Tag: fiction

Categories
Life

Fuck My Life

4/4/24

Thursday

10am

I talked to my mother. Apparently Paul wasn’t the one who called the police. He did call her though, to find out what was going on with me. My mother says the people feeding me information are wrong. She asked Paul not to contact Stryder, and he said that he wouldn’t. My mother says that Stryder loves drama.

Of course he does.

She says I had visitation with the boys on the day I got arrested the second time, and talked to the CYS worker, none of which I remember. I hope I didn’t say anything crazy to the boys.

Fuck. 

This is scary. It’s scary because it’s not like I can stop doing something (like drugs) or start doing something (like meds or therapy) and the crazy will stop. 

I wrote my mother:

Mom, 

I just talked to you. I’m wondering many things. Things like why did you call the police on me instead of CRISIS or an ambulance? Why didn’t you come get me and take me to the hospital? Especially if you were worried about my safety?

The police hate me. 

You know the police hate me.

My hand is still swollen, why wrist is damaged, and I have road rash marks on me still from where they dragged me to the car by the handcuffs. This is after beating on me and tasing me twice. 

Police lead to jail, prison, or death. 

That’s it.

They aren’t going to help me. Why do you not seem to know this?

All you’ve ever done is use my mental illness against me to make my life even worse than it already is. Why don’t you ever help me? I cannot control this, and it’s getting more scary as I age. It’s not like I can stop doing something (like drugs) or start doing something (like meds or therapy) and the crazy will stop. Please stop acting like it’s some sort of behavior problem I can control if I try hard enough. Stop punishing me for it. You’ve been punishing me for over 40 years. 

When does it stop?

I’m doing the best I can. I go to all of my appointments. I see a psychiatrist monthly and a therapist weekly. I take my medication. I don’t use drugs. I work. What more do you want from me? Stop using my mental illness against me. Stop calling the police on me. I don’t know what else to say to you. 

If you cared about me at all, or if you were “on my side,” you would do this.

–Justine

Paul, 

I don’t know what to say to you. I talked to my mother today and she says she’s the one who called the police. I’m trying to piece this story together, because I don’t remember any of it. I want to know why nobody called CRISIS or an ambulance? Why don’t people help me instead of calling the police? The police came and tased me, dragged me, and beat me up. 

Next time, they’ll probably just shoot me. 

This is scary. It’s scary because it’s not like I can just stop doing something (like drugs) or start doing something (like meds or therapy) and the crazy will stop. I had a visit with my boys on Wednesday that I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything until the 29th, when I came to in Clarion Psych.

I want to know what happened. I’m going to have to explain this to a judge and the Parole Board.

Please write back by letter or kiosk (connectnetwork.com) and let me know if I can call you.

–Justine

8:23pm

I talked to Superman. King was sleeping at 7pm. I hope he’s okay. Burgundy finally told me that she thought I was “prejudiced” because I was talking about interviewing more “people of color.” She doesn’t seem to understand that that’s the term people use when they’re NOT racist.

*sigh*

I’m sure she told everyone on the Block too. It’s no wonder people hate me. I apologized for her perception of me and said I wasn’t meaning to come off that way. Things seem okay now.

She reminds me more and more of Sassypants, who told me I act like I think I’m better than everyone else. Like–why am I responsible for your perceptions? Can people really blame me for being miserable? I hear “Fix your face,” all day long. I tend to think to myself, “Of course I’m miserable!! Why the fuck are you so fucking HAPPY?! We’re in GODDAMN PRISON STUPID!!”

Burgundy says I need to find a positive reason for being here. I said I can’t . She says I could have gotten hit by a car or burned down my house if I wasn’t here. This reminds me of the “it could be worse” people when Ethan and Kaylee died. I remember writing in my journal something like, “Is it supposed to make me feel better to imagine somebody who has it WORSE than me??! How does THAT work?”

Fuck my life. 

At least I have a radio and Pink is singing to me. 

There’s my fucking gratitude. 

Are you happy now??

Can you leave me the fuck alone now??!

Categories
Life

Police, Judges, and Fools

Life in Muncy State Prison

4/1/24

Monday

8am

April Fool’s and Lupus Awareness Day. It’s raining and cold outside. My mother messaged me on the kiosk that they told the boys that I have a disease that sometimes makes me  make bad decisions and I was fighting with the police again. At least they’re not telling them that I just chose drugs over them, which is what they told Tiger her whole life. Superman still seems distant and detached.

