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Life Uncategorized

TEDx Talks, “Inshitivism,” and Toni Morrison

MUNCY STATE PRISON

November 25th, 2024

Monday

My reaction to Muncy TEDx Talks:

“Your mistakes don’t have to define you” and all of that is fine on its face, but none of those women have actually been to prison. Being an ex-con DOES define you forever, and that’s just reality. In the job market, whether you can go to college or do certain professions, in custody cases, even in getting housing in the future. We in REALITY, have many less opportunities than we did before. Do you think I’M going to be appointed by the governor and living my best life if I “make good choices” in the future?
That’s just bullshit.

What nobody’s addressing is that mass incarceration in the United States is real, and the system is rigged for recidivism. What nobody is saying is that what brings most women to prison is addiction, trauma, and mental illness, and THOSE AREN’T CHOICES.

November 26th, 2024

Kaylee’s birthday

Tuesday

New word: 

“Inshitivism”–a decline in business.

November 27th, 2024

Wednesday

4:16pm


We didn’t shop today, which really, REALLY sucks. Now we won’t go until Monday. I have no coffee or e-cigs.

Fuck.

Book: 

The Poets and Writers Complete Guide to Being a Writer: Everything You Need to Know About Craft, Inspiration, Agents, Publishing, and the Business of Building a Sustainable Writing Career © 2020

P, 4

“Toni Morrison was acutely aware of the writer’s unique ability to make sense of the great suffering inherent in the human experience. ‘Certain kinds of trauma visited on peoples are so deep, so cruel, that unlike money, unlike vengeance, even unlike justice, or rights, or the goodwill of others, only writers can translate such trauma and turn sorrow into meaning, sharpening the moral imagination,’ the Nobel laureate said upon accepting the 2008 PEN/Borders Literary Service Award in New York City.”

Categories
Life Uncategorized

Homelessness, Character Assassination, and Valentine’s Day

WOMEN’S CENTER

February 12th, 2018

Day 224

Monday

8am

On my way to Smethport to see my therapist. I got into a fight with my mother yesterday during the visit. I had to ask her if I could come live in the apartment they built for me and the twins when they were born. Of course she said no, and then proceeded to berate me for the rest of the visit on “taking responsibility.”

God.

Like I need to hear it from her. 

That’s all I hear about from anybody these days. She said, “Look at my face, Jessica! I’m exhausted! Your father is exhausted!”

Anyway, we have Christian Radio Driver. He’s so nice.

I have a weird situation at work: there are two guys fighting over me, and I wouldn’t date either of them. One is 23 and the other is 47. They both are kind of awkward and goofy-looking, and I’m nice to them, which is probably why they’ve attached to me. They both asked me out on Saturday, to which I said no to both; and then they proceeded to get into a fight in front of me about each others’ respective ages, one insisting that the other was as old as the hills, and the other saying that the other was an infant.

Then they both seemed like infants to me. 

How dumb.

Two grown men fighting over an unavailable woman. The 47-year old made me a flower out of twist-ties that was surprisingly intricate, and the 23-year old asked to have lunch with me and walk me out at the end of the day. 

Ugh.

I feel like I have to “break up” with both of them, and we’re not even dating!

How stupid.

In other news, my new med, Sulfasalazine, is seeming to be working wonders–my body barely hurts after work except for my feet, and even they don’t hurt as much as they used to. 

Of course Mr. Big wouldn’t let me keep my comfy mattress when he moved my room (again), so I’m pretty sore in the mornings again. I told him that I called him a jerk several times in my journals when he asked me if I was “character assassinating” him, and he called me immature.

I’ll take it.

I do like him a lot more than I did at first–sometimes he gives very good advice, and he’s smart and funny–but he still can be a jerk at times. Like everybody, I suppose. I think I’m developing a slight crush on him, actually. Maybe more than slight…

I hope I don’t turn into Tori–she seems to be hopelessly infatuated with him and asks me and Nickolai all of the time if we think he “likes” her [in a romantic way]. I just tell her that even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it–he would lose his job if he did. 

Speaking of Tori and Nickolai–they’ve invited me to get an apartment with them–which seems like an Act Of God at this point–I really don’t have any other options except living with Ken, and I wouldn’t be able to have my kids there. 

That fight with my mother is weighing heavily on my mind–all of the things she said keep going around and around in my head–she’s such a fucking bitch. She just took the opportunity to say every nasty thing that she’s thought about for the past year that she wasn’t speaking to me in.

Also, I worry a lot about Nikolai and Tori using–they are both heroin addicts. We would have to have an iron-clad agreement about absolutely no drugs. Drugs would be an absolute disaster for all of us–we all have children to think about.
God, I hope this works out.

Hopefully, I would get out in April, and live in our shared apartment until June, and then they would move in. We’ll have to talk about money because they will have to be helping for the months of May and June…I hope it doesn’t get too complicated. 

They both have applications in to Medplast–I hope they can do it. Of course I feel like if I can do it, anybody can.

11am

Therapy went fine. We didn’t do any EMDR because I was so busy bitching about my week…or my mother, rather. She’s what I talked about the most, I guess. She has a way of getting under my skin and just sitting there, festering, like a boil.

I hate that. 

Her words always have this sting to them that can hurt me more than anybody else’s. 

Anyway, I figure that I’ll be making $1184 per month, so if Tori, Nikolai, and I all work full time, we can make $3552/month. If Nikolai doesn’t work, Tori and I will make $2368/month. I figure the average three bedroom is $700/month, so that should be manageable. I need to get a newspaper and look at the listings for apartments. We’re picking up Nickolai at the hospital, so I’ll look there and see if they have a paper. 

February 13th, 2018

Day 225

Tuesday

9am

On my way to Crossroads for group. I missed my individual yesterday because The Big Boss forgot to schedule transportation for me, but I didn’t mind too much. It was nice to have some down time.

