurt us

We’re far from the shallow now…”

Maybe I finally graduated to the deep end. Never could swim. But I can bury two babies and survive it.

The other day the mental health lady said to me, “After all you’ve been through, prison isn’t going to keep you down. Nothing’s going to keep you down.” 

She teared up when she said it, like she really meant it.

Maybe she’s right.

9:23pm

They switched my detail to the downstairs bathroom and my days off.

Fuck.

Now I’ll never be alone with Zuko. She thinks we should sign a contract and live together on a closed unit, but that seems extreme to me. And I really don’t want to take a shit in front of her.

Fuck.

This just keeps getting worse.

March 1st, 2025

Saturday

Kaylee’s Death Anniversary

7:51am

Zuko and I went to breakfast this morning. She made me a picture of a woman with black hair and blue eyes kneeling in a white dress with yellow butterfly wings.

She’s so sweet.

Book:

Gandhi: An Autobiography–The Story of My Experiments With Truth

P. 19

“And he who would be friends with God must remain alone, or make the whole world his friend.”

March 2nd, 2025

Sunday

11:21am

“Strawberry Wine” is playing on the radio. Makes me miss Kimberly. I wonder how she is.

This book by Gandhi is 500 pages long.

Zuko let me listen to the rest of “Sprout’s Mixed Tape” last night. She told me about a book called “Survivor” whose main character is her great-grandfather who was trapped at sea for nine days. Two other men trapped with him died, but he survived.

Zuko is unbelievably sweet and thoughtful. 

She says she’s going to worry about me cheating on her when I get out of here. I don’t know how I feel about that. I guess if I was in her position, I would feel the same way. She said not to take it personally. Sounds personal to me.

Tomorrow we’ll have been together for a month. She keeps track of these things. She thinks something bad is going to happen tomorrow when the Unit Manager, Mr. Reibsome, comes back. She might be right.

A few days ago, when Ms. Grumpy Crabass was slowly approaching our table, Zuko started to do the “Jaws” music–like, “Duh-Nuh…Duh-Nuh…” faster and faster the closer she got.

It was funny.

Paula, my new cellie (along with Melanie Gibson) says that Zuko has a reputation for “being an asshole.”

Hm. 

March 3rd, 2025

Monday

11:29am

I wrote Zuko:

Sweetheart, 

Happy one monthiversary 🙂. I love you. This has been the happiest month I ever spent incarcerated. Who knew you could be happy in prison? I didn’t. You’re so funny and smart and thoughtful and sweet. I love these things about you. I miss you when we’re apart. You’re very important to me. You make me happy. I want to say all the things lol.

I love how you touch me and I love how you kiss me and I love how it feels to hug you. I love your frumpy face and your “I love you” signal and the way we think the same things are funny. I think about you all of the time. I love how you cook for me and draw pretty pictures and pay attention to the things that are important to me. I love how we plan for our future together and how you believe in me. 

I love you like crazy,

I have to write Tabby and Stryder. Stryder keeps messaging me about being in an open relationship when I get out of here even though I’ve told him several times to date other people and that I’m not his person. And Tabby–well, I haven’t heard from her in a couple of months, and I’m afraid her sister died.

I wrote the judge:

To the Honorable Judge Stephen Minor, 

When I got sentenced to six months in the Women’s Recovery Center for misdemeanor Resisting Arrest and Disorderly Conduct, you seemed to think that because I wasn’t given jail time, the Parole Board wouldn’t give me much or any time in prison.

On the contrary, they gave me one year in Muncy State Prison for “early failure on parole.” I will be here one year in March 2025, when I will see parole again. I will max out June 26, 2025, whether I get paroled or not.

I talked to Walter Stenhach, my attorney, about petitioning the court for less time at PCWRC, seeing that I just spent a year in State Prison, but when I called him to discuss this in December, he said that my sentence is final and that there’s “no such thing” as petitioning the court for a shorter sentence. I don’t know if this is true or not, but the purpose of this letter is to ask for relief in the form of a shorter sentence at the Women’s Center. 

I have now served nearly three years for mental health episodes that I have no control over and have worked mightily to prevent. I am medication compliant, see a therapist weekly on the outside, and see a psychiatrist monthly. I try to avoid the stress and profound depression that seem to precede my psychotic episodes.

I am currently mentally stable and I haven’t seen my three children in a year.

I am humbly requesting less than six months at the Potter County Women’s Recovery Center in light of my one-year parole hit.

Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter.

Respectfully Submitted,

Jessica Kenley #PE6201

9:04pm

Zuko cried today.

She wanted to tell me to tell her if this gets too hard and I want out of our relationship. I will tell her. I love her enough to tell her. I’m not into hurting people on purpose. That’s not my style. And she’s certainly had enough pain in her life for a lifetime. I would never want to be one of the people adding to it. She loves really hard. But so do I . But I am in love with her. I keep telling her she’s my silver lining.

Silver is one of her favorite colors.

