by redclay | Sep 16, 2022 | Creative Writing, Detention Center Writing Contests, non-fiction, Non-fiction
By Ashley Plummer
Third place winner, Nonfiction/Arlington County Detention Facility/Heard/OAR writing contest, August 2022
If only life was all we had dreamed or planned for it to actually be. Lord knows in my plans being stuck in this awful reality here in Arlington County Jail. Was not thought of. While this is my reality today, though Never in a million years would you see these clicks associate in the real world.
Take a bipolar Junkie, Skitso Alcoholic, Bipolar depressed tweeker and a Hoe. Talk about a rap sheet to talk about for days together. These four ladies even find Sober Fun when no choice is given. Not sure if it lack of brain cells they have individually or all together. Can’s say there is ever a dull moment when the time is allowed to come out and express themselves.
Unfortunately the time out due to lock down has become slimmed down to very little. Extreme excitement to be able to interact with others. It’s a struggle to Not be all wound up, make too much noise. Its bound to get rowdy. Especially woman who all have Life never really turns out how you planned or dreamed it would.
I was told growing up to go to school and focus on learning what your being taught. Your bound to graduate high school then off to college. Graduate college land a life time career in your major. Life an amazing life. Get married and have children. Love life!
If that wasn’t the furthest from the truth. Never was sat down and actually told about mental health. Hell it didn’t exist! Wasn’t taught what Bipolar, Anxiety, depression, and past Traumatic Stress disorder was actually capable of.
Once it really began to show at a young age it was hush, hush. Now today it has become socially exceptable. Society in todays world has inevitably created bipolar junkies, skitsofrantic alcoholics, bipolar-depressed Tweeker’s and Hoe’s to feel we only click together in a place so close to hell we can feel the heat rising in our bodies. Only feeling normal mental health issues, there is definitely going to be some noise.
Of course rules are given and applied. Soon noise warning are being thrown out. Each group of women will get quiet maybe thirty to sixty seconds, then the blame game of where’s the noise coming from? Groups get defensive. Noise rises again. No more noise warnings for us. It’s back to the conferment of our cells, along.
All over again. Hoping and praying your personalities are ready to come out to play nice with each other. Need one or two to be able to read and write, sure would be a very long sentence without each other.
Wait arnt I not suppose to be experiencing all my other personalities on a daily? I thought me getting up before the crack of dawn divulging in these medications was to help that? Sad part makes me wonder will I ever actually have my own true self, thoughts, or opinions? Guess that takes us back to the beginning.
Normal enough to experience life, when become locked up within these walls forced to be medicated, sober, and yet together! What has society really become today? Why has it made each and every woman hide or ashamed of who they really are? Have we women allowed it?
Oh, that’s right we live in a man’s world. F*** that! It’s time, my time to take a stand. All of us women together! Laugh out Loud. I know that was a very funny Joke.
How long have we as women been trying to get other women to come together. To help build each other up? Too damn long. Of course no changes. Never quite understood how we as women are, so quick to come for each other. Especially when a third party is involved. Man or woman. Always be said she said. Even in a place like Jail.
We woman know we have no choice, but to be around one another, every day for however long our sentence is. Still always going to be females that cant get along. Regardless, we only have so much space we can actually go to escape on another. I try to understand who’s bright idea it was to put more than six mentally unstable/stable women in a closed in area. To tear each other apart.
Of course when an altercation happens then the questions begin? Seems la little a** backwards if you ask me. When you get booked into the jail it’s a process as with anywhere. Except for here in Arlington County Jail you go thru a whole mental health evaluation. Evaluation allows staff to know if you unstable or stable enough for general population. Which only means you can mentally handle being around others as mentally unstable.
Anyone could totally fake their way thru the fifteen min evaluation. Hell how many of us actually arrested sober? At the time of you still feeling nice floating, giggly. Ready to just get a quiet place to ride your high, dunk out.
When the time comes next morning that you crash. They come banging on your door talking about chow time or trays. Bam! Instant smack in the face, wakey, wakey and yup your stuck like chuck.
The first few days they dry you out. No medication, no interaction with others at all. The hour out your cell is just enough time to shower, make a call home. Back in your cell the interacting with each personality begins.
Like damn, what did we get ourselves into? Welp! Buckle up baby, its going to be a bumpy ride from this moment until the date comes for a to leave out them doors. Never realizing how much on a daily you take for granted. Telling yourself, damn. Why am I so hard headed? My momma was right all them years ago. Of course I didn’t want to admit it to myself. No let me alone my momma.