While I was transcribing my journal onto a flashdrive, Mr. Big walked in, and I told him that I officially withdrew my application for senior resident because it’s been two months without hearing anything, and he said, “You can’t. You already are senior resident.”

Nice. 

He could’ve told me!

 I’m excited about the opportunity, though. He said we’ll go over today what it entails, so that’s pretty cool.

In other news, I got Lilly a Guardian Ad Litem appointed for her without having to go to court, so that’s more good news.

I’m not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow–there are now two guys that are after me, neither of which I would date. They actually got into an argument over me in front of me, which was embarrassing, like I am a piece of meat to be sold at auction and not an autonomous human being who makes decisions of her own accord. I wonder what they would think if they knew that the decision simply wasn’t up to them, duh!

It’s up to ME!

Idiots.

Idiots abound everywhere.

Treating women like this–Well, I Never.

12pm

Group is over. I talked about how worried I was over this moving in thing with Tori and Nikolai. There’s a lot that could go wrong. I just really, really, really hope it works out. 

Now I have to wait for Tori to get out of individual therapy. They always have the worst music in this waiting room. 

It’s very nice and sunshiney out today. On the walls here it says things like, “Be joyful!” and, “Life doesn’t get easier, we get stronger.”

Life does seem ridiculously hard sometimes. I’m cautiously excited about leaving the Women’s Center, even though I don’t know when I’m leaving yet. 

I hope to God I can leave in April.

More signs: 

“One Day At A Time,” and “Happiness comes from your thoughts.”

Does it?

The one day at a time sign reminds me of Sandra Bullock in the movie “28 Days,” saying, “What is that?! Like taking two, three days at a time is an option?!”

Funny.

Today must be the day that Elvis died or something. The radio keeps playing news clips about his death. 

Oh, bad 70’s music–”Sooner or later, love is gonna win…”

Coming here makes me want to check my Facebook something fierce. Everybody is always on their phones. No phone for me. I guess that’s addicts for you. Gotta be addicted to something. 

I miss my phone so much.

I can’t even get into it now because Ike put a number password on it for some reason and I don’t remember it. 

I sure don’t miss him.

There’s a poor beta fish behind the glass in this waiting room with less than a piece of paper’s worth of space to spin around in. And he’ll probably spend his whole life in that space, poor thing. Why do we cage other creatures all of the time? Why can’t we just let them be? 

I wonder if fish ever commit suicide?

I know there have been cases of dogs and horses doing it. 

Mr. Big showed me a video on his phone of a whale exploding today because Tori and I were talking about spontaneous combustion. 

Gross and bizarre.

I just wish I had a crystal ball to tell me what is going to happen in the future. 

The group therapist says that, statistically, Tori, Nickolai, and I have a low probability of “making it,” which I assume means staying clean. 

I so hope it works out. 

I have to stop obsessing about it. 

And catastrophizing about the situation. 

I’m good at that. 

“Don’t you want somebody to love”–on the radio– why, no, I don’t. What a pain in the ass romantic relationships are. Now I have to “break up” with these guys tomorrow, or at least set them straight. 

Speaking of straight, maybe I’ll tell them that I’m gay! They would probably just be like, “Challenge accepted!” based on their past behavior of pursuing me even though I haven’t expressed the slightest bit of interest in them. 

OMG tomorrow is Valentine’s Day!!!!

Oh NO.

Oh MAN!!

What if they got me things??!

FUCK!

FML. 

Categories
Life Uncategorized

Walking Pneumonia, Plea Deals, and Words to Live By

MUNCY STATE PRISON

September 25th, 2024

Wednesday

1:46pm

Swiper has walking pneumonia and bronchitis. I was sick too with whatever virus caused it, but I got over it without antibiotics. She, on the other hand, is as sick as a dog. It’s alarming to me that her immune system is worse than mine, and I have lupus.

Bambi and Daisy got into a monstrous fight the other day and now are best friends again. I don’t get it. During the fight, Bambi shrieked that Daisy even talks shit about me, which shouldn’t surprise me, but did. Daisy apparently thinks that I don’t have remorse for my crime, but should. Like–what–are YOU the parole board? You’ve been using drugs since you were 14 and abandoned your SEVEN children BEFORE you went to prison, if you want to play the judgment game, miss.

Ugh.

But I don’t want to play. 

I don’t. 

Whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better. 

And she calls Bambi high and mighty.

Whatever.

It doesn’t make me feel any better to sling shit at her. I abandoned my child, too. I’m so tired of this place. Exhausted of it, really. I wasn’t on the callout for that drug and alcohol class today. I can’t believe I’m still just sitting here.

Bambi is apparently jealous of Daisy and I being friends, because she brought it up that Daisy talks to me about her kids and not her, so she’s probably trying to drive a wedge between Daisy and I. 

Well, she wins.

Now Daisy ONLY talks to Bambi.
They have their own Mean Girls Club.

Daisy was distraught the other day because she found out her 12-year old daughter is smoking pot. Her solution was to call CYS on the lady that voluntarily took in four of Daisy’s kids when her mother died. How would that solve anything?? Her kids are going to end up in foster care, and it’s going to be her fault. I helped her write a victim impact statement yesterday because her ex-husband is being sentenced soon for the rape of their daughter. Then I wondered to myself how asking a judge for “the maximum punishment allowable by law” meshes with my own person views that all prisons should be abolished.

Short answer: It doesn’t.

I have to write this book. I have about 20 pages written. I never had trouble writing about myself before, but it seems now that I do. It’s just one terrible life event after another, all strung together. It’s beyond depressing, so I’m breaking it up with journal entries from my time here, blogs, and interviews. I’m going to need some more interviews.

September 27th, 2024

Friday


I have court on Tuesday to get sentenced. I wonder what I’ll get. Hopefully no house arrest.