She says she wants to marry me.

I wonder if that’s true. (It is! –Zuko)

I feel like I gave up on true love a long time ago, so I just settled for sort-of love and sex as a substitute. But Zuko seems to love me the way that I am.

I didn’t think that was possible.

Who knew?

The song keeps running through my head that goes, “We fell in love in a hopeless place…”

Is this possible to sustain?

I don’t know.

But I’m willing to find out.

With my whole heart this time.

March 7th, 2025

Friday

Book: 

“Gandhi: An Autobiography–The Story of My Experiments With Truth”

P. 89

“For one gets the Guru that one deserves. Infinite striving after perfection is one’s right. It is its own reward. The rest is in the hands of God.”

10:07pm

I have a visit with Stryder tomorrow. Zuko isn’t happy about it, of course. I’m not either. He sent me this message the other day about “thank you for encouraging me to date other people, but I’m happy with you.”

Good Lord, as Zuko would say.

She didn’t feel good today.

Her period is coming and the anniversary of her Pap’s death is on Monday.

“He was my guy,” she says.

Grief is hard. I’m glad I have finally seemed to come out the other side of it. Zuko makes it a point to always remember all of the dates that are important to me. Birthdays and death anniversaries. How to spell Jaxon’s name. I meant to show her pictures of my kids today, but then I forgot. We went to the Library today and she checked out two books–one on living with a chronic illness and one specifically on lupus. She seems to want to learn everything about me. I hope the books don’t scare her. Most people with lupus die from it. Zuko just saw me and made an “I love you” sign and blew me a kiss. She’s so sweet. To me. But then so was Motorcycle. Turns out he was a whole asshole in real life. Weirdly trivial things seem to piss Zuko off. I don’t know if that’s a maturity thing or a “my whole life has pretty much sucked” thing. She told me today that her Dad used to beat the shit out of her. Somehow we got onto the subject of child abuse. But she’s been abused her entire life. She says she’s going to love the lupus out of me. 

I wonder if I can love the hate out of her.

In other news, Paula, one of my new cellies, is sleeping sitting up again. She has cancer, and lost a son to suicide. She only sleeps for like four minutes at a time, and so is always tired. Sometimes I wonder if, like psychosis being caused by a broken spirit, if cancer can be caused by too many horrible things happening in your life.

And how do you fix that?

Can you go to a doctor and ask for medication to mend your fractured spirit?

How do you measure how much you can handle in life?

Is there a blood test for that?

Paula was holding the door for someone today and stole an e-cigarette out of her pocket. I’m not sure why she told me that. I hope she doesn’t steal from me. She, of course, knew it was wrong, and said something about karma “getting” her, but she didn’t return it.

We had an AA (or “self-help”) meeting today, and Emily was there talking about karma and how she wants to get revenge on her (ex?) husband by suing him in court. Zuko nodded and said something about “taking accountability,” but it just seemed like it was about vengeance to me. Can you really make somebody take accountability for their actions?? 

Hurt people hurt people, I guess.

I tried to say stuff about forgiveness and how it’s for you and not the person who wronged you, but I don’t know if I made the point very well.

I think forgiveness might be the antidote for hate.

Maybe the doctors can prescribe that, ha ha.

See look–I just cured cancer.

I’m a genius lol.

But what if I’m right?

They’ve linked stress to heart disease and all kinds of things. I understand carcinogens and environmental pollutants and all of that, but why do people exposed to the same exact things not all get the same exact diseases?? There has to be other factors. 

If chronic anger can cause a heart attack, then I think hate and unforgiveness can cause cancer.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Now I’m just ranting.

But for real–my identical twin sister doesn’t have lupus, and we grew up in the same environment.

However–my mother loved her and hated me, which made me hate myself. Genetic predisposition+ self-hate = lupus

Every single woman with lupus that I’ve talked to said that she hated herself around the time she was diagnosed, which is usually around the teenage years.

Nobel Prize, please.

Anyway, Zuko said to me today, “I love you period,” and I replied, that that is a song, and then she suddenly launched into a tirade about how she hates this girl from high school. She was driving a car that Zuko’s friend was riding in, and the car crashed, and Zuko’s friend was thrown from the car and subsequently died. 

That song reminds Zuko of the girl, inexplicably, so she therefore hates that song.

Ugh.

She didn’t really explain that part, but I was forbidden to sing the song.

I wonder how many other hate-triggers she has. I didn’t get to tell her what that song reminded me of, which is this great teacher who taught Special Ed at Fillmore while my mother was pregnant with Cool and teaching at the same school.

During my mother’s maternity leave, this teacher drove my sister and I to school, which was 45 minutes away, and would blast rock music the whole way and smoke cigarettes.

She was also very funny and nice.

I always got a kick out of that song, so she would turn the radio all the way up whenever it came on–”I love you, period…Do you love me question mark…Please, please exclamation point…I wanna hold you in parentheses!”