We tell ourselves as long as we dont say the shit out loud no one will know the truth. Saying it out loud makes it a reality. That’s all to real once it’s left your mouth. At least that’s what I tell myself. All, but one of my personalities agree. Hahaha!
Of course always going to be that one! She just believe she knows best. How many of you are thinking damn, earlier in her story was she actually talking about four separate women? Nope, was totally talking about each and everyone of my own crazy, wild, and free to roam as they would like to personalities. Dang! Got you there.
Hmmm did this story just get more interesting? Definitely what we call a page turner. The suspense is killer, huh? Never seen that plot twist coming first few pages at all?
No we sit behind these walls medicated. Righting ourselves ask why we wont’ allow the other to come out to associate? Cant we allow ourselves to be free and express every emotion we feel at the moment it’s felt.
Logic says it’s not normal, but what if its our normal? Who is to tell me what my normal isOK! So while here I have to obey your rules, even though they make me hate everything and not feel like myself. Though the very day I leave out these doors. Across the thresh hold to freedom, my freedom. I will toss the medication that has made me hide who I am daily.
Freedom tastes oh so good. Only now weeks have passed. Remembering I had tossed them “normal meds”. I’m beginning to fight, battle myself every personality that is of me. All knowing oh to well where this is going to lead. I indulge, just to silence it all. Only for a little while.
It all begins again, all to soon. Self medication has begun. Becoming the bipolar Junkie just to sleep. Now I cant stay awake time to wake the bipolar-depressed tweeker. All to not become victim to being raped, abused, and robbed left to die along.
Soon I release the skitsofrantic alcoholic who can no longer be tamed just to be able to cope with the disgust and shame of myself. Only one left to come out is the free spirited, wild, dont have a care what people say hoe. She just knows her time is coming to be expressed.
Lord knows my body is soon to be craving more of all the drugs, alcohol. All to just keep my body functioning on a daily. Sleep with whoever she can be it man, or woman, old, young, clean, or dirty. Only requirements are money or drugs my body needs at the time of desperation.
Just like that the vicious cycle has you trapped all over again. Realizing not long now we will be right back to square one. Within them walls, waking up hating what I have become. Obeying rules I dont like nor get to make for myself. Waiting for that make me normal medication.
Asking ourself will I ever escape this nightmare. Will feeling like myself ever exist in this life time or the next? Praying to god for serenity, strength each morning just to wake up. In reality what is normal? Will we ever really know? Guess just have to keep the faith, find others like yourself so your not forced to hide who you are ever.
Acceptance from others is hard to find, but accepting yourself is a well taught lesson to learn. Love yourself enough to not punish yourself. Don’t get caught up in the viscious cycle of self destruction. Hela easy to bury yourself and who you are in the cycle, but getting out is far and inbetween.
You have to love yourself for others to love you. Stay focused on happiness. Hold that pretty head up high. Never allow your crown to fall. Beauty is within.
by redclay | Sep 16, 2022 | Creative Writing, Detention Center Writing Contests, Non-fiction, non-fiction
by Michael Elliott
Second place winner, Nonfiction/Arlington County Detention Facility/Heard/ writing contest, August 2022
“Mr. Elliott, Good Morning, My name is Ryan such and such, from the Philadelphia Public Defender’s Office. My job is to come and present to you the smart room numbers as to the sentencing guidelines, as well as an offer from the District Attorney’s office concerning your case, …excuse me,…cases. It is my understanding you have been charged with several armed robberies involving SBI… and a home invasion.”
“Sir, what is an SBI?” I ask him, very detached from the meeting, already preparing myself to hear some off the wall stuff. Knowing the current situation to be, sorry but there’s no other way to put it….F***ED.
“Serious bodily injury.,” he says as he’s rffling through court papers a tone as detached as my demeanor.
“Here it is,” he says… “Mr. Elliott the smart room sheet says that each of the armed robberies with your prior drug convictions is: 30-60 years….each. The DA, at this point is willing to give you 4, 15-30 year sentences, ran concurrent…if you decide to sign it today.
“Mr. Elliott I’ve looked at the discovery of your cases, and my advice to you sir…is to take this deal, it will only be offered to you once and after today it is off the table,.. And the DA will be pushing for the max on each case.”
When he said he looked at the discovery I damn near laughed in this man’s face. I didn’t even have a preliminary hearing yet. what discovery could this…gentleman…have? He doesn’t have the slightest clue of any detail of this case, let alone any idea that I know enough, that his “advice”, almost made for [a] very unexpected right hook from yours truly.
