#and decided part way thru last year that i valued my sleep more than waking up early to watch my favs not make progress

[roscoehamiltons]

first time in awhile since i've watched a race live ngl

[thetawlfoundat]

`The following blog is a ROUGH DRAFT I would  like comment on. It will be featured on other blog sites and published in the Prison Insider a magazine that is trying to bring attention to Prison life and mass incarceration and its policies. Anne-Valerie ask me to write this blog and I would like comment on it before it is taken to press. Thank you and God Bless!

                                LOCKDOWN    (i) "Lock down Lock down!" Are the first screams I hear. Yelled by as many prison personnel as possible. They are taught to use these screams to disorientate prisoners, so that they can take control. In the prison Housing Unit there are approximately 120 inmates; so 15-20 prison officers & staff rush out of their offices or from their post to usher us -by threat- to LOCK DOWN!

  (ii) Instantly, my pulse quickens and my heart races due to the screams and obscene threats. Because I am in a High Security prison I have to first look for my "homies" (prisoners from my home town or gang) to see if they are under threat or in danger. If I fail to make sure they are safe or fail to come to their aid & assistance; when needed my other "homies" will revisit my failures via violence. So Once I am satisfied that my "homies" are safe I do as I am threatened and WALK to my cell.

(iii) As the cell door is slammed behind me, I go over in my mind my initial threat assessment. Although it took seconds to do, time actually slowed for me as I took in everything at once. This skill is honed by doing 16 years in the most volatile and violent prisons in America. As I wait for the door to be locked I hypothesize and try and figure out the probability of the time on lock down. Then it comes. That echo from the insidiously ominous "click". The "click" that sparks a moment of panic and feeling of entrapment. The "click" that tells you that you are now locked in your cell and there is nothing you can do about it. I feel I am being burried alive.  My cell feels like a tomb. It is a debilitating feeling. I have to quickly shake it off and deal with the reality at hand; that reality being that we are going on lock down.

     I turn to my cell-mate to ask him "what happened?". Even though I know that he knows as little as I do...or maybe not. I have learned that you ask questions in prison not so I can listen to the answer but for the purpose of reading the body language, speech patterns and behavior of the person I put the question to. So I do this to my cell-mate and watch him carefully as he answers. Since he doesn't know anything I move to the window.

 (iv) At the window I do another threat assessment. The prisoners returning from their jobs or from the yard always know more than those who were in the Housing Units. Since we can't hear one another we talk thru furtive jesters or hand signals. If I can't get anyone's attention I watch the number of prisoners passing by every second. The more that pass by the less time on lock down. The less that pass by every second the higher the probability of being lock down for awhile. My concern grows.

 (v) After this assessment I sit on my bunk and think. I am flooded with a wave of emotions, That threaten to drown me. My emotions range from being glad I did not have to come to the assistance of any of my "homies". Then I grow disappointed as my daily routine has just been interrupted. Next I grow angry because my communications with my family and love ones have come to an abrupt halt. Communication is a great barrier for prisoners. The one way to lose communications with people is repeated locked downs. Lock downs are deleterious to maintaining a communications with people on the outside. I am pissed and depressed all at once.

    At that thought, suddenly, everything in my life starts to feel unsettled. But I can't dwell on that because now worry creeps in; it tells me to think about my own safety. So I go thru the scenarios. Did a prisoner attack a prison officer, official  or staff? If so their will be retaliation. Did one of my "homies" get into it with another group of prisoners. If so the repercussions could last years. Someone could end up dead. Other things creep into my mind as well; like is my cellmate holding any contraband (weapons or drugs). If so we are sure to be stripped searched while on lock down and if they find it they will charge us both. Overwhelmed by these emotions I lay back on my bed and curse. I think to myself "here we go again". I am frustrated. I am  angry. I am distraught.