I thought it was the funniest song.

I wonder how many things I won’t be allowed to talk about because Zuko hates them.

Which brings me to Stryder.

I have to tell him tomorrow that we’re not ever going to be in a relationship again. I just don’t want to, for many reasons. 

But the biggest one is that I don’t trust him.

I mean, that’s why I broke up with Motorcycle.

If prison has taught me anything, it’s that you have a fuck of a lot of time to sit and think. And even if you forgive someone, that doesn’t mean that you have to keep letting them in your life.

He’s done enough damage.

And the bad outweighs the good.

Pretty soon I won’t have anyone sending me money in here.

I called Motorcycle today, and he bitched about his upstairs neighbors for the entire phone call. True to form, he didn’t bother to ask me how I am.

Just bitched and bitched, and then I got off the phone.

Whatever.

As long as he doesn’t throw out all my stuff, I’m fine. 

Who the fuck is going to pick me up from prison if I get rid of Stryder too?

The Women’s Center, I guess.

Paul doesn’t drive long distances. I’m not tired because I drank too much coffee today. Zuko wants me to go to breakfast. I guess I’ll read.

Nope.

Still thinking.
Zuko thinks about (and cares about) Tyson a lot. It must be difficult to be locked in a fishbowl with your ex, but please. They weren’t even really together. They never had sex–they lived on different Units, for Chrissakes.

I mean–how much of a relationship could they have possibly had?

I feel like Zuko and I did more in the way of being intimate in the first two weeks than they did in nine months.

But she brings her up every day.

If not with me, then with other people.

And there was that note she sent her and didn’t tell me about. And I’m cutting people out of my life because I can’t trust them. Tyson sat next to us at lunch today and made a big show of laughing hysterically the whole time.

It bothered Zuko too much.

The note still bothers me.

That was 2/19/25, five days AFTER shower sex and risking going to the Hole for her, because I believed that she wanted to be with me and only me…I wonder if she told Tyson that she wanted to marry her too? Planned a future together?

That note was also AFTER I broke up with Motorcycle.

Because I believed in Zuko.

I believed all that stuff she was saying was true. I want to believe her. But if Cricket hadn’t walked up to us that day, I would have never known about the note. 

Zuko sure wasn’t going to tell me about it.

And then yesterday I overheard Zuko talking to Daisy, who was saying, “Oh, no, I’ve never heard her say anything bad about you…” and I walked away. I can only assume that was about Tyson. She seems to think that Tyson is SO hung up on her and is doing things to fuck with her, but it seems like she’s got that the wrong way around. It boggles my mind that she cares about Tyson at all–the bitch KILLED A CHILD ON PURPOSE.

She is obviously not a good person.

I can’t make it make sense.

Tyson literally has every red flag (and some glaring, flashing, neon signs) for being an abuser WHICH IS THE WHOLE REASON ZUKO’S IN PRISON, and she “dated” her anyway.

It’s no wonder Zuko thinks I’m a “ten.” 

Compared to Tyson, most of humanity is a “ten.”

Alanis Morrisette is on the radio singing:

“You’ve already won me over,

In spite of me,

And don’t be alarmed if I fall,

Head over feet, 

And don’t be surprised if I love you, 

For all that you are, 

I couldn’t help it, 

It’s all your fault…”

Maybe I’m just an idiot who falls in love with assholes. Maybe I’m just overcaffeinated and overtired.

But what if I’m right?

Can you love the hate out of someone?

Can you trust someone who does untrustworthy things?

Maya Angelou said:

“When people show you who they are–believe them.”

Can I fix what I didn’t break?

What would I do if I was being my bravest, truest self?

I would love her through this.

The good outweighs the bad.

“And I don’t want the world

To see me

‘Cuz I don’t think that they’d understand

When everything’s made to be broken

I just want you to know 

Who I am…”

“Oh it’s a trust fall baby

I’m not going without you

You’re not going alone

Cuz you know what you know when you know

It’s a trust fall baby

What if we just fall?”

–Pink

9:06am

I made the mistake of showing Zuko what I wrote. 

She cried.

A lot.

It turns out that I’m the asshole.

And of course this is very public crying in the Common Room with everybody watching. 

I apologized profusely, but it didn’t seem to help. She doesn’t trust me because I do this. Namely dump all of my invalid feelings on her when she’s clearly doing the best she can.

It turns out that I’m unnecessarily vicious with my words when I’m talking to myself.

This is why I’m so quiet in life.

I’ve learned that I’m an asshole if I open my mouth too fast.

She finally just said, “I don’t want to sit here like this anymore,” and got up and left.

I don’t blame her.

I feel terrible that I made her feel terrible. 

I asked her to forgive me, mostly out of desperation, and she nodded, but this is bad. I’m scared I fucked this up too badly to do anything about it.

Fuck my life.

Is this even worth doing?

Of course it’s worth doing.

Love is always worth doing.

But is that what I’m doing?

Loving her?