How dare this man come to me at 9:00 AM on a beautiful Monday morning, and advise me to sign my life away knowing nothing but was said in an arrest report. And here is the biggest fact of it all…I was innocent.
The story didn’t start here, this from when what I can remember, is the day the fight started,…the fight…for my life.
I kept having this horrible dream that I was in an orange jumpsuit, and in a cell from what it looks like. It was exactly like a cell in Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility…CFCF…or if you’re from Philadelphia and have had the pleasure of making through those sliding gates… Most of us know it simply as THE “F.”
But it was just like that. And I kept sayin to myself “this dream sucks, why can’t I be on a jet ski somewhere?”
Then for some reason the cell door opens and I heard my name “Elliott…21 cell…social worker” I kept saying to myself “this dream is too vivid, I don’t like this.”
And then I began to realize as I got out of my boat (a bed on the floor due to overcrowding, 3 men in a 2 man cell) this was no dream… it was truly a nightmare…. I was in prison…AGAIN.
I was taking a lethal amount of Xanax, most days at that time, and days consisted of becoming conscious or waking up, smoking a cigarette, thinking about my children, my wife, how they were gone, and how they were never coming back, me trying to make some money to at least try to develop some kind of existence and move on. I would make a respectable dollar then my addiction to escaping would kick in, I’d end up with least 10 Xanax in my hand, then mouth and hello darkness my old friend….rinse, repeat.
God only knows what happens to me and I didn’t care what happened. I woke up the next day and I wasn’t banged up, bruised, or bloody, I’m sure I had a good time. But now I’m in jail, and have no idea how I got there. And what made it super trippy, I don’t remember cops, the precinct, going through intake (which takes no less than a whole two days, at that time…), I was completely baffled, not to mention, still high.
So I float on down to the social worker and the first question she asks me, is the money question: “Mr. Elliott, do you know why your here, and do you know where here is?”
I tell her her I know I’m in the “F” but have[n’t] the slightest idea why. She says “I’m gonna give you all of the info I can.” So I’m assuming I caught another possession with intent to distribute (PWID). That’s what I go to jail for anymore…. Selling dope (not proud in saying that) please don’t misunderstand that.
As she continues to look at her monitor, her demon demeanor begins to change with every arrow down. She looks, at me, the screen, me, the screen. I’m thinking to myself, open paren well damn, how far down does she have to go? Close paren, when finally she says
Open paren there must be some kind of mistake and they might of duplicated the record of putting this in the system twice. Because it says here, you’ve been charged with “1… Period two period. No…. 3…. Oh wow…. 4 armed robberies”… “and a home invasion”… “Mr Elliot, your bail is set at $800,000 cash, no 10%.
I couldn’t believe it, I don’t rob people, but I honestly had to consider the possibility… I was underlined on xanax. I call them “I hate life” pills. They truly make you disappear, but for me, I also have zero inhibition on them as well, they are dangerous.
She sees the color in my face disappear, as well as any kind of connection to reality in my eyes. Of course, she asked me if I was OK… I think I nodded or said something. I don’t remember much after that, walking back to my unit and such.new paragraph One thing I do remember…. For the first time in my whole life I knew what being hopeless was. The only vision, image of a future, the only thing left and life for me was me swan diving off the top tier of my unit, and my brain matter bouncing around the day room and my spine bent and broken into a “Z”.
There was nothing left for me. My life was over, last to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. The city of brotherly love. Not to mention the six detainers I had. I knew I was gonna sit in jail fighting 36 charges 10 felonies: numerous gun charges assault of a Philadelphia detective, two shooting victims, it was more than a hopeless situation. I just sat numerous years on detainers under the presumption of innocence, I last ten years on location of the county jails state road, for being a drug addicted pain riddled man just trying to provide some kind of life for his family that he can only dream about anymore.
I was done. I’m tapping out. I am sorry babies…. Joan…. I just wish I was a little stronger…. Hopefully this dog makes it to heaven
My life literally flashes before my eyes, all of my hopes, dreams, memories, of a childhood that seemed as if that was only a dream I would never return to but wanted to so desperately., if only to hug my mother again. You want talk about emotions? I can’t even begin to find the words 2 Fay and express, in the void, that has manifested in my soul, or try and count the number of pieces my spirit was broken into.
All of this happened to me…. In a single moment. I can’t help but try to see clearly enough to write this… The tears still come uncontrollably seven years later. That moment can’t be acquired at a university, that moment can’t be bought, that moment is the realization that your life is now…. Over.
It still takes my breath away as I try to articulate… What it is… To be… Hopeless alone… Broken… And hopeless… But still breaking… Barely.