 (vi) Since lockdowns happen so often in high level federal prisons  -at a minimum of two, every 90 days not spent on lock down- I prepare myself mentally to share a small cell with another grown man. If I am lucky this will only be for a week. If I am unlucky this will extend 14-30 days. Hopefully, my cellmate has prepared for lock down like me. because we are served cold food (bologna and artificial cheese) for 7 days, prisoners usually have a "lock down" bag under their beds. This bag consist of instant soups, chips and cookies. I am hoping my cell mate has a lock down bag because if not I will have to share mine. In the case of long lock downs managing food can be an extra dynamic that can be stressful in an already ultra stressful environment. Not having food or not sharing food can lead to violence between cellmates and any fight in prison, especially in a locked cell can mean a fight to the death.

      Because of these facts I ask my cell-mate if he has enough food for lock down. I inventory my own bag to make sure that I will have enough for us both in case we are locked down for weeks. The last thing I need is a fight to the death between me and my cell mate over food. For "lifers" like myself, a murder done in self-defense can be construed by an over zealous Assistant United States Attorney as an "aggravating factor". If so determined I could be tried for the death penalty. This law only applies to lifers. My cell mate on the other hand could kill me and probably only get 8 years. The irony in my particular situation is that I was given a Life sentence based on non-violent drug crime and he was given a much lesser term of imprisonment than me for a murder- a violent crime. I laugh at that hypocrisy and scoff at the disadvantage and decide to out think my cell mate for the entire time we are locked down. I will need my mind to tow the line.

   After I am satisfied that I have enough food for us both I close my eyes and calm myself. It will take some time but it has to be done. I already know what will happen. It will take 72 hours before I get a shower. We will get stripped searched and our cell searched. What prisoners call a "shake-down". If my family calls to the prison, due to my absence of communication, they will be given no information about what is happening and will not even be told if I am alive or well. This small injustice will probably cause my family member or love one to blame or reprimand me for putting them thru all of this and knowing I am part of the cause I feel guilty and grow even more angrier. Something I have to quickly gain control of this is the wrong time to be thinking irrationally. So I breath and find my calm and drift into the silence as I know that 65% of the prison population is doing the same ritual as me.

 (vii)  On this lock down there was no assault on staff. I learn however, that it was one group against another group. I am relieved that my "homies" are not involved. If they were once off of lock down I would have to "strap up" go to the yard and probably "get it in" with prison knives (some laced with poison made from human feces) and face the gun tower and concussion grenades. I still have to be cautious if I do go to the yard because I could get caught up in a gang battle; where we all look alike according to the gun towers.

      Since no one can visit during lock down I send out a letter informing my love ones or family that I am on lock down. Sometimes I don't send anything because I do not want to worry my family. It is at this that time I start separating my property. There is no telling what may be taken during the cell search. Usually things like pictures or cards - that remind me of my love ones or family. My favorite pair of shorts or work out shirt or a hat. Anything that gives me serenity. Stuff that seems insignificance like a particular pen ( I write that special person with) or a cup or a new pair of sneakers or an extra set of cleats (one to practice in one to play in). Things that seem small when complained about but hold strong sentimental value to a prisoner. My biggest concern is losing my mailing stamps. Stamps are the currency in prison and losing my cache of stamps is equal to a person in the free world losing their life savings. These are things that are worth great personal value. Things I use to make it thru everyday prison life. Things that don't make me feel like a convict.  Things that make me feel normal.

 (viii) Three things will happen on lock down: 1) I will get stripped searched; 2) my cell will be torn apart during the cell search; and 3) I am sure to lose something of value and someone of value I communicate with during this lockdown. The first day of lock-down is always the easiest. you catch up on all the sleep you have lost. Sleep lost by having to wake up as soon  as the doors open; so as to be "on-point" for any eventuality. Several inmates feel relief, as I do during the first day of lock down; which I usually spend sleeping all day.

        It is the second day of lock down that I begin checking my cellmates mental fortitude. making my threat assessment. Long periods of lock down are mentally and emotionally taxing. A prisoner can lose their mind in a matters of  hours on lock down. Being trapped in a small cell with another person having to get use to all their oddities and quirks. Having to get use to their body odor and the odor from them using the bathroom. The auras in the room are palpable. So I have to first make sure that my cellmate is not going thru any personal problems. So I spark up a small conversation that is prodding. What I want to accomplish is to make sure he is not a threat tome or himself. however, I have to do this in a way where he doesn't think that I think he is weak. you can't be viewed as weak in prison and if you imply someone is weak it could cause a violent reaction. My cell-mate is find but I begin to wonder if he is working the same assessment on me.