Because it doesn’t feel that way.

It feels like I’m being hypercritical and projecting all of my bullshit onto her.

Fuck.

I have a visit soon and I have to write her.

I wrote Zuko:

I am extremely sorry that I was hypercritical of you and projected all of my bullshit onto you. I go crazy in my head sometimes. Especially when I can’t sleep. You are clearly doing the best you can. If I’m being completely honest, I love you so much I’m terrified. I’m sabotaging this relationship.

I’m sorry.

I’ll stop.

Please forgive me.

I need you to forgive me.

I’m so sorry.

I’m unnecessarily vicious with my words when I’m talking to myself. This is why I’m so quiet in life. It turns out that I’m an asshole when I open my mouth too fast. I have learned this about myself. I’m so sorry. I want you to be able to trust me. I love you. I believe that you love me. The is a me problem. Please forgive me. I am an imperfect person and I make mistakes.

Big ones.

2pm

This is mania. This is what a Bipolar I manic phase looks like. I don’t sleep. I get mean. I don’t eat or eat very little. Stryder saw me and knew immediately. I’m not myself. I can’t help this. My entire body is shaking. My heart rate is fast and my blood pressure is high. I can feel the panic in my chest. I need to be squeezed. I am going to take a shower.

I hate Bipolar Disorder.

I think Zuko is sleeping.

I don’t know what to do.

Categories
Life Uncategorized

E-Porn, Isaiah, and dead babies

THE WOMEN’S CENTER

June 2nd, 2018

Saturday

Day 334

11:30am

Yay! I get to watch the E! Channel! It’s like my porn–it’s my guilty pleasure. Tori dyed my hair, and I’’m waiting to rinse it out–I can’t wait–I love getting my hair dyed–it always makes me feel better.

11pm

I felt like crap all day because of the weather, but on the way back from the meeting, we all sang songs, which made me feel better. 

Now Tori and I are watching some funny movie with Will Farrell and Kevin Hart about prison.

June/3/2018

Sunday

Day 335

2pm

We’re watching superhero movies on TNT. The last one was, “I Am Legend” with Will Smith. It’s good, except he has to strangle his own dog. Now “The Green Lantern is on. Fifteen minutes until my kids get here. I can’t wait. This movie is very strange.

8pm

Oh my–While I was visiting with my sponsor, Sandra decided that she was leaving–and left!! So then the police came and Mr. Big came and hauled her back here, saying it was her last chance before jail.

My, my, my.

Of course Big looked as hot as ever–grrrrrrrrrr…..I can’t stop thinking about him lately!

It’s Bad. 

Maybe Sandra has a crush on him too and just wanted to see him really bad.

Anyway, the visit with my kids went well. Tiger brought a jump rope with her, and jump-roped all around the dining room, and King told me that he had to go to the doctor for shoving a rock up his nose. I guess Jaxon was traumatized because there was so much blood, but Henry wasn’t particularly upset about it.

He’s had a history of putting things up his nose since he was small. Once I tweezed out a rubber band. 

Apparently the doctor looked in his nose, and did not think that it was in his sinuses. 

I sure hope not.

They’d need a CT scan to find that out, and I would imagine they’d have to sedate a four-year old to scan him.

Omg–there is this new show coming out where people get married first, and then get to know each other.

That sounds ridiculous.

Now we’re watching a show where some lunatic snatches a child because his former wife said that he raped her. Then he started living in a bunker underground with bombs all around it, and brings the kid with him. 

I guess it’s a true story, which is terrifying.

10pm

I guess Mr. Big was the one who stopped Sandra and made her come back to the Center. Kat says this is her last chance. Now her room is across from Big’s office.

Bed time.

June 4th, 2018

Monday

Day 336

7:30am

I got up at 5:30am today and took a shower and did my hair straight. Now we’re watching, “Say Yes to the Dress,” which makes me kind of sad.

I love weddings. I love getting married. The dress, the flowers, the music–everything.

12:30pm

On my way to Coudersport, reading my Bible again. Mr. Big thinks that this is one of the best quotes from the Bible: 

Isaiah 40:31: 

But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

They shall mount up with wings like eagles;

They shall run and not be weary;

They shall walk and not be faint.”

I guess I’ll read Isaiah.

5pm

Back at the Center–Ms. June is back. I guess rehab didn’t go so well for her. 

In any case, my doctor took X-rays of my shoulder and said that I have bone spurs and that she’s worried about a partial rotator cuff tear, so I need an MRI. The problem is that my insurance won’t pay for an MRI until I have at least six weeks of physical therapy, so that’s what I have to do for the next six weeks.

I guess my ex-brother-in-law called and want to discuss “housing options’ in case I don’t find a place before July 6th and have to stay with him for a while. I’d better call him, because he wants to move to New York, and I can’t leave the state.

June 5th, 2018

Tuesday

Day 337

8am

I talked to my ex-brother in law about NY, and he told me that he would be happy to stay in PA so that I would have a place to live, which is really generous of him.