Daisy told me the other day that Morocco told Bambi that I let Burgundy read the manuscript that Bambi recruited me to write about her life and mostly about her affair with a Baptist pastor that ended badly. According to Burgundy, we were making fun of Bambi after I let her read it. 

Now, this seems extra-hateful.

I did not let her read it, although she did ask to. Why has Burgundy been talking shit about me for six months straight? Doesn’t she have better things to do?? 

Apparently not.

First, I’m racist and I stink. Now, I can’t be trusted with personal information. 

Now Bambi hates me. 

Of course.

September 29th, 2024

Sunday

4:40pm

I’ve been vaping way too much. It’s Sunday, I’m out of e-cigarettes, and I already owe four out on Friday. 

It’s bad.

At least I have the money to pay them back, but it seems that nobody else does, so Zuko’s prices went up.

Sucks.

I guess I won’t have any more this week, which makes me anxious and uncomfortable, especially with sentencing coming up on Tuesday.

Ugh.

Babi hasn’t spoken to me at all, which isn’t unusual for her, but there’s a hostility behind it now. 

Whatever.

Here’s what I don’t get–if she wanted to make her story a book EVERYONE would read, who cares if Burgundy DID read it? Bambi’s the one who wanted to make it public in the first place!

Make it make sense.

October 1st, 2024

Tuesday 

5:07pm

I got sentenced today to six months in the Women’s Center and four years of probation. Another six months locked up, and I won’t be out of here until December. 

That’s another 15 months of my life gone.

Then stupid Daisy attacks me for being upset, blaming me for not taking the plea deal from the DA. 

House arrest would have been better.

It’s like Daisy is so feelings–averse that she can’t stand it when anyone else is upset about anything. She reminds me of my mother. She goes into attack mode. Like–this has literally nothing to do with you, asshole.
Leave me alone.

I’m allowed to be upset.

Then I called Motorcycle, and he said he could hear it in my voice that I don’t want to be with him anymore. 

Like–what??

First of all, am I that transparent? 

And secondly–what??

I wasn’t even talking about our relationship. I was talking about being sentenced to six more Goddamn fucking months of incarceration. Like–this is not how I expected people to react. I told him that it was a lot to ask of him to stay with me through this. 

He said his feelings for me haven’t changed.

I started crying.

 I said I didn’t know if he could visit, because he has a violent crime on his record. He said if the DOC hadn’t picked it up, probably the Women’s Center wouldn’t either.

I don’t know.

I don’t know if I want to be with him anymore.

He didn’t help me when I needed him the most, and it’s hard for me not to blame this 15 months wasted on him. If I had more supportive people in my life, this wouldn’t keep happening to me. The DA even mentioned “holes in the system” that led to my incarceration in the first place, and said he’s in “meetings” to address this problem.
All I keep thinking is “another six months, another six months, I don’t know if I can do this for another six months.

Fuck my fucking life.

Another six months.

I should have taken the house arrest. 

 I hate my life.

5:30pm

They still haven’t cleared count. We’re never going to eat. It’s raining. I messaged Stryder, Paul, and Gem. I wonder what they’ll say about my sentence. So far, Kelly next door has been the only one who said she was sorry when she heard about it, which was nice of her.

Swiper didn’t say anything.

I asked her for a cigarette, and she said no.

 Then she had five or six cigarettes on her bed and was charging them. She could have at least offered me a recharge. She wouldn’t even have those cigarettes if it wasn’t for me.

October 4th, 2024

Friday

1pm


Daisy came up to me later after she yelled at me for being upset and asked me if I wanted a hug. 

I said no, I’m sweaty.

She gave me a hug anyway.
That was nice of her. I told her I feel like I’m not allowed to be upset around her. She said she can’t deal with people being sad or disappointed.

I know this about her.

Really, she’s the only good friend I have here. She told me Bambi’s jealous of my friendship with her. 

I know this, too.

I finished Glorie Steinem’s book “My Life on the Road.” Here’s some excerpts about mass incarceration and organizing ( © 2016)

P. 37 

“I could see then, because the Gandhians listened, they were listened to. Because they depended on generosity, they created generosity. Because they walked a nonviolent path, they made one seem possible. This was the practical organizing wisdom they taught me. 

If you want people to listen to you, you have to listen to them. 

If you hope people will change how they live, you have to know how they live.

If you want people to see you, you have to sit down with them eye-to-eye.”

P. 236

“As a former inmate, he wanted George W. Bush, governor of Texas at the time, to be held accountable for privatizing twenty-six prisons in that state alone.

It doesn’t make long to discover the main endive behind this profit-making motive: the American Legislative Exchange Council–a center of corporate political activism that also opposed tax increases and environmental protections–writes legislation and lobbies for the privitization of prisons. It has helped to elect about 30 percent of all our state legislators. If today’s graduating university students indentured by debt want to find a cause, they can look at most state legislatures, where tax dollars that should go into state universities are put into building and running government-owned prisons for profit…In New York City, the amount spent on housing, feeding, and guarding one person in prison for a year could pay the tuition at Harvard for more than three years.

P. 237

What struck me was not how different women in prison are, but how un-different. Inside, women tend to form family-like groups, blame themselves unreasonably, worry more about their children than about themselves, stelize uniforms to look a little better, need kindness, and want to tell their stories. What’s different is not who those women are but the higher percentage of them who have been abused as children or denied an education for forced to fight back in self-defense and then been criminalized for it.”

P. 241

“I am reminded of Bryan Stevenson’s four steps for creating change, in the secret world of prisons or elsewhere: 

There is power in proximity. Get close to the problem you feel drawn to. 

Change the narrative.

Stay hopeful.

Be willing to do uncomfortable things. 

Secrets have power only as long as they are secret.

P. 266

You cannot think yourself into right living.

You live yourself into right thinking.”

–Native Elders

P. 277

“Anybody who is experiencing something is more expert in it than the experts.”