When I got back to B-12, my housing unit in the F it is a quarantine block which is significant to mention. Every quarantine unit has a caged off top tier open perens specifically designed for hopeless, but suicidally ambitious inmates such as myself close paren. Apparently I am not the first with an idea a permanent solution, but either way. A minor obstacle. An obstacle minor enough for me to say to myself “I’ll wait until the whole block is out for rec, and I can get far enough out on the ledge without bothersome correctional officers finding themselves not wanting to do all that paperwork. This is where things actually become “spooky” in my life. Spooky, but…. Just downright ironically, I don’t know how else to put it.
So, here I am 33 years old, 60 Tanners equaling a combined 43 years of probation, if you run them consecutively. Charged with four armed robberies, two people shot, a detective assaulted… All allegedly.. Multiple gun charges 36 charges all together ten of which are felonies, the Commonwealth needing only to convict me on just one, for me to say bye bye to streets, haven’t seen any of my children in five years, and believe me… No lack of effort on my part open paren that’s a whole other book close paren.
addicted to drugs…all of them. With absolutely no support: family or friend. Just waiting for my cell door to open to lay down until rec. The officer buzzes my gate, I go in, gate shuts…BOOM!!
As I’m standing there, I notice that this isn’t my cell, I start yelling “CO…CO… I’m in the wrong cell, this ain’t my cell!!”
“Yes it is Elliott, 21…Elliott’s in 21…” she says on the PA system.
“It can’t be my cell….” I’m saying to myself. “That boo was not there.” I glance over ot the table, see MY paperwork, this IS my cell….
Let me try and pain this picture a little better. My mat is in a plastic “bota” on the floor. I’ve been on this particular floor for a couple days, bottomline, my eyes have perused this entire cell at least 95 times. That book, on the floor under the other bunk was NOT THERE when I left.
It is now here not only here but dusty as if it’s been there for quite some time. I’m trippin’ now. I’m trying to figure out rationally how this can be. There is nothing written on the back of this book cover, it’s just white and dusty, pages a yellow that only happens to books that are old.
I can’t help myself. I grab this little dusty, unknown, wipe it off with the back of my hand, flip it over, and the two words that titled it were “HERE’S HOPE”…well, let’s just say…I damn near pissed myself laughing mad. That was so funny to me in the darkest most sarcastic mockingingly way.
At that current juncture the plan was still the same: the sweetest swan dive CFCF has ever cleaned up when that gate cracked, but now, at least I had something to read, in the meanwhile. Something to kill, really, pun intended. I hoe that’s how you use that.
I never in my life has read the Bible, actually sat down and read any one book, let alone all the books, in it’s entirety. I know nothing of Jesus, other than Christmas is His alleged birthday (I hope I used that right) and I got the presents (sweet deal). And He was murdered by a mob of Jews, but made it look like the Romans did it.
This was the extent of my theological section, and had no idea dear ol’ Captain Noah, with his boat of animals, send him pics, the mad man Moses the fugitive, who was rainin’ frogs on the Pharoah on his pyramids. On Easter Weekend, having to eat pizza on Good Friday (yes Freiday was always pizza, and always good) had anything to do with each other.
Other than they all had really cool ….BEARDS. Kind of went to left field with that, or as they say sophisticating, on a tangent! (Did it again) oops. I will not continue on that one…lol…BRITNEY SPEARS!! Kelly Clarkson. Like Steve Carrell in [the movie] 40 Year Old Virgin, who actually played in Evan Almighty…where he portrays NOAH…Boom. I took off all the tangents…(Darth Vader voice) “The circle is now complete.”
All that say basically I knew absolutely NOTHING ABOUT GOD. And at that point, in that cell, one door from ending my life. T me …(for the child who might read these adult words) F*** GOD!!
But I was bored and tired of thinking, so I read this New Testament ,and was just patiently waiting for my cell to open. I don’t even want to tell you that it was a Friday when I talked with the social worker xxxx and how I read that New Testament 7 times during the course of the weekend from what I was told, because when my bell finally opened it was Sunday during dinner.
I don’t remember my cell opening all day Saturday or Sunday for meals or medication. I read the Gospels and Epistles like a novel.
I had a hard time “seeing” what was happening but I read it enough to get an image of Jesus. But it wasn’t Jesus that made an impression that developed an itch that had to be scratched. It was a particular verse that grabbed my spiritual eyeball and shook it like a pitbull on a chew toy….
1 JOHN 4:8
END
Typist note: 1 JOHN 4:8: “He who does not love does not know God, for God is love.” (NKJV)
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