12:30pm

TED Talk Brene Brown Vulnerability

Connection

Shame = Fear of Disconnection

Shame = I’m not good enough

Excruciating Vulnerability

Worthiness = Believed that they were worthy of a strong sense of love and belonging.

Whole-Hearted

What makes you vulnerable makes you beautiful

Shame – Core – Vulnerability – birthplace – joy

We numb…everything.

Isaiah 40:31 “Though youths grow weary and tired, avid vigorous young men stumble badly. Yet those that wait for the Lord with gain new strength;

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not be weary,

They will walk and not be faint.”

The woman in group gave a piece of paper with this on it highlighted in pink because when I was talking to another person about how her life would get better, and it reminded her of a Bible verse… * 🙂 *

2pm

Okay God, I get it. I walked into parenting class and sat down and got this 3 x 5 index card handed to me: “ I am open about sharing my religious and spiritual beliefs with my child.”

I have never spoken a word of the Gospel to my children. I thought I had the answers to everything.

NOPE.

I guess I’ll have to get on that.

June 6th, 2018

Day 338

8am

Time for Community. Tori might be leaving today. She doesn’t have anywhere to go. I don’t even think that she talked to the Big Boss about staying next door in the homeless people part of the building. I wrote her up a letter to read to the judge, so I hope it goes well for her. I also wrote Jolene up a reference letter to help her get Senior Resident, so I hope that goes well for her. She’s currently wearing a shirt that says, “New Balls Please.”

I have no idea what that means. The reading today is on avoiding self-pity. Brenda is currently stumbling through the second reading at a snail’s pace. 

Poor girl.

She doesn’t read very well.

Mr. Big hasn’t shown himself yet today…I wonder what he thought of my reference letter for Jolene. Jo has been bitching a lot lately about how much trouble she’s been in impotently. It’s super annoying. She got herself in the situation she’s in, and she’s still asking everyone for their pills!!

Sugar Momma told me the other day that she told staff about the drug seeking. I told her to, and I’m glad she did, because it’s got to stop! Just won’t let it die and be overwith!

Brenda is talking about how much she likes Family Guy. This is taking forever. Now Jo is bitching about how much stuff she has to do before tomorrow. 

Lord have mercy.

10am

I need to put in my resume at the Public Defender! Their paralegal retired! I didn’t even think of that! The Big Boss brought it up!

Great idea!

11am

Blech. Now my useless caseworker’s here.

1pm

Jolene is the new Senior Resident, and she’s desperately trying in vain to run a group on positive thinking. Oh good, Mr. Big took over.

  1. Start your day with cheers and smiles.
  2. Ask for guidance–pray! 

“Id rather have an enemy that slaps me in the face than a friend who stabs me in the back.” –Honesty

  1. Plan
  2. Set goals and prioritize
  3. Be detached from the outcome
  4. Try new things and challenges

“Worrying is paying a debt on a balance you may never owe.”

  1. Balance your desires
  2. Be realistic
  3. Keep track of your mental and physical health
  4. Love yourself
  5. Laugh
  6. Associate with positive people
  7. Make it a habit to ask questions
  8. Be open
  9. Trust in other people
  10. Learn from experience
  11. Count your blessings
  12. Kiss your worries goodbye
  13. Forgive and forget
  14. Keep a list of your goals and actions

Bible:

Isaiah:

“Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation.”

7:30pm

We’re on our way to my meeting and the AA meeting in Coudersport. The Resident Worker, Tammy, thought that it would be a good idea if everyone went to my grief group instead of the AA meeting. Unexpectedly, Tori started gushing tears and getting super upset at the thought of going to my group. She lost a baby, Brayden, at six months pregnant. I’m not sure how long ago that was. It made me realize how much pain she’s still in. I guess today in court, the judge asked her how many kids she had, and it was a real trigger for her. 

Bereaved parents never know what to say when they’re asked this question. There’s a song on the radio saying, “That which doesn’t kill me, will only make me stronger.” They don’t know whether to include the dead child along with their live ones, because when they do, it makes people uncomfortable, but when they don’t, it feels like a betrayal to the deceased child, negating their existence altogether.

I hope Tori knows how strong she is, and how much she is loved. She told me Brayden died eight years ago. That’s not very long. It is still fresh for her, an open wound.

8pm

Meeting–

This guy is talking about having his ego stroked and said, “Ask God to make me the kind of man my dog thinks I am.”

“You cannot shake a hand with a clenched fist.”

“I don’t let people walk through my mind with dirty feet.”

“And eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.”

“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

–Ghandi

11pm

We got two new women today, one just a half an hour ago. I guess she’s in her room doing some non-stop jerky-movements. June demonstrated for me. Jolene just gave me a book titled “Forgive and Forget,” by Lewis B. Smedes. 

Hm.

