Tag: Mental Health

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As for You–You Can Fuck All the Way Off

Muncy State Prison

May 8, 2024

Wednesday

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

Whatever, douchebag.

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

Maybe I should write him a letter:

Stryder, 

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

Fuck you, Stryder.

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Bullying, Lesbians, and Grief

Women’s Center

August 31, 2017

Day 58

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

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

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

*Sigh*

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

*Sigh* again.

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

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

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

Ew. 

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

9:50pm

Omg. 

Meditation is taking FOR-FUCKING-EVER.

Unbelievable.

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

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

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

Ugh.

Book: The Courage to Grieve

Judy Tatelbaum

Stages of Grief

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

These symptoms alternate in rapid succession.

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

Muncy State Prison

May 7th, 2024

Tuesday

10:36am

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

Jesus Christ.

Where am I?

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

Wait–Paul wrote me!

4/26/24

Dearest Justine, 

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

I do forgive you.

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

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

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

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

Warmest Regards,

Paul 🙂

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

Ugh.

I’m a jerk.

6pm

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

Jesus fucking Christ.

Way to dehumanize people, Muncy.

Way to fucking go.

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

Ugh.

7:50pm

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

Fuck my fucking life.

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

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Judgment, Discrimination, and Grief

Women’s Center

August 30, 2017

Wednesday

Day 57

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

12pm

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

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

Drama, drama, drama.

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

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

Stages of Mourning

THE HOUR OF LEAD

This is the hour of lead

Remembered if outlived

As freezing persons

Recollect

The snow–

First chill, then stupor, then

The letting go.

–Emily Dickinson

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

7pm

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

Freedom from Ourselves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Get the Picture?

Muncy State Prison

May 6, 2024

Monday

2:20pm

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

Book:

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

P. 1-2

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

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

P. 2

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

P. 9

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

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

P. 10

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

P. 11-12

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

P. 13

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

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

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Self-Worth AA, and Acceptance

Women’ s Center

Day 56 

August 29, 17

Tuesday


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

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

6pm

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

Good advice. 

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

“Don’t self-sabotage”

“Lead by your actions”

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

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

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

P. 417 Acceptance

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

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

I cannot be happy. 

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

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

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

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Racists, Stalkers, and the Fucking System

Muncy State Prison

May 5, 2024

Thursday

8:30am

I have that stupid, repetitive class today. I got four messages today. Tabby said she talked to Motorcycle for four hours (!!) the other day, and called him “a lovely man.”

Wow. 

Stryder messaged me to tell me he wasn’t going to send any money because it’s Motorcycle’s “responsibility.” So much for being friends. I asked him weeks ago to send money. No word from Paul. Stryder got my letter, so Paul must have, too. 

Radio silence.

Gem sent a message too. Two of the messages were from Stryder. No word on Burgundy leaving. I can’t wait for commissary tomorrow. It’s so nice outside today. Maybe I’ll write my boys a letter. On the news, police are arresting UCLA protesters, and Florida banned abortions after six weeks.

Ridiculous.

Spongy moth caterpillars are out. Everybody keeps them gypsy moths, but apparently they’re not. Oh, I just heard that they are the same thing, they just changed the name because the word “gypsy” is racist. 

11am

Group over, homework done. I can’t really believe I’ve only been here since March. It feels like WAY longer. I told Gem I would call her at 2:15pm. I’m tired. Now they’re saying maybe lockdown tomorrow, which would mean no commissary. 

Ugh. 

I really hope not. 

So, Daisy thinks that Tabby is a stalker. She says that Tabby’s going to turn my skin into a dress and wear it. She thinks she’s Buffalo Bill. I think she’s just a nice older lady who lives alone in the woods with her cats. I’d be more inclined to believe she’s stalking Motorcycle.

Daisy says I need to watch “Almost Famous.” There are people here imitating cartoon characters. Someone sounds exactly like Blue from Blue’s Clues. It’s funny.

3:40pm

Fuck. I got the Public Defender from Potter County. Fuck. He is absolutely useless. And best friends with the DA and the judge. That’s just great. Plus that added a charge of walking too close to the roadway. That’s just fucking great. I can’t believe this. That wasn’t on the original paperwork. I hate this fucking rigged system. Now, at least for the second set of charges, they can say I was doing something illegal.

FUCK. 

4:49pm 

Now the CO just announced that if you spray the industrial strength cleaner here on your clothes, the bugs won’t get on you. Now everybody is spraying this poisonous crap all over themselves. Why are humans so stupid?

I really wish anybody had the money to pay for a lawyer for me. Well, I know some people I know do, I just wish they WOULD.

8pm

I was in the bathroom and Raja came up to me and asked me how court was out of the blue. I told her I don’t have court until June. She asked me what my charges are and so I told her. She scoffed and said I’d be out of here in six months. She even said the words, “Good for you, girl.”