8:30pm

Kelly orchestrated an AA meeting in the Day Room, so I attended. It was really nice. 

Categories
Life Uncategorized

Prison Blog, Prison Stats, and Portugal

Muncy State Prison

August 4th, 2024

Sunday

BLOG #8

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

Welp, in Muncy news, an ambulance came here because while in the Hole, some lady stuck her finger in a hole in the door, and so a hole had to be cut in the door to get it out. 

Holy crap.

Pun intended.

As Kimberly would say, she must’ve been drinking slow juice. 

In around the Block News, Daisy and Morocco are busy doing prison tattoos. Morocco is getting some woman’s name on her finger covered up with a tiny mustache.

It’s not going well.

Daisy’s also working on making her own dream interpretation book. She’s going to call it, “Bitch, Wake Up!”

In other news, Swiper has finger toes that she used to jerk off a man, and Kimberly has a friend with a toe-thumb that he used to finger her. 

Just kidding. 

But I’m not telling about which part.

It turns out that Swiper has some of the old-style colored pencils that you can use as makeup if you soak them in water, so Daisy did her face up like a clown and then jumped out from behind the wall to scare Swiper. Before this, Daisy was going through all of the pencils and Kimberly was competing with her in the style of, “I see your red pencil and I raise you one clicky pen,” or “half a green pencil,” or “one yellow marker.”

Funny.

So, another Jail Urban Legend is apparently that if someone makes you a bracelet and you wear it, then they have permission to anally rape you.

Swiper just called Kimberly a fat pig because she got ice cream tickets, and Kimberly said, “HEY! That’s MISSUS fat pig to you!”

Swiper says that another Jail Urban Legend is that if you have crocheted rings and you walk around the track three times, you’re married. Kimber then chimed in that if you walk backward, you’re divorced and you can keep the dog.

Kimberly also said recently that there’s a CO in the kitchen who karate-chops your vagina during pat searches for fun.

Another CO walked by Kimberly last night, and she whispered under her breath, “Hey, how’d you get your beard to grow in all White Trash like that?”

Other jail terminology you should know are as follows:

“I’m fucked up ‘boutchoo” = I’m going to love you forever and get your name tattooed on my finger. 

“Bulldaggin” = running out to all the shit to see your boo. Ex.: Pushing Orca all the way to the Infirmary in her wheelchair in a snowstorm for a glimpse of your girlfriend. 

“Battleshits” – when you and your buddy are both in the bathroom taking a poop and your serial courtesy flushing becomes a contest. 

And lastly, Kimberly and Swiper think that I light up when Zuko is around. They think we should be together.

So now I’m gay. 

Again.

Well here’s what I have to say about that: I see your finger toes and raise you a tiny mustache.

August 8th, 2024

Thursday

I signed my open plea agreement today and sent it back to my lawyer. I don’t know if they’re going to accept it because they sent it through Florida, so there’s no original copy. I told them to send it through legal mail next time. Like–they act like they’ve never done this before.

Ridiculous.

Gem says that there are no court dates for me on padockets.com.

Units C, E, and G have COVID. 

August 9th, 2024

Friday

In this book, Drug Use for Grownups,” Dr. Carl L. Hart is comparing heroin related deaths to gun deaths and car accidents. He says that every year forty thousand people die from guns, with over have of these deaths due to suicide, while heroin related deaths, at their peak in 2017, were about fifteen thousand. And additional forty-thousand people each year die in car accidents. 

Hm. 

Then there’s Portugal, where drug use was decriminalized, and heroin use subsequently dropped from 100,000 to 25,000. In 2016, Portugal had six deaths per million from drugs, while the U.S. had 312 deaths per million.

August 10th, 2024

Saturday

Cool isn’t doing well. My parents are going to Vermont to see him, although they don’t know if he’ll actually see them. He’s acting bipolar. He won’t get help. I wonder if I should write him a letter.  I’m so worried about him. My mother seems to think he’s on drugs too. And the police did press charges for that motorcycle accident he had a year ago. I don’t know what the charges are, but he doesn’t want to plead guilty to something he didn’t do. 

Join the club, man. 

Join the fucking club.

August 12th, 2024

Monday

Another woman tried to hang herself on J Unit on Saturday, allegedly in Cell 33, the same cell another woman tried to hang herself in. The story is that a Lieutenant was screaming at her for some reason, and then she went in her cell and hung herself. They cut her down, and she survived. No word on her name or any other details.


August 14th 2024

Wednesday

Modified lockdown today. Daisy’s very worried that this neighbor lady of her mother’s who took three of her kids is going to try to keep them. She wants me to help her write a letter to the judge tonight. I’m afraid this lady is going to go for permanent custody and Daisy will have to fight her when she gets out in a  year with no resources to get them back.

August 15th, 2024

Thursday

We keep getting more and more people in here. There’s somewhere around 80 people on this Block now. 

I’m reading Betty Friedan’s “The Feminine Mystique,” and I can relate. When I was married to Dubya, I just couldn’t believe that THAT was all there was to life, this being a housewife and mother. 

The feelings eventually destroyed me, and my marriage.

August 20th, 2024

Tuesday

COVID continues to spread here. When I was at the Infirmary this morning with Ms. Grumpy Crabass for insulin, a nurse came out and said, “You won yourself a mask,” to the woman directly behind me. When she asked why, he told her she tested COVID positive.

Something else that’s going on here is that there’s a rumor that we’re all getting moved to Coal Township near Pittsburgh while they fix all the asbestos and sewage problems here.

In other news, I’m reading the March 2022 issue of Prison Legal News (Vol. 33 No. 3) published by the Human Rights Defense Center, and one of the articles is called, “Department of Justice Reports on Two Decades of Prisoner Suicides” by Matt Clarke. 