It’s copyright 1984. Since we got this NEW woman just now, the staff sent us all to our rooms, so of course Tori and I and June played cards in the middle of the hallways sitting on the floor and singing songs. 

It was fun.

I love Tori so much.

She’s probably one of the best friends I’ve ever had. On the way home from the meeting, we talked about the children we lost, and how it has affected us.

It was good.

******************************************************************

Categories
Life

abortions and loaves of bread

This is the first time I got to hold King and Superman together.

The years 2010-2012 are basically a slurry, foggy blur of memories because I was drinking so much. Dubya and I got divorced and he got everything–the house, the dogs, my car, and the toddler. It was like a bad country song, and I was the one left crying into my beer. 

Or my vodka, rather.

I went to rehab twice during this time, and stayed sober for the while after the second time. Prynot went back to prison for four months for a parole violation during this time, leaving me effectively homeless. Prynot was on parole for a burglary he had committed with his friends in his twenties. This was not his first parole violation. His first parole violation happened when he had a consensual sexual relationship with a 16-year old, resulting in his becoming a Registered Sex Offender in the state of New York.

I found out about this well after I already lived with him and thought I was in love with him. After Prynot went back to prison, I moved in with my sister Elizabeth and her husband Stryder, and their two (going on three) boys. I continued to see Prynot on and off when he got home from prison, and found out I was pregnant in early April of 2013. I cried–a lot–and settled on an abortion. I had abandoned the one living child I had, and had divided long ago to stick to cats, who I had much better luck with.

I went to my doctor, who confirmed that I was pregnant and told me that he didn’t perform abortions. He gave me the number to the nearest Planned Parenthood and told me I should do an ultrasound to make sure this wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy, since I’d had one before. 

The ultrasound showed that I was five weeks pregnant, and then the doctor turned to me and said, “It’s twins. I’m not kidding.”

I burst into tears.

I continued crying for about three weeks, and wrestled with myself over the thought of aborting twins. I’m a twin. I thought I was okay with one, but two? I couldn’t stomach it.

I talked with my seemingly happily married sister about her and Stryder adopting the twins, but in the end, I couldn’t stomach that either. Now that I lived with her, I saw that her marriage wasn’t all that happy either, and she drank a lot every day. 

I decided I would make it work, whatever that meant.

Lilly was now three years old, and I had visitation privileges with her a couple of times a week. I stopped drinking and taking Vicodin like it was candy. I moved in with my parents, who insisted that I get a job. I started working at the local Sheetz gas station. I also started puking uncontrollably several times per day–a condition known as hyperemesis gravidum. I could not gain weight to save my life. I was working overnights as a Shift Supervisor, and then had visitation with Tiger during some of the days. I was extremely sleep-deprived. Prynot would not change his lifestyle–namely using and selling drugs–so I broke up with him. My parents started transforming their garage into an apartment where my boys and I could live when they were born. When I was around five months pregnant and had gained barely any weight, my doctor told me to stop working. I was relieved and exhausted. I went into labor several times, and at 7 ½ months pregnant, six full weeks early, the doctors couldn’t stop it anymore. 

The boys were coming, whether we were ready or not.

On November 7, 2013, they were born via emergency C-section because I was in full-blown labor and they were both breech. The Coudersport hospital does not have a NICU, so they had wanted to fly us to Dubois, PA, but the weather was too bad. So, instead, two teams of doctors and surgeons came in two ambulances to Coudersport, and then drove the boys the two hours to Dubois. My doctor said that the OR had never been that crowded. He also told me when I woke up from general anesthesia that I had “bled from everywhere possible.” I lost a third of my blood volume in the surgery. I recovered for one day, then drove myself in the car I had bought from my sister to Dubois. I had no money and 50 staples across my belly.

The boys were born at about 3 ½ pounds apiece and 12 inches long.

They were about the size of a loaf of bread.

I had never seen such tiny humans. Enter Superman and King. They were jaundiced and needed to reach five pounds before they could be discharged.  We stayed for three weeks. There was a nonprofit that served the parents of NICU babies if they were poor, putting them up in a local hotel and paying for meals, but they turned out to be too Christian to help me, and I wasn’t Christian enough for them.

The husband of the couple who ran the organization came to interview me, and my heart sank when he asked me as an intake question how many fathers there were to my five children. 

They wouldn’t help me because there were three.

So I slept in the “Nesting Room,” meant to facilitate bonding for families about to be discharged, and when that wasn’t available, I slept on the couch in the waiting room. I was nursing every two hours, and I wasn’t about to leave the babies there with nobody.

Needless to say, I was exhausted.

And in an enormous amount of pain.

And hungry.

I had a Food Stamp card, but the hospital didn’t accept EBT as a method of payment, and even a salad was $10 in the cafeteria. So I walked to the nearest supermarket and bought food there. One night my mother bought me a small pizza.

Thanks for all your help, Mom.

Categories
Life

Bipolar 1, tigers, and criminal charges

Justine kissing Ethan with all of her love.