Wow.

Every time I get really down, somebody inevitably says that or something similar to that to me. I wish I had that kind of faith in the system. Six months would be September. Middle of September. I wonder if that’s what’s going to happen. 

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Mr. Big, Sex, and Addictions

Potter County Women’s Center

Day 53

August 26, 2017

Saturday

I don’t have any winter clothes. Hm. I’ll have to go to the Community Closet (and put in a request for that). Now we need request slips to take a shit, it seems. We’re off to Wellsboro for that crappy meeting. Only two or three people besides us ever show up, so it’s ridiculously boring. There’s always supposed to be a speaker, but they never show up. 

I’m sitting in the front, so I’m in charge of the radio. Mr. Big has been having fun making all kinds of new rules lately, which makes me like him even less. It also makes it harder not to get written up, which sucks. I can’t get in trouble here because I still have the threat of state prison hanging over my head. 

I sent an application and resume to the closest vet clinic, which is 20 minutes away. That’s probably a bit much to hope for, so I’m applying for jobs in Coudersport too. Stupid jobs like “Sandwich Artist” at Subway. I’d like to waitress or bartend so I can make tips. This morning our bathroom wasn’t working, so I took a shower in the staff bathroom (with permission), shut the door and everything, and got walked in on my staff anyway while I was half-naked!

Hope she enjoyed the show.

At least it wasn’t Mr. Big. That would’ve been horrifying.

I don’t really know how I feel about eight more months here. Of course I don’t want to, but I’m trying to be grateful that I’m not in state prison. That sounds awful. Mr. Big seems to like me, he had me run a group yesterday. I decided to make it about God/Higher Power(s)–it went well and even lasted a whole hour, which I was surprised about. It was hard for me to change my address to here, but I did it.

Everybody is singing, “Hold on, hold on to me, cuz I’m a little unsteady…a little unsteady…” I miss singing. Just blasting music (especially in a car) and singing at the top of my lungs. It’s therapeutic. Always makes me feel better anyway. None of the music on the radio seems good to me anymore. 

Does that mean I’m old?

1:25pm
The meeting was good. There was a baby there that I got to hold. Reminds me of my sons when they were little. When Tiger was little like that, everything was a blur. I was drinking then. A lot.

My Superman said to me once, “Mommy, I know who my Daddy is.” I, terrified that somehow Prynot had weasled his way into their lives, alarmingly replied, “Who?!” Superman calmly replied, “You are.” That made my heart just melt. I love those kids so much it hurts. Taylor Swift is singing, “Shake it Off.” I feel like I have a million things I can’t shake off. My health problems right now, my extended stay here, the constant ache in my heart for my kids, and so many other things. 

I really, REALLY hope this publisher wants to publish my book Kidowed. Right now it’s only available through Smashwords.com as a free download. Maybe I’ll put it back on Amazon for free too. Chantilly and I have been walking more, which is good for me. I can’t get under 150lbs though. My doctor told me I should be happy with that after five children, but the BMI chart on the wall taunts me, saying I’m 15lbs overweight. I feel like it’s more like 25lbs. I weighed 117lbs after the twins, but when they (my parents and Dubya) teamed up and took all three of my kids away from me, all I could do was eat. And I started drinking again. Couldn’t find a reason not to. Then later I started doing drugs too. I just let the overwhelming depression consume me. I’m still having a lot of trouble with anger, acceptance, and gratitude. 

And oh, the Pain.

The oppressive, enveloping pain.

On the board at the meeting, it said, “What is Happiness?” I don’t know anymore. I’m really unhappy that I’m not in remission from lupus anymore. That explains the constant pain lately. My hips and knees have been screaming at me despite the daily Meloxicam. It’s been humid and raining a lot. Fourteen miles till Westfield–where I used to get my Vicodin. My friend John Wayne (deceased) used to ride along with me, then he would take me out to eat. He loved the store Ackley’s , and he would lovingly stare at all of the guns, even though he wasn’t allowed to buy one because he shot and killed a man in a bar fight once. He was quite a character. I miss him. I wonder if I hadn’t met him during my using years if I would have cared more about his health (he was 350lbs), gotten him out more, and maybe he would have lived longer. Of course he drank a 30-pack per day. 

I have a lot of guilt about our relationship. I used to manipulate him out of his pain meds all of the time (he didn’t take them), using them as payment for cleaning his house or taking him somewhere. Of course he manipulated me too, knowing I would do almost anything to get them. He used to know a couple women who would give him blow jobs for Tylenol 3’s. I never went that far, but he sure tried. 

What a relationship.

Two addicts in the grips of a downhill spiral. I was still with Dubya at the time. What a mother I was to Lilly. 