I don’t blame him.

Everybody has a pain threshold.

Daisy and I go to the Library at 2:30pm. She went and got bloodwork this morning. I wonder why I didn’t go. We went to the doctor on the same day. Maybe they’re waiting to get my records.

Who knows.

My bones hurt I guess I’ll read my, “The True American” book.

1pm

I wrote the Prison Journalism Project and a reporter from Spotlight PA on the kiosk. I also wrote the judge in my case:

To the Honorable Judge Sadist Miller,

I have reached the decision by the court that my pro se civil complaint in Modification of Custody, case number 221 of 2015, has been rescheduled. 

However, I am currently incarcerated at SCI-Muncy due to new charges stemming from a psychotic episode brought on my Bipolar I Disorder with Psychotic Features, which I have been diagnosed with.

On 2/27/24, I was found walking on the side of Route 49 by police in inappropriate dress for the cold weather, according to the police report. I was not doing anything illegal, and I have no memory of this event.

I was taken to UPMC Cole Hospital forcibly by the police and subsequently released, although I was still delusional and psychotic.

The same exact event the repeated itself, resulting in two charges of Disorderly Conduct and two charges of Resisting Arrest.

I was dragged, beaten, and tased by the police, as evidenced by the marks on my body and in their own report.

I still fail to see where they had probable cause to arrest me, as at no time was I doing anything illegal. At no time was CRISIS or an ambulance called to help me, even though the police noted in their report that they could plainly see that I was suffering from a mental health crisis.

After the second event, I was again taken to UPMC Cole, where I was sedated and I was then taken to Clarion Psychiatric Hospital of my own free will and accord under a 201 Order.

Before these events, I did not (and still do not) have any technical violations, and I was in full compliance with my State Parole Conditions. I was working part-time with Tioga Publishing and living in transitional housing. I never missed a visitation visit with my children.

However, State Parole Officer Matthew Gibson forced me to stop seeing my trauma therapist of nearly 10 years, Sandy, and instead made me see a new therapist an hour away in Wellsboro at Crossroads. I was continuing to see my psychiatrist, Dr. B., every month and was in compliance with my psychiatric medication regimen.

This abrupt change in therapists and only being afforded one hour per week with my children is what precipitated my psychotic episode, as it has before. The current custody order causes undue hardship and immense suffering for both me and my children. 

Unfortunately, for me, this suffering manifests itself in psychoses that I cannot predict or control. My original charge, Aggravated Assault of an Officer was also due to a psychotic episode in which I attempted suicide and fought with the police when they tried to arrest me.

In this most recent case, I fail to see why and how the police could legally arrest me at all, as walking on the side of the road is not illegal under any circumstances. 

That said, I would like to request a continuance in my custody case, as I have been retained pending the disposition of these new charges.

Respectfully submitted, 

Jessica Kenley

I sent the rough draft of that letter along with another letter to Motorcycle. Almost time for library.

3:30pm

I got three books at the library. I would have been able to get four, but Ms. Grumpy Crabass got three out in my name and must not have returned on.

Ugh.

Then we got back and Daisy’s e-cigarette went missing. Jesus Christ. Isn’t it enough that we’re in prison? Does Burgundy have to steal from us too?? God, I hope she leaves soon, like she says she’s going to.

Categories
Life

Easter, Racism, and Kingpins

3/31/24

Easter Sunday

10am

I talked to the boys–Henry now has an ear infection, and is still coughing terrible. They got their Easter baskets though, so they’re happy. They don’t have any electricity, for reasons unknown. I also called Motorcycle–he’s tired because he can’t take any of his supplements in preparation for surgery. His surgery for his sinuses is April 4th. I hope it goes okay. I’m sad I won’t be there to take care of him. 

I’m worried about these new charges, Daisy got really bad news about her new charges. Burgundy, however, seems to think she’s going home soon.

Who the hell knows.

I’m reading, “The True American” by Anand Giridharadas. I wish my radio would come. I wish a lot of things. Like that I didn’t have to be here for another fucking holiday. 

11am

OMG. 