 (ix) The next thing I do is hone in on my inner strength. I do this to raise my tolerance. I will have to endure alot; the prison staff especially. On lock down the prison staff works harder. So some prison staff feel angered or annoyed by this fact. Which they take out on the prisoner. Other prison staff are happy. Why? because lock downs give them an opportunity to be more oppressive than usual. Then there is the staff that loath prisoners so much that during lock downs this indifference becomes almost like another entity. Their indifference causes them to speak to you and treat you like a stray animal. They also use this indifference to try to strip you of your inalienable right to being treated like another human being. I've learned to use anger to combat these behaviors. Anger is usually the only thing that helps you survive during a lock down, however, too much anger can take you to the darkest places imaginable. Anger will grip you and turn on you and most prisoners with lengthy sentences have felt this compelling emotion. It is one that shakes you to the core and causes you to fight for your mental sanity. A feeling so all consuming that you never want to feel it again. So I tow the line. I have learned to use just enough anger to get me thru the oppressiveness of prison without taking me into the brink of insanity. During lock down you may come face to face with this peril so you prepare for this.

      I am sure my cell mate has experienced this walk between sanity and insanity. However, no one speaks of it. Again no one can be perceived as being weak. So I make sure I and my cell mate have some outlet for this anger. We read or write or speak of better times in better places. Some prisoners totally reinvent themselves. They use fabrications to keep sane. Some exercise. Whatever is needed I will make sure we do to elevate any anger he or I hold close. The irony is that while I make sure we have an outlet I also come up with strategies and scenarios to physically disable him. I find that my cell mate must be doing the same with me because we both watch one another closely.

 (X) On or about the third day of lock down I am awakened to the unified screams of 30 correctional officers (C.O.) telling me to "get ready for a shake down". To "Strip down to just your boxers and shower shoes. My heart begins to race and I increase my anger slightly. I am mentally preparing to be taken out my cell-mate 1/2 naked, handcuffed behind my back and walked back wards out my cell to a shower stall.

The following ins the continuation of the lock down blog ============================

`                                             LOCK DOWN III

             At the shower I am stripped searched. While naked The officer tells me open my mouth, he checks behind my ears, he tells me to lift my genitals, he tells me to turn around and bend over so he can look up my rectum, then he tells me to squat and cough. I am determined not to let him humiliate me during this process. In fact I have prepared my body thru rigorous exercise so it will humiliate him. I let him know with my eyes I am not intimidated. He smirks and goes to the next stall. Even though I am waiting in the shower stall I am unable to take a shower. I have no soap no towel no wash cloth. Just a pair of boxers I have had on for 3 days and shower shoes. I notice there is something green and fuzzy growing on the shower walls I will have to tell the guy who cleans them about this. MERSA can lead to a person missing a limb or worse.

        After about 45 minutes I am allowed to go back to my cell. Once again handcuffed behind my back and escorted. because my cell has been thoroughly searched it looks as if it has been vandalized. Me and my cellmate with out talking make a concerted effort to get things back in order. It takes us nearly an hour to clean up and inventory what is missing. My cell mate is cursing and seems frustrated. I have to quickly get a hold of the situation before he explodes. The Officer has taken pictures of his daughter. Who he has not seen in 4 years and has had to watch grow up via pictures. Once that situation is under control I find my personal items are missing as well. A picture as well of friends I no longer have.

    (xi) Once settled I go to air vent in my cell. I listen to the joys and sorrows of other prisoners. Some happy that their contraband was not found. Some irritated that personal effects were destroyed or taken. Some are just missing; taken to the Special Housing Unit where they will be on lockdown for 90-180 days. The over all mood is somber. No prisoner likes Shakedowns. The information I receive from the vent will be useful when we come off of lockdown. I go to my narrow bunk and lay down. I think abut taking a "bird-bath" in my sink but I end up falling asleep. Emotionally and mentally exhausted.