Here are some excerpts:

“Nationwide, prisoners are four times as likely to take their own lives as the average American. The deaths are violent, too, with nine of ten people who’ve killed themselves in lockups dying from suffocation by hanging or self-strangulation. 

Even more cruel: Over three-quarters were pretrial detainees who had not been convicted of a crime.

Those are some of the top-line results of a report published by the U.S. Department of Justice in October 2021, analyzing prisoner suicides from 2000 through 2019. 

From 2001 to 2019, suicides accounted for 5% to 8% of all deaths among those incarcerated in prisons, and 24% to 35% of jail prisoner deaths.

The overall U.S. share of deaths due to suicide, by comparison, was just 1.7%…Jail suicides were concentrated in the largest jails, of those reporting no suicides, the median bed count was 110 beds, while for those reporting one suicide it was 305 beds, and for those with two or more suicides, it was 1,296 beds.

While over half of jail suicides happened within the first 30 days of incarceration, the majority of prison suicides were committed by those who had already served over a year of their sentence.

In both jails and prisons, most suicides occurred in the prisoner’s cell or room during daylight hours…

The predominant demographic to commit suicide behind bars was non-Hispanic White males…

In prisons at both the state and federal level, the highest rates were recorded among the newest prisoners, declining with the length of time served. 

Over the 20-year period covered, the report documents nearly 6,200 prisoner suicides, emphasizing the need for improvement in suicide prevention among the incarcerated. 

This could start with more humane treatment of prisoners in general–especially those newly arriving in local jails.”

Here’s another article from Prison Legal news (same issue) on recidivism:

“Justice Department Releases Ten-Year Recidivism Study”

Follows a half-million state prisoners released in 2008 by Matt Clarke excerpts:

“From 2016 through 2019, the last years for which reliable data are available, about 10.5 million arrests were made in the U.S. annually.

Averaged over a decade, that’s less than one arrest for every three people. But a new study shows how previous incarceration increases those odds many-fold: Ten years after release, 82% of state prisoners had been arrested again–an average of nearly SEVEN ARRESTS EACH.

The majority of those prisoners, 62% had also returned to prison…Around 43% were arrested within a year of release and 66% by the end of the third year…But age was strongly correlated to arrest rate, with the youngest releases being arrested at twice the rate of the oldest.

Drug crimes accounted for 30.3% of the released prisoners’ most serious commitments offenses, compared to 29.6% for property crimes, 24.5% for violent crimes, and 15.7% for crimes against public order…

Males were more likely to be arrested within the first year than females, 44% vs. 34%…

During the first year, Blacks (45%) and Hispanics (44%) were arrested at similar rates which were higher than that of Whites (40%)…

What this study lays out in stark terms is the fact that an arrest is the strongest driver of a future re-arrest. ‘Repeated arrests,’ as noted by the Prison Policy Initiative, are related to race and poverty as well as high rates of mental illness and substance use disorders. There are far better ways to address these social, economic, and health problems than through incarceration.”

Categories
Life Uncategorized

Daisy’s Mother, Crystal Leschner, and Chasing Liberty

Muncy State Prison

July 26th, 2024

Friday

6:47pm

I’m just going to take the open plea to the judge and see how that goes. I’m not going to do any better with that fucking DA. I can feel it in my bones. I called my mother and told her. She seems to think it’s the right decision. I asked her about Lilly. She said she’s going to Alaska next week with her Dad. Daisy and Morocco are busy doing prison tattoos. Morocco is getting some woman’s name on her finger covered up with a tiny mustache. It’s not going well.

July 27th, 2024

Saturday

An old Black lady grabbed my arm as I walked past the other day and exclaimed, “Oh my, honey, why is your arm so bruised?” I looked down at my arm, confused. “Oh. That’s where I used to shoot up,” I said flatly. “Oh!” she said, and gripped me with both hands, “Lord Jesus! Please heal her!”

I muttered thank you, wrested my arm away, and vacated the area as quickly as possible.

Jesus Christ.

July 28th, 2024

Sunday

7:52pm

Daisy’s mother had a stroke. This is a disaster for many reasons, not the least of which is that she is responsible for five of Daisy’s children. She was talking gibberish, so Daisy’s 16-year old son called the ambulance, but they said she was stable and didn’t take her to the hospital. This doesn’t make any sense to Daisy or me. Isn’t a stroke a life-threatening emergency? I’m worried that the five younger children will end up in the system, in foster care, and Daisy won’t get them back. She still has over a year to do in prison. She cried when she said, “I just don’t know what’s going to happen to my kids,” with both of her hands on the sides of her face in a gesture of helplessness and despair. “And HE gets to get OUT!” she said, talking about her abusive ex.

The unfairness is profound, and hung in the air between us like a wall of broken glass. She angrily sorted through the things in her shower bucket. I was getting out of the shower and she was getting in. “Her mother died of a stroke when she was fifty,” she said. 

I’ve never seen Daisy look so pale and in shock.

I impotently asked her if she wanted a hug. “No, I definitely don’t want a hug,” she snapped. Zuko asked if she could at least pray for her and her mother and kids, and she relented and said yes.

Later, it turned out that her mother, Mary, had refused to go to in the ambulance. I feel helpless, too. It’s not like you can say, “What can I do?” when in reality, you are in the same boat and can’t do anything at all.

July 29th, 2024

Monday

10am

I called my lawyer. He said an open plea is what he was going to suggest. He said he’ll ask if I can plead and be sentenced on the same day. So now I have to sign paperwork, get sentenced, then see what parole is going to do with me.

4pm

Daisy got called back from the sewing shop. Her mother went to the hospital and went into cardiac arrest. She survived, but her muscles are deteriorating from non-use and poisoning her. She’s in intensive care. It sounds really bad. Daisy had to give CYS permission to place the kids. They all went with someone they know, which is good, and the two youngest are together. So much for that CYS appeal that I wrote for her. Now they have to be involved.