Wednesday

3/20/2024

8am

The phones are down. I have a phone call at 9:45am, of course. They only gave me eight Mobic (anti-inflammatory pill), and I don’t know how to get it refilled.

Ugh.

They’re acting like it’s a prn (as needed), and it’s definitely not. I have to take that every day. I’ll ask the nurse if they ever decide to call meds.

I asked.

The prison nurse said it’s a prn and that I have to put in a Sick Call paper. 

That’s great.

Like–I have lupus every day, not eight times per month.

Assholes.

I have some Psych appointment at 1:15pm.

Fun times.

Of course, on the way back from  meds, Daisy told me a story about someone she was related to who had lupus, but died at 35 years old. 

Gangrene.

Lovely.

How did I know that was coming?

12pm

They gave us like five seconds to eat in the Chow Hall. 

Ridiculous.

I’m going to go check the kiosk.

No messages.

2pm I went to my Psych appointment, and the Nurse Practitioner told me that they don’t have the Abilify injection and I can’t stay on Wellbutrin. 

Cool.

I’m now reading a book called, “Conversations with Nostradamus.” In it, I found a request slip to the Superintendent here from an inmate that asks why she is on two different antibiotics, and then asks: “Are y’all trying to make me sick? … It seems like you’re milking me for every little penny that I have. This facility receives what, about $1,700 a day for me being here? Three meals that average around $0.19 each? I don’t understand. My charges were dropped before coming here, then PA picked up my case before I got to this point. After that, I was oversentenced, when I should have went [sic] home in December.”

Sounds about right.

The request slip is dated 2/11/24.

I checked the kiosk and Motorcycle and Gem finally got my letters. They both sent nice messages.

Thursday

3/21/24

10:30am

So, I went to the therapist today and she made me cry.

Ugh.

Asking me questions about my kids and shit.

Then, of course, she followed up with asking me if I wanted to kill myself, probably because she made me cry.

In other news, I guess my aunt put some money on my books, because my mother is blocked from doing it. She messaged me on the kiosk and so did Motorcycle and Gem. Gem mostly talks about how unfair it is that I am here, and Motorcycle mostly talks about how much he misses me.

What a sweetheart.

Currently, Burgundy and Daisy are both doing Burgundy’s homework. I guess Burgundy recruited Daisy against her will. I don’t think I like Burgundy very much. She’s always talking about how she’s such a good person and God this and blessings that…it’s very tiring. Then, of course, she has to point out that  most everyone else in the world is not a good person, according to her.

Spare me. 

4pm

So I went to that therapist this morning, then to get my Driver’s License renewed, then parole. The parole lady basically coerced me into waiving my parole hearing, and then made me sign a paper saying that I wasn’t coerced. At first I said no, and then she put down her pen, stared at me for an uncomfortably long time, then listed all of the reasons I should waive it.

Sounds like the DOC.

She already had the waiver paperwork filled out before I got there. 

Fuck my life.

Then she gave me paperwork with my charges:

2/27/24

Resisting arrest/other law enforcement (M2)

Disorderly conduct engaging in fighting (M3)

Resisting arrest/other law enforcement (M2)

Disorderly conduct hazardous (M3)

Also, the phones are working on every other unit, but not this one.

7pm

Motorcycle messaged me. He’s worried I’m not okay because I sent him a short message. I’m fine, I just keep writing short messages because the kiosks seem to be a favorite hangout for some very nosy people. It’s very uncomfortable to write personal messages with strangers all around me. 

The ladies next door are talking about how one of them mailed a grey hair home to show how prison ages a person.

If they only knew how true that is.

******************************************************************

After Kaylee died, I found myself penniless and stuck living with my parents in the armpit of Pennsylvania (also known as “God’s Country”), Potter County.

I was suddenly childless, and for the first time since I was 15, jobless. I had a useless Vet Tech degree and license, and now, nothing to do with my life. I was also floundering in a sea of grief after burying two babies, struggling with undiagnosed PTSD, and depressed out of my mind. I got a meaningless job as a bartender to match my meaningless life.

This is where I met nice, sweet Dubya. He had a John Cusack in “Say Anything” air about him, and kind of looked like him too. I met him in a bar, of course. I could imagine him holding a radio above his head outside my bedroom window, and we went on seven dates in seven days.

I fell so fast and so hard for him that I nearly cracked my head wide open.

You shoulda heard the thud.

I was desperate for any excuse to get out of my parent’s house, so we moved in together pretty quickly. As  my mother would accuse me later– “You were happy.” 

And I was as happy as I could be at the time, I guess. Dubya was always good to me, and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes.

Then Tiger was born three days after Christmas 2009. My life should have been perfect. Tiger was as healthy as a baby could be, and I was married to the nicest, sweetest man I had ever met up until that point in my life.