The freaking CO is sleeping at the desk with her head back and her mouth open. Everyone’s making jokes about throwing things into her open mouth from the top tier. 

Earlier, it was my phone time at 9:45am, and all of the phones were full, so I said, “Phone check,” which is what we’re supposed to do. Then, the fucking bitch CO starts freaking out: “IF IT’S NOT YOUR FUCKING PHONE TIME, GETOFFTHEFUCKINGPHONE!!!” 

Everyone on the phone turns to look at me. 

Great.

Thank you, CO.

Now I’m going to get punched in the face for wanting to call my kids on Easter Sunday.

Thanks a lot.

I fucking hate this place.

5:30pm 

Things just get worse. Burgundy called me a racist tonight. I’m reading this book, “The True American,” about this racist guy who shoots three people he thinks are Arabic after 9/11, and so Daisy and I are subsequently discussing racism. I’m telling her we have neo-Nazi rallies in my county, and how awful they are, and Burgundy pipes up with her unsolicited response, snapping, “Oh, I’m sure you go to those!” I, taken aback, say that the only reason I would be caught dead at one of those would be to cover it for the newspaper. 

I ask Daisy afterwards if she was calling me a racist. She thinks so too. And earlier Burgundy was telling me how “people are talking” about the phone thing, and how it wasn’t my time yet. Um, yes it was, I say. It was 9:45am. I wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t, duh. She dismissed me with, “I don’t know, cuz I wasn’t there,” obviously siding with “the people talking.”

What an asshole.

I fucking hate this place.

And she seems to be friends with everybody! How is that when she’s such a jerk?? Oh, yeah–because they’re all taking her pills.

Fuck.

7pm

Burgundy invited me to the bathroom to interview a “kingpin.” I said no. The bathroom is where people get hurt. 

No thank you.

I’ll pass.

Categories
Life

King, Superman, and Zucchini

3/29/24

Friday

8am

Commissary day. I’m worried about King. He sounded awful when I talked to him yesterday. Superman sounded indifferent. I hope King goes to the doctor today. Of course, it’s Good Friday, so they’re probably closed. He was stuffy and coughing, and when I asked him how he was, he said, “I don’t know.”

Poor kid.

I wonder how Tiger is doing. I think about her a lot.

Oh no. 

Daisy got her parole paperwork, and she won’t even be reviewed by parole until 8/25/25. She gets no time served for parole because she absconded. 

Letter from my mother:

Jess

March 20, 2024

I can’t believe I’m writing to you in jail again. We tried talking to social workers and your PO to no avail. I was sure you would be able to see it coming this time and avoid a psychotic episode. 🙁 I tried to send $ but after three days, they cancelled the transaction. I had Aunt Sweetheart send $30. You should have it by now. I will try to put money on your phone.

If you know how long or where you’ll be, please let me know. The court changed the custody hearing to 4/26.

What happened to the stuff you had with you (clothes) in CLarion? The boys are home sick today but getting better. Jaxon has a sore throat virus. Doctor tested but all tests were negative. Henry was fine yesterday but bellyache today. They’ve been really healthy this winter except for now. They are looking forward to Bingo at school next Wed. night. Henry won $20 and a T-shirt last year.

I made zucchini muffins today and Jaxon ate four. He is feeling better. They went to a “dance” last week and had a great time. No dancing, really, just running around and eating. It’s a fundraiser for the sixth grade trip. I think about you a lot and send out wishes to the Universe for your safety and peace.

Love, 

Mom

Categories
Life

Snakes, CYS, and SWAT Teams

The police break the law

When the boys were about a year old, my friend Felicia from the EB community lost her 16-year old son to Dystrophic EB. Also, bizarrely, there was a set of twins born to a neighbor of hers, one of which had EB, and they were struggling to care for him. They already had one set of twins who were six years old, so their hands were full. I decided to go to Lancaster, PA to see Felicia and the new baby, and offer my support. I took the boys with me. My friend Folly had loaned me her car. We stayed for three days, during which time I taught the new family how to take care of their new EB baby. 

However, the boys were refusing to sleep in this foreign environment, so I got very little sleep. The second night, I had a migraine from stress and not sleeping, so Felicia gave me a Percocet, which I gratefully took. 

The boys and I then headed home. 