July 30th, 2024

Tuesday

Daisy’s mother died last night.

They said she went into organ failure. I feel completely useless. Daisy says she feels the same way. Bambi got her an e-cigarette, at least. Daisy’s sister is driving from North Carolina to Pennsylvania to deal with her mother’s affairs.

Daisy said that her mother was sitting in her own urine and feces on the couch, and the house was infested with bedbugs. Nobody knew how bad it was. 

Daisy said that her mother was her best friend.

She asked me if I would think less of her if she testified in a federal case to the the fuck out of here. 

“No.” I said.

Of course not.

The woman has seven children, five of whom need her badly. The neighbor lady went to the courthouse for temporary emergency custody of the three youngest ones. Daisy doesn’t even have her phone number. I wonder if she’ll have to fight her in court to get them back. I can’t help feeling like the nightmare is just beginning for her.

The father of two of the kids is dead, and the father of the rest of them is in prison for raping and sodomizing their daughter. I wonder if she’ll get custody of any of them back. 

Then I feel terrible for even thinking that.

July 31st, 2024

Wednesday

4:11pm

Daisy seems a little better today, and hasn’t cried as much. She decided that she doesn’t want the neighbor lady (who now has custody of three of the kids) to have the kids. She might have to be shipped back to Somerset County to fight that case. Daisy also got a message from Little Man, the ex-boyfriend who repeatedly tried to kill her. He sends his condolences. And his “love.”

Ridiculous.

She’s serving this sentence for hindering HIM. And now her mother died. Yesterday, she said, “This puts the last nail in the coffin of the Little Man thing. I’m here because of you! And my mother DIED!”

I hope she’s right.

She didn’t respond to his message. I have told her before about Crystal Leschner, whose boyfriend stabbed her to death, and then cut up her body and put it in a suitcase in a shed in his backyard in Pittsburgh. 

That was the first story I covered as a reporter for the local newspaper. I interviewed her family. 

It was awful.

Crystal had said that if she ever went missing, he would be the reason.

She turned out to be right.

August 2nd, 2024

Friday

8pm

I talked to my boys. They were playing a game with their cousin where the floor is lava, they each own different territories, and cheese is money. They each get five cheese for pushing each other into the lava.

I got a book at the library today called, “Drug Use for Grownups: Chasing Liberty in the Land of Fear,” by Dr. Carl L. Hart.

Sounds like a good read.

August 3rd, 2024

Saturday

1:30pm

Kimberly is talking to a Lieutenant because Officer Kibbe (yes, I’m naming names) is doing invasive pat searches. According to Kimberly, following one such search last week, she said, “Oh! You just touched my coochie lips!” 

Kibbe responded, “That’s okay, because I bought your dinner.”

Disgusting.

We’ll see what happens. 

Probably nothing.

Kimberly is effectively off work until the “investigation” is over.

In this book, “Drug Use for Grownups,”  it says that 70% of people who use drugs do not become addicted to them. 

The author, Dr. Carl L. Hart, tried a whole bunch of drugs in his research for this book, even becoming (on purpose) physically dependent on heroin so he could experience the withdrawal symptoms.

Interesting.

“The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.”

–Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Life Uncategorized

Cinnamon, Blow Jobs, and CYS

Muncy State Prison

July 6, 2024

Saturday

I had a wonderful dream last night that I was back with Dubya and happy. 

Very happy.

Daisy has been very unhappy. She’s here for at least another year and her mother isn’t doing well. She’s very sick and vomiting every day and doesn’t know why. She has five of Daisy’s seven kids, and Daisy is worried. She’s trying to get her two youngest to go to the Milton Hershey School, but now they don’t want to go.

Good quote:

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”

–R. Buckminster Fuller

INTERVIEW

“Cinnamon”

38yrs

White

Four children, ages 21, 18, 16, 12

Trauma? 

Yes–domestic violence as an adult, sexual abuse as an adult

Substance abuse?

Yes, cocaine–started in 2021 to cope with abuse

Arrested 1/2022 for attempted homicide, aggravated assault

What happened?

Cinnamon and her fiance had a store, fiance’s ex-girlfriend came over to hang out with his son. Ex-girlfriend ended up giving fiance oral sex. There was a fight, Cinnamon got a gun and shot ex-girlfriend, who lost a kidney, but survived.

Sentence?

6.5-13yrs, has been incarcerated for 2.5 years

On mental health meds, denies any mental illness

“If the incident didn’t happen, I would have overdosed or he would have killed me. He overdosed and died 10 months after my arrest.”

Is prison rehabilitative?

“I think I’ve changed a lot, I’m learning to cope with anger. In County I completed the TC (Therapeutic Community) Program. I never had rehab or trauma therapy. I don’t want to go back to doing drugs. Jail kind of saved me.”

What do you do for fun?

“I love to read, play cards. On the outside I’m always with my kids, hiking. I’m not the person they portrayed me as in the news. I have remorse. I’m a good person. I’m a soccer mom. The media said I was a menace to society and the court treated me like I was a monster.”

July 7th, 2024

Sunday

It is stiflingly hot and humid out. I’m glad for my $10 fan. I’m reading “A Grip of Time: When Prison is Your Life” by Lauren Kessler. Everyone here–or nearly everyone–is about to get their periods, and most seem miserable.

2:53pm

I talked to Paul. I’m so glad he’s my friend. Even when he’s depressed, he still cracks jokes and is very funny. And he cares about me. Sometimes I feel like there are very few people on this planet who actually care about me, but he’s one of them.

Earlier, CO Monster stopped by our cell and told us a lengthy story about how his 16-year old lifeguard son saved a 3-year old from drowning the other day. It was strange to be talked to by a CO like a regular person. When he left, Swiper said, “I think he likes you, Justine.”

Weird. 