However, I couldn’t find a job, and my vodka problem had come back with a vengeance, along with its sister, a Vicodin problem. I was still struggling mightily with PTSD symptoms, and it turns out I am also bipolar and didn’t know it, and so wasn’t treated for it. Things got really bad when Tiger was about five weeks old and my sister Elizabeth (who lived with us at the time) and I decided to go out to the bar that was located basically in our front yard.

We went.

I got blackout drunk after not drinking for 10 months and started screaming at the rain.

When I came to several hours later, I was still sobbing and repeating, “I can’t do this anymore,” over and over again, through gritted teeth.

It was around 3am, and my poor husband (and Elizabeth) didn’t quite know what to do with me. I was sitting outside in the freezing cold at the end of January and refused to come inside. 

They called my mother.

She came, and they took me to the hospital, which referred me to a psychiatric facility. This was my introduction to Bipolar I Disorder with Psychotic Features, which wouldn’t be diagnosed formally until 2015, long after the effects of it had ruined my life.

Categories
Uncategorized

Vodka and dead babies

Kaylee Marie Kenley smiles at her Mommy at 10 weeks old.

So, on November 24th, 2001, I married Bobo the Sperm Guy. Life got pretty bad. It turned out that we both had a pretty bad vodka problems at the time, made worse by the fact that he was a screamer when he got drunk.

And a thrower-of-furniture.

And a rapist, among other things.

He had Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder something fierce, and if everything in the entire apartment wasn’t just so, he would fly into a blind rage.

We stayed at our year-long lease in Scranton and then moved to Pittsburgh, where I planned to go to The Median School of Allied Health Careers and finally become a licensed veterinary technician, which I did.

We decided around November of 2003 to get a divorce. Then wonder of wonders, I found out I was pregnant immediately after finding out that I had passed the State Board Exam and would be licensed as a vet tech. 

I dumped the celebratory  bottle of vodka I had bought myself down the drain and told Bobo. We decided to stay together “for the baby’s sake.”

We did not stay together. 

I moved out when I was seven months pregnant because I could not imagine subjecting a child to our horrible relationship. I have started substitute teaching at the school I had graduated from, and would soon be working there full-time as a vet tech instructor. 

While my personal life was falling apart, my career was taking off. And I was going to have a baby! I loved my new crappy one-bedroom apartment, and I loved my life for once. I could do it, ex-husband’s-to-be be damned.

I knew I could do it. 

Until I couldn’t.

My son Ethan was born with a fatal skin condition called Junctional-Herlitz Epidermolysis Bullosa. Put simply, his skin would not stay on his body, and you can’t live without your skin. Put no-so-simply, there are protein fibers called anchoring fibrils that anchor the top layer of skin–the epidermis–to the underneath layer of skin–the dermis. People with JEB-H are missing these anchoring fibrils completely or have very few of them. This results in blisters and missing skin anywhere on the body that is subject to any mechanical friction. 

And mechanical friction can mean anything from rubbing to just picking up and holding. They call these babies “Butterfly Babies” because their skin is so fragile, it’s like butterfly wings.

They also call EB “The Worst Disease You’ve Never Heard Of,” because it’s so incredibly rare. But I am a carrier of the gene that causes EB, and so is Bobo. This means that with every pregnancy from the two of us, there is a 25% chance that the baby will have JEB-H. It should be noted that there are less severe subtypes of EB, such as Dystrophic and Simplex, that are more survivable than JEB-H, but nobody gets out of Junctional alive, and average lifespan is six months. 

Ethan lived seven.

I didn’t know how to exist after Ethan died. 

Like–how to breathe or function. He had taken up every second of my time with all of his various special needs, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself when he died. 

And I didn’t know this yet, but I had developed PTSD too, somewhere along the way, so I began having nightmares and flashbacks.

I got another job to fill up my time. I also joined an animal rights group called Voices for Animals and started fostering insane numbers of cats. 

I moved.

I quit my wonderful job at the school and went back into practice full-time.

I basically went bat-shit crazy.

I went back to college.

I moved again.

And then–in a supreme fit of agony/loneliness/lunacy,

three years after Ethan died, I got back together with Bobo the Sperm Guy.

Worst. 

Decision.

Ever.

Even though I was on birth control, inexplicably, we got pregnant.

Again.

My nice, sweet, Indian doctor who had delivered Ethan offered me an abortion. 

I thought long and hard about that, but after losing my only child to a horrific illness, I couldn’t give up a 75% chance at a perfectly normal, healthy baby.

There is no prenatal test for EB.

My daughter Kaylee is born.

She has JEB-H too.

I move back home with my parents to take care of her full time (Bobo and I had split at five months pregnant this time).

I spend my days changing bandages and hating myself.

Kaylee Marie Kenley dies at three months old.

* If you have any interest in knowing about the eternal torture of losing a child (or two, for that matter), I published a journal I wrote during the year that Kaylee lived and died on Amazon. It’s called Kidowed–I made up a name for people who have lost children because I was mad that there wasn’t one. Like widowed, but for kids.

Get it?