Enough of that. 

Guilt city. In Westfield now. The song, “Slow Hands” is on, which reminds me of how much I miss sex. It’s not as bad as it was last time I was in here. Of course that time I was sort of withdrawing from Luke. He was like an addiction in himself. I was addicted to everything about him–he oozed sex appeal, thought I was sexy as Hell, and what a freakin’ body! Sexy, sexy. I wonder if I’ll ever have sex like that again. We literally couldn’t get enough of each other–we would have sex for hours, and it always just worked–it never felt forced or uncomfortable. 

Amazing.

And I lost 20 freakin’ pounds over that winter with him. Even more amazing. But the fact remains that I was just a fling and his heart belongs to another woman. 

Ah, well.

Of course I keep having sex dreams about Mr. Big, but that’s just because he’s he only man I see all day. It’s weird, waking up all turned on, and then having to look him in the face all day.

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Heroin, Court, and Crappy DA’s

Potter County Women’s Recovery Center

August 23, 2017

Wednesday

Day 50

Quote of the day: to Tori [heroin addict]–”Wow! You have tried to put everything everywhere!” (Tori has been trying to explain to Megan how to make a noise by moving your finger around in your ear.)

2:30pm

“There’s different situations for every circumstance.” – Jesse, Residential Worker, on making and enforcing the rules.

My reaction: BOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thumbs down! That’s just called picking on people! Enforcing rules only when you feel like it, right?

Anyway, I went to court today and I had to wait foreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeever to be called and the the judge went over my case–2nd probation violation–(yup I sure did take an Adderol when it was offered to me–what else do I have to do?? I have no kids around! I stayed up all night and got six writing jobs done!). And of course the DA, Candy Blobsom Who Has No Soul recommended the SIP (State Intermediate Punishment) program, and then the judge decided…….to make me go sit back down while he deliberated over it some more. Soooo THEN WE WAIT AN(OTHER) HOUR. 

This is verbatim: “I just don’t know what to do with your case.” 

So then he took somebody else’s case and somebody else’s case and finally he calls a meeting of him, the DA, the Drug and Alcohol Counselor, and several other people.

Now I’m sitting outside with Chantilly Lace. Just sitting in the grass talking. I’m grateful that I’m at this place and not prison, where there’s no sun or grass. I traced a heart shaped leaf that Chantilly Lace gave to me in my journal.

So, the order of the court reads:

“Pursuant to sentence for a period of not less than 24 months to be completed as follows: 12 months at Women’s Center. After 10 months go to a treatment center. Then three months house arrest and 9 months of intensive probation. 

Fun fun. And more fun after that.

I’m going to go through a lot of journals. We got another new person–some mentally handicapped (can’t even read) woman child who apparently molested her own daughter. 

Her stay should be fun.

I want to know if I can be work release eligible. And I have to write a modification of custody order so I can see Tiger. 

Categories
Life Uncategorized

War, Choices, and Toxic Shock Syndrome

Muncy State Prison

April 25th, 2024

Thursday

9pm

Modified lockdown today, so that the entire compound can watch the PREA (Prison Rape Elimination Act) video (again). The rumor is that we’re getting like four Chef Boyardee raviolis for lunch. 

Oh good.

My video conference for today was cancelled because I waived the preliminary hearing. I hate waiving hearings. I always feel like it gives them the upper hand even more so than they already do.

Daisy and I were talking about county jails yesterday, and she said that Fayette County Jail is known as “Fayette’nam” because it’s so horrible. Tampons are $0.40/apiece and you can only order 10 per week, so you have to stock up or make your own tampons out of pads. Sounds like a recipe for Toxic Shock Syndrome to me. Imagine having 10 tampons for a whole period–five to seven days long–when you usually use six or eight per day. SO a box of 40 tampons would be $16.00 in Fayette’nam. 

Jesus Christ.

4pm Lockdown finally lifted.

8:09pm I sent Paul the two blogs I wrote and told him that I missed him. I don’t really know what else to say. I don’t think there is anything else to say. I asked him to please respond. I’m reading this book, “The Seat of the Soul” by Gary Zukov. It’s about the evolution of the human soul  and light and intentions and the Universe. I don’t really understand it, but it’s another one of those books that says that you create your own reality. I can never seem to wrap my head around that. 

I would never create this for myself.

Never.
I would never have chosen for my children to die and the others to be taken away. I would have never chosen prison for 10 years of my life or an abusive, horrible mother. I would have never chosen to go through so much pain, suffering, and horror that I became suicidal.

No.

I did not choose this for myself.

What about casualties of war? What about the Jews in the Holocaust? Do you think they chose that life? That death?

Why?

That doesn’t make any sense. 

Talk about vibrations and frequencies and light all you want, but I didn’t choose this.