July 10th, 2024

Wednesday

4:27pm

Daisy is losing her shit. Yesterday, Bambi and I got into a heated argument over who deserves welfare in this country, and Daisy got involved, and I thought she was going to come up off her bunk at Bambi. Bambi is a self-righteous, entitled asshole who stole almost $1 million from her work and knows nothing of being on welfare. She has no remorse for her crime and even stole from a second company while out on bail working for them.

Anyway, Daisy heard that some woman is putting money on her boyfriend’s books, and she also feels like she’s losing all contact with her children. This, combined with her mother’s failing health, is wearing on her something fierce, and she says she simultaneously feels helpless and wants to scream.
I can relate.

July 11th, 2024

Thursday

That reporter from Spotlight PA messaged me and wanted to know if she could use my name in her article. I told her she could. The article is about roasting in prison. It might be reckless to let her use my name, but I feel like it’s the brave thing to do. The prison might retaliate. 

We’ll see what happens.

July 12th, 2024

Friday


There’s an inspection here today, so there are even more rules than normal. No clotheslines hanging up, no smoking on the housing units, etc. I saw a couple of guys in suits when I went to Commissary. They must be sweltering. It’s got to be in the nineties outside. Daisy wants to make hooch since they’re supposed to be giving us plums, nectarines, and peaches this week. Sangria, she says. 

Hm. 

I’m not going to the Hole for that. They gave us green plums yesterday. 

Gross.

July 13th, 2024

Saturday

4:23pm

Daisy gave up on the idea of hooch, thank God. I dissuaded her. A bunch of people here, myself included, have a stomach virus. Diarrhea for everyone. 

Kill me.

Today I had to go to some wheelchair pushing certification class where we had to demonstrate that we knew how to do three things with the chair and that was it. We didn’t even have to push anyone in the chair. That and some stupid handout that told us to take ramps backwards, which is impossible here because the ramps are too steep. This after I’ve been pushing a wheelchair for four long months now. Some say we get a raise after the class, others say no. I don’t even know how much I get paid right now, I only know that it comes to $30/month. I’m guessing 20-some cents an hour.

My stomach hurts.

7pm

News–

Assassination attempt on former President Trump

July 16th, 2024

Tuesday 


Kimberly got paroled. She’ll get out at the end of November. I’m happy for her. I have court a week from today. I have to push Ms. Grumpy Crabass around all day today and tomorrow in 100 degree heat. 

Fun.

Swiper had gastric bypass surgery and two bowel obstructions in the past, plus cancer, and now all she eats is Ramen noodle soups with juice packets on them. She doesn’t even take her thyroid medication or vitamins and then wonders why she’s tired. Daisy and I tried to have an intervention for her yesterday, but she just doesn’t seem to care about her health.

In other news, a woman here named Justine recognized me from Quehanna. I didn’t recognize her, but she remembered all kinds of things about me, like I’m a writer and I have twins…then she asked me for a dead e-cigarette.

Ugh.

8pm

Justine is getting bullied because she’s overweight and walks slowly, apparently. I stood behind her in Med Line tonight, and I asked her how her day was, and she told me about it with tears in her eyes.

People are so mean here.

Swiper got an alert from Medical that her bloodwork shows that she has iron-deficiency anemia. I’m not surprised. In fact, I AM surprised that she’s not more sick and functions as well as she does with no nutrients in her body.

I wrote an appeal for Daisy’s case with CYS. She doesn’t want them in her mother’s home, because her mother is already under enough stress and all they do is cause more trouble and offer no help.

Categories
Life Uncategorized

Homicide, Diarrhea, and Assassinations

Muncy State Prison

July 6, 2024

Saturday

I had a wonderful dream last night that I was back with Dubya and happy. 

Very happy.

Daisy has been very unhappy. She’s here for at least another year and her mother isn’t doing well. She’s very sick and vomiting every day and doesn’t know why. She has five of Daisy’s seven kids, and Daisy is worried. She’s trying to get her two youngest to go to the Milton Hershey School, but now they don’t want to go.

Good quote:

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”

–R. Buckminster Fuller

INTERVIEW

“Cinnamon”

38yrs

White

Four children, ages 21, 18, 16, 12

Trauma? 

Yes–domestic violence as an adult, sexual abuse as an adult

Substance abuse?

Yes, cocaine–started in 2021 to cope with abuse

Arrested 1/2022 for attempted homicide, aggravated assault

What happened?

Cinnamon and her fiance had a store, fiance’s ex-girlfriend came over to hang out with his son. Ex-girlfriend ended up giving fiance oral sex. There was a fight, Cinnamon got a gun and shot ex-girlfriend, who lost a kidney, but survived.

Sentence?

6.5-13yrs, has been incarcerated for 2.5 years

On mental health meds, denies any mental illness

“If the incident didn’t happen, I would have overdosed or he would have killed me. He overdosed and died 10 months after my arrest.”

Is prison rehabilitative?

“I think I’ve changed a lot, I’m learning to cope with anger. In County I completed the TC (Therapeutic Community) Program. I never had rehab or trauma therapy. I don’t want to go back to doing drugs. Jail kind of saved me.”

What do you do for fun?

“I love to read, play cards. On the outside I’m always with my kids, hiking. I’m not the person they portrayed me as in the news. I have remorse. I’m a good person. I’m a soccer mom. The media said I was a menace to society and the court treated me like I was a monster.”

July 7th, 2024

Sunday

It is stiflingly hot and humid out. I’m glad for my $10 fan. I’m reading “A Grip of Time: When Prison is Your Life” by Lauren Kessler. Everyone here–or nearly everyone–is about to get their periods, and most seem miserable.

2:53pm

I talked to Paul. I’m so glad he’s my friend. Even when he’s depressed, he still cracks jokes and is very funny. And he cares about me. Sometimes I feel like there are very few people on this planet who actually care about me, but he’s one of them.