My bipolar symptoms were in high gear because of not sleeping, and although I didn’t know it, I was in a full-blown manic phase. My apartment was a wreck. I had left dirty dishes in the sink, and there were clean clothes hanging everywhere because my dryer was broken. I called my friend Din to see if he could fix the dryer, and he came over. 

The boys, once home, fell immediately to sleep. I laid on the couch and also tried to sleep, but I was so uncomfortable and stiff from driving for five hours that I couldn’t sleep. My brain was also running wild with delusional thoughts.

Din noticed that I was having trouble getting up the stairs, and offered me some of the joint that was in his pocket. I thought about it and decided that it was harmless, as the boys would be sleeping for at least two hours. 

I smoked a little of it.

Around this time, a teenaged boy appeared in the front a lawn that I shared with the neighbor tenants–we lived in a duplex–and began trying to mow the lawn. This was no easy feat, because the grass was nearly a foot high, and all he had to work with was a rickety old push mower, which kept stalling, while burping out big clouds of black smoke. This was also creating a huge amount of noise. I tried to tell the neighbor, a young woman with a three-year old of her own, that my windows were open and I couldn’t shut them because it was 80 degrees outside, and my kids were sleeping and my son was asthmatic, so please stop with the mowing, which wasn’t doing any good anyway.

This somehow devolved into a screaming match about the 10 pit bulls she had in her house and how my kids couldn’t play outside safely anymore. She called the police and told them that I was harassing her.

The policeman, Officer Copperhead, came, and when I asked him why he was there, he screeched, “Well, I wasn’t going to write you a ticket, but NOW I AM!!”

He did.

By this time, Jaxon and Henry had woken up. They scooted out on the front stoop (they were developmentally delayed from being preemies and weren’t yet walking) to watch me carry stuff from our “vacation” from the car to the house. They were wearing only diapers because it was so hot.

The neighbor called CYS and the police this time to report that my boys were “running around outside naked unsupervised,” none of which was true. The police came again and wrote me a ticket for misdemeanor child endangerment.

I was livid.

CYS came and interviewed me and took pictures of both of the twins.

Then they demanded to come into the house.

This was the last straw, as far as I was concerned. I’d had an Early Intervention teacher in my apartment that morning, and it was still a disaster of a mess. Also, legally, I do not have to let them in my house and I know this, so I said no, deadbolted the door, and took the twins upstairs for their bath. It was almost bedtime.

If they wanted to see the inside of the apartment so badly, they could come back tomorrow, when it was cleaner.

NO.

The local police then called the state police, who flooded my front yard in riot gear with flashing lights. 

I didn’t know this.

I was giving the boys a bath.

When I came back downstairs, my phone was ringing.

I answered it.

It was Copperhead, screaming that he was going to take my kids. 

Then, in slow motion, I saw the deadbolt lock on my front door turning to open.

I dropped the phone and ran for the door, throwing myself against it.

Categories
Life

lupus and daisies

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

Saturday

3/23/24

8:45am

I’m a wheelchair pusher today, so I took Ms. Grumpy Crabass to the Library. I was able to get a book, so there was an upside to walking in the rain. I have to return it on April 6th. Another one of Ethan’s death anniversaries in prison.

10am

I called the boys. We didn’t have much to say to each other. I wonder if I’m losing them like I lost Lilly.

That didn’t take long.

Ten must be the magical age where they begin to hate.

12:15pm

We got searched. No problems, thank the Lord. Now they’re taking somebody’s stinger, which is a contraption people cook with.

Did I mention that I feel like shit today and I’m having a lupus flare? I just want to sleep all day. This book, about people serving Life Without Parole (LWOP) sentences, is very depressing. Although I feel like I should bear witness to their suffering, instead of giving up on the book like a coward.

I cannot get comfortable.

I’m sad, depressed, and I feel like shit. And it’s raining to boot. Why is it always raining?

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

INTERVIEW

“Daisy”

Age: 41 years

Female

White

7 children from 7-22 years old

From Somerset County

History of trauma and abuse?

Yes, watched a lady get stabbed 17 times when daisy was 14

Father drowned when she was 8

Had had five abusive relationships–last one—> Met ex in 2019, extremely abusive, stalked Daisy to get to know her, then tried to kill her several times during the course of the relationship. They met after Daisy’s first incarceration–started incarceration cycle

History of addiction?

Yes, started using at 14–weed, cocaine, then coke/crack until 27, alcoholoc from 27-35, then from 35-present-meth

Had periods of sobriety, went to rehab twice to stay out of jail

Never has gone to rehab voluntarily

History of mental illness?

Yes–attempted suicide at 15, diagnosed with Battered Woman Syndrome, ADD, PTSD, depression with mania, night terrors

How much time have you spent incarcerated?

Off and on since 2019

How were you treated by the court?

“They just assumed I was an alcoholic…I was fleeing my husband because he had tried to kill me…I had the kids in the car. The cops didn’t care that my husband was abusive, they just wanted to know where he was. They said if I was going to leave him, I already would have. Now he’s taking his case to trial and they’re bringing up the abuse. He raped our daughter. There was a no-contact order and they put us in the same jail.”

Charges?

2015–DUI third tier, Child Endangerment

2024–Simple possession, Possession with Intent to Distribute, Hindering Apprehension

Paid private attorney or public defender?

Public Defender

Plans for the future?

“I don’t want to get high. There’s no support for women in my county. I want to work in a field that creates healthy support systems for women. I’ve missed a lot of time with my kids. I want to go home and be a better mother to my kids. I have to get out of Pennsylvania. I’m going to have a grandchild while I’m in prison. I’ve missed two graduations.”

What do you do for fun?

“I paint furniture and pictures. I make wreaths and garden. I like to grow things.”

Categories
Life

The big, scary, humiliating incident

Friday

3/22/2024

9:45am

Of course, as soon as I called Motorcycle, they started calling Commissary, so I had to get off the phone again.

Tyrant.

Jesus Criminy,

This CO is a total asshole and won’t let people get on the phone even though we’ve been without a phone for two whole days.

Jerk.

Only people with a phone time, and I didn’t do a second signup because I was irritated and tired.

Ugh.

Even though I got the Abilify shot at the beginning of the month, they started giving me the Abilify pill anyway.

Whatever.

I may as well enjoy the increased mood stability before they take away the rest of my psych meds. I wonder if there’s such a thing as Abilify poisoning.

Got commissary. It’s the only bright spot in this life, except for contact with the outside. I wrote my boys. Gem wrote me a short note on the kiosk and told me my lawyer’s phone number, if he’s still even my lawyer. I guess I have to call him and find out. I’m going to read about Nostradamus and the end of the world.

Seems appropriate.

Daisy went to lunch and didn’t have her ID, so they sent her back to the unit. So now she didn’t eat breakfast or lunch and has no commissary. I said to the lady next to me, “She doesn’t know where her ID is. So they can just starve her??”

“Yup,” said the lady.

They keep calling me for wheelchair pushing today, even though it’s my day off. Luckily, I haven’t had to go yet, because someone else has volunteered or I’ve been in the bathroom, but damn. There are OTHER people who are pushers for today.

Fuck.

I get paid $0.20/hour AND I get no days off??

Burgundy turns out to be kind of a jerk. She continuously tells us lies with a completely straight face, then laughs at us when we believe her. I’m starting to think she’s a sociopathic dickhead.

Daisy still seems pretty cool. She has told me a lot about herself and let me interview her, which was cool. I haven’t had freeze-dried Maxwell House coffee since December, and it’s fucking up my stomach. That’s fun when you’re trying to interview someone with your stomach making fart noises the whole time.

Jesus Christ.

I finally plucked my eyebrows (with a string) and was able to put mascara on, which made me feel marginally more human. At least I got real toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant from commissary, which super suck to live without.

I keep writing the boys these generic letters: Hi. I miss you. I love you. It snowed here.

Bye.

Ugh.

I really hope they don’t disown me like Tiger did. That would also super suck. I really don’t know how to explain this to them. How do you tell a 10-year old (or two) that sometimes your brain goes crazy and tries to kill you? It’s hard enough to tell the adults in my life! I had to throw away the notebook I had at Clarion Psych, so “The Big Scary Humiliating Incident” hasn’t been discussed here yet.