Earlier, CO Monster stopped by our cell and told us a lengthy story about how his 16-year old lifeguard son saved a 3-year old from drowning the other day. It was strange to be talked to by a CO like a regular person. When he left, Swiper said, “I think he likes you, Justine.”

Weird. 

July 10th, 2024

Wednesday

4:27pm

Daisy is losing her shit. Yesterday, Bambi and I got into a heated argument over who deserves welfare in this country, and Daisy got involved, and I thought she was going to come up off her bunk at Bambi. Bambi is a self-righteous, entitled asshole who stole almost $1 million from her work and knows nothing of being on welfare. She has no remorse for her crime and even stole from a second company while out on bail working for them.

Anyway, Daisy heard that some woman is putting money on her boyfriend’s books, and she also feels like she’s losing all contact with her children. This, combined with her mother’s failing health, is wearing on her something fierce, and she says she simultaneously feels helpless and wants to scream.
I can relate.

July 11th, 2024

Thursday

That reporter from Spotlight PA messaged me and wanted to know if she could use my name in her article. I told her she could. The article is about roasting in prison. It might be reckless to let her use my name, but I feel like it’s the brave thing to do. The prison might retaliate. 

We’ll see what happens.

July 12th, 2024

Friday


There’s an inspection here today, so there are even more rules than normal. No clotheslines hanging up, no smoking on the housing units, etc. I saw a couple of guys in suits when I went to Commissary. They must be sweltering. It’s got to be in the nineties outside. Daisy wants to make hooch since they’re supposed to be giving us plums, nectarines, and peaches this week. Sangria, she says. 

Hm. 

I’m not going to the Hole for that. They gave us green plums yesterday. 

Gross.

July 13th, 2024

Saturday

4:23pm

Daisy gave up on the idea of hooch, thank God. I dissuaded her. A bunch of people here, myself included, have a stomach virus. Diarrhea for everyone. 

Kill me.

Today I had to go to some wheelchair pushing certification class where we had to demonstrate that we knew how to do three things with the chair and that was it. We didn’t even have to push anyone in the chair. That and some stupid handout that told us to take ramps backwards, which is impossible here because the ramps are too steep. This after I’ve been pushing a wheelchair for four long months now. Some say we get a raise after the class, others say no. I don’t even know how much I get paid right now, I only know that it comes to $30/month. I’m guessing 20-some cents an hour.

My stomach hurts.

7pm

News–

Assassination attempt on former President Trump

Categories
Life Uncategorized

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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Life Uncategorized

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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Life Uncategorized

Cho-Mo’s, Witches, and Death

Women’s Center

August 28th, 2017

Monday

All my hair is falling out. Super annoying. I’m reading a book called “When the Bough Breaks: Forever After the Death of a Son or Daughter.” What about both? It’s by Judith R. Bernstein, Ph.D. She and her husband are both psychologists who lost their son at 25 to cancer. I wish my kids had lived long, healthy lives–even 25 seems very long compared to three and seven months.

I was supposed to go to Coudersport for bloodwork today, but the Big Boss didn’t put it on the schedule. Time for painting with Jenny–the same woman who does “church.” We’re watching Intervention.

1pm

Now I’m reading my book again. It’s pretty good. It says, “The bereaved parent has to come to terms with a world in which it is possible for children to die; a world of different hopes and dreams, a world of muted sunsets. The victim never sees life through the same lens again.”

Spot on.

I looked in the front of this book and saw the name of a local woman who lost a daughter to a suicide in jail. Horrific. She must have donated the book to the Center. I hope it helped her. I can’t imagine.

Judith Bernstein calls the “aftermath of the trauma of intense grief “a barren, inhospitable wasteland.” I like her. At least she is able to express herself without the uncontrollable rage that I experienced when writing my first book, “Kidowed.”

Then again, Ronald J. Knapp wrote in “Beyond Endurance” that, “It was discovered that all parents eventually develop a primary and fundamental need to talk about this tragic experience and about what they can remember about their child. They develop an intense desire or need to reveal their sadness, to release their anger, to allay their guilt, and to have others understand their reactions. This is not only how they remember; it is also how they confront the reality of what has happened to them.”

Judith Bernstein says, about conducting a study of 50 bereaved parents that, “I came away with profound admiration for the courage of ordinary people who never presumed to be courageous at all.”

Everybody’s bitchy now. Now there’s another new woman here. She looks to be in her 50’s and got in trouble for “boosting” electronics in Buffalo and a bad check in Potter County in 2004. I feel kind of bad for her. But not really because she only got 60 days. Some people have all the luck. Tori is passing around a note that says that she looks like a Cho-Mo version of Peter Griffin. Mean.

“When a child dies, the very ground on which we depend for stability heaves and quakes and the rightness and orderliness of our existence are destroyed. The loss of a child is shattering, unique among losses.”

One of the parents, Pauline, that was interviewed after losing a child wrote, “…I was angry at all of them [family], for something. I felt that they needed me, and I was annoyed that they needed me. I didn’t have anything to give; I was vacant; I was empty. I wasn’t sure that I was going to live.

8:30pm

I forgot to make my 12:40pm phone call, so I called my parent’s house and my mother answered. 

I said, “Any news?”

“No.”

“Are the boys in bed?”

“Yes.”

“What did they do today?”

“They were happy to stay home all day and they picked berries and played good and didn’t fight at all.”

“Um, okay…Bye.”

“Bye.”

Fucking Witch from Hell. She could at least try. God. 

The new lady seems to like it here. Of course, anything’s better than jail. They forget that after a while and then the bitching starts. I didn’t get to go to the meeting tonight, which sucks. There’s so many people here now that they have to pick and choose who can go because their stupid van only seats seven. Chantilly is making door signs. She’s very artsy. I forgot to give Tiger the bracelet I made her. I hope Dubya lets her come every week, but I know he won’t, so I’m filing a Modification of Custody motion tomorrow when I go get my bloodwork.