I’ll give you the basics (as told to me by Motorcycle), because I have no memory of these events, as is what usually happens with my psychotic episodes:

I saw my boys sometime before the end of February and became very depressed and distraught afterward. Motorcycle said that I didn’t snap out of it like I normally do. I have custody court coming up 3/11/24.

At some point after this, my depression turns into mania, and I stop sleeping and eating and become delusional. I am convinced that right now is the End of Times and that I have to go get my boys so that we can be together for the End of the Earth so that they aren’t scared. I try to convince Motorcycle that he needs to take me to my parent’s house. He refuses, citing that he won’t be the reason that I go back to jail. I start walking to my parent’s house in bare feet and a sundress in 30 degree weather. This is February 27th, 2024. Someone calls the police on me for trespassing. I fight with the police when they try to arrest me. I am taken to the ER by the police in handcuffs, which I am screaming about. The hospital sedates me and subsequently discharges me the next day to Motorcycle, who asks the hospital why they are discharging me, as I am clearly not normal. The reply is, “Well, she’s just delusional.” I go to Motorcycle’s house. He leaves me alone. I leave the door wide open, and start walking to go get my children, as it is still the end of times (obviously).

At some point before I leave, I drink some wine. This is now February 28th. Motorcycle comes back to an empty house and calls Gem and Paul, who also don’t know where I am. Paul calls the police and reports me missing. The state cops come this time, tase me twice, and charge me with the second set of Disorderly Conduct/Resisting Arrest charges. 

Nobody calls CRISIS or an ambulance. This time I am voluntarily discharged to Clarion Psych, where I stay for two weeks to recover and get well. I come to (out of my blackout) at Clarion Hospital, get my meds adjusted, and am discharged to my parole officer, Mr. G., who arrests me for having new charges on parole. He gives me no technical violations, but says, “We can’t have you getting hit by a car,” as the reason for the arrest.

After a week at Clarion, I am furious with Paul and Motorcycle for never calling CRISIS and for not having me hospitalized sooner, as I was clearly blackout psychotic. At one point, Motorcycle and I had a conversation about how God speaks through me and that I have special powers. He said he, “Almost laughed,” instead of helping me. I told him I could never trust him again. He apologized profusely. I haven’t spoken to Paul since, except to tell him to give my things to Motorcycle and Gem.

When I called my parents to tell them I was going to be arrested, they told me that they already knew, but hadn’t told me because they “didn’t want me to worry.”

This is my “support system,” which seems to be full of crappy people who refuse to help me.

I have now been to jail because of Elizabeth, Stryder, my parents, Paul, Gem, and to round it out, Motorcycle, who I never thought in a million years would betray me.

All of them did.

And these are people who have been given explicit instructions by me as to what to do when I start talking and acting crazy. And NONE of it involves calling the fucking police. Motorcycle says he now knows what to do and it won’t happen again.

Fuck.

What do I have to do to get these people to listen to me??!

4pm

I just looked at the Call-Out, and I’m on for Parole again on Monday. Hopefully they’ll cancel it, since I saw them on Thursday.

The two women next door and Burgundy are talking about how funny it is to encourage people to kill themselves. And Burgundy is SUCH a good person and “no one can steal my joy” and all of that other nonsense.

Fuck.

Why is it always the worst people who are convinced that they are the best people??

#jailculture

And they always seem to be sooooooooooo religious, too. They hold God in front of them like a shield while talking shit about all of the “bad” people around them. Judgy Wudgy was a bear…

Did I mention how much I hate this place?

Oh, and Motorcycle can’t find the five newspapers that I am missing a paycheck for. They were in my briefcase, and now they’re gone.

There goes $400.

Fuck.

I guess I should be grateful for the fact that I didn’t smash my whole laptop, like the last time I was psychotic three years ago. Dropped it on a sidewalk in the rain and left it there.

Ugh.

Burgundy looked at her monthly statement, and at the end of January, there were almost 1,000 inmates here at Muncy. She also told a story about how she wanted SSI, so she made up a story and called 911 and told them that the voices in her head were telling her to kill everyone in her mother’s house, including a child. After an ambulance came and took her to the hospital, she changed her  mind and said she went home, but somehow, in the midst of this, got approved for SSI. She now says that she has a giant check waiting for her in Harrisburg. I don’t believe a word of it.

She reminds me of Zi in Cambridge Springs Prison, who knew she was going to be a famous millionaire in the next five years. She also thought that she wasn’t delusional. Now Burgundy is talking about how the government is going to microchip all of us.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….okay.

I feel like this is another one of her stories to demonstrate how stupid the White bitches are.

Some lady in Med Line just asked me if I shined my boots. I said, “No, I’m just new.” Then we got in trouble for talking in Med Line. I said, “Oh, sorry,” to which the CO snapped, “Don’t be sorry. Be QUIET!” Everyone here prides themselves in being mean, it seems. I feel like that’s all that prison is–standing in lines and getting yelled at. 

Or doing both at the same time.

This older lady, Roadrunner, walked up to me the other day and said, “Hi hon! I wish you were my roommate!” And now she races to walk with me and Daisy to sit with us at meals. No, at Med Line tonight, Burgundy announced when Roadrunner walked by, “OH! There’s your BUDDY!!” 

I am literally beginning to hate this woman.

This is like the biggest Mean Girl’s Club ever. I fucking hate this place. I’m exhausted. Like–this is way worse than Cambridge Springs. Not the food, not the CO’s, but the inmates! I get the feeling Burgundy goes around and talks shit about me every chance she gets. Like–what the fuck did I ever do to you, bitch??! This is not good. This is not good at all.

Oh, God, what did I ever do to deserve this??

Burgundy also sells Gabapentin and offered me some, but I think it was just to get me in trouble.

I have a chronic stomachache from being here and being stressed all of the time. I’ve never seen Burgundy take Gabapentin, and it seems weird that she would offer them to a new person. Of course, then she asks me for my Mobic. If she was in so much pain, why wouldn’t she just take her own Gabapentin?

When I walked into the bathroom earlier, Burgundy was in there talking quietly to someone, and then they both shut up and left when they saw me.

God Almighty.

Categories
Life

Neither Here nor There: Musings from the Other Side (of the razor wire fence)

Jess Mug Shot

BLOG #1

Welp, I’m in Muncy State Prison now, which is as bad as it sounds, but just for fun, I’ll give you some highlights–there’s ants, we get four whole minutes to eat meals, and the hopper where we’re supposed to wash our clothes has no pipe to the wall, just a filthy mop bucket under it.

But that’s not the best part.

The best part is that in the bathroom, there are separate stalls, but only boob-level dividers between them, so it’s like this horrifying game where you try not to make eye contact with anybody while you pull your underwear up after having a diarrhea-shit from the freeze-dried coffee.

Yeah, that’s right.

Speaking of diarrhea, Daisy, my cellie, got some sugar-free candy here with this warning label: “Excessive consumption may have a laxative effect.”

So you’ll literally shit the bed if you eat too many.

In other Muncy news, the same dentist  who pulled two of my teeth at Cambridge Springs (Prison) called me “bud” and was glad to meet me.
We’ve met 10 times.

In celebrity news, Jessica Biel wrote “a kid’s book about periods.” Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Daisy is having hers, and described it as a “massacre,” and is, “bleeding all my blood out,” according to her. I, on the other hand, have 1,000 zits, so my face is having Daisy’s period, too.

Back to celebrity news, Campbell’s Chunky Soup honored Jason Kelce’s retirement by putting his beard on their cans, and Katy Perry showed  her entire butt at the Women of the Year Awards. 

Next: Katy Perry’s butt on Pepsi cans to honor National Women’s Month.

Then, Colin Firth’s wet shirt from Pride and Prejudice sold for $32,000, and Robert Irwin is a model now so instead of wrestling alligators like his Dad, he wrestles with his gag reflex. Maybe he should try Daisy’s laxative candies to stay thin…

In world news, fish in the Florida Keys are mysteriously spinning around in circles and then keeling over–my guess is that they heard about the earthquakes and the eclipse and so are committing mass suicide.

In Around the Block News, Daisy has just returned from the shower, where she nearly severed her ankle with the dull, one-bladed razors provided for us, and the neighbors are hurling insults at each other in the vein of, “You’re a colostomy bag!” and “You’re a pain in my peehole!”

Meanwhile, Dan, Daisy’s son, 7, recently pooped in the household litter box. He may or may not  identify as a furry.

Hey Jessica Biel! Do you have a book for that??