       The next morning I get an unsuspected surprise. They are allowing us to go take a shower. I go thru the same protocol. I am handcuffed behind my back and walked out my cell backwards and to the shower stall. This time I am allowed soap and a towel and a wash cloth. It has been more than 72 hours and the thought of a shower has lifted my spirits. I smile for the first time in four days.

   (x)  Things are always less tense on lockdown when prisoners take showers. My cellmate seems relieved, I feel relieved, the conversation between me and him is less tense. Even though we are still being served half frozen bologna sandwiches I feel hopeful. Hopeful that lockdown will end soon and that I won't lose as much as I fear once off of lock down. I pick up a book and I read and wait. Wait for the Warden to send a memo stating why we are on lockdown and when we will be coming off. I do not disturb my cellmate as this is the first night I will be able to go to sleep with out having to keep one eye opened.

      As expected on the 5th day of lock down the Warden sends in a memo. It is slid under my cell door. I see it when I get up to use the rest room. The memo states what the Warden will tolerate and won't tolerate. It promises of more lock downs if certain behavior is perpetrated or continued. I ask my cell mate if he wants to read it. He shakes his head no and lays back down. I rip the memo up and flush it down the toilet. The memo is typical and will make no difference. In high level prisons certain things are almost as certain as the principals of Universal Law. I lay back down and continue in my routine of waking up, reading or writing and exercising in my cell. Me and my cell mate make small talk to check one another's mental state...I wait. Wait for the end of lock down which seems to be sooner than later.

  (xi) On the 7th day of lock down we are served an "enhanced meal". Which means we have frozen carrots and celery with our 1/2 frozen bologna sandwiches. My caloric intake is around 1200 calories a day so I lose weight. me and my cell mate both mention  that it won't be long now. A couple more days at best. He sounds hopeful I feel hopeful. And it happens. The odd thing is that something in me is growing. A small fear and contentment. I know the longer we stay on lock down the more apt I am to want to stay on lock down. I only have to deal with one person I sleep when I want I can exercise and I do not  have to interact with the prison staff; who can be antagonizing and disrespectful. I feel "safer" in my cell with one person than in my Unite with 100 or in the prison with 1,000 people. I shake this feeling because if I let it grow I will become a recluse.  I will become "institutionalized" more so than I am now.

      On the 9th day I hear the cell doors being g unlocked. My heart races. In seconds I have to transform from one mental state to another. I have to be ready for every eventuality. Instead of one person to account for there will be my homies the prison staff and administration the corrections officers in my block who may have problems at home and come in to take them out on you. I am no longer relaxed. I am no longer tolerant. I grow angry I appear to be in control but menacing dripping with the threat of violence for anyone who may think I have grown weak. I know the assessment is done daily. So I prepare... mentally.

      Then it comes. That "CLICK". That echo from that insidiously ominous "CLICK". The "click" that tells you we are coming off of lockdown. The "click" that says prepare for the next lock down. Prepare to deal with the reality of perpetual violence. Prepare for the volatility of everyday prison life. Prepare to explain to your family and love ones why you left abruptly for the last 9 days. Prepare, prepare and stay ever vigilant.

    (xii) For me the "click" that lets me off and on lock down is the worse feeling  there is. It haunts my dreams in the day and at night. It reminds me of my plight. It lets me know how fragile my life can be and how much control  I have over my life. It mocks me and laughs at me.  It is constant. It is there waiting for me every time I lock in my cell. Every time I am placed on lock down, every time I am allowed out my cell. It is permanent and makes me wonder if this will  be my permanent place of rest. I can only imagine how many other prisoners feel this way. We don't speak about things like this. But I see it in all of their eyes. They fear the "CLICK" like I do. I will keep this information to myself...it may save my life one day.

[saundrahuff-blog]

What comes after a traumatic event

Everyone has talked about what you do when someone or ones you love end up in hospital for a long time. They tell what that persons life is like away from home. And it's horrible. But let me take a moment and let you know what it's like from the perspective of the family at home. First of all, there is a huge emptiness in the house. It feels almost foreign. If, like me, you are now taking care of the children from the ones in the hospital, you are busy from hospital to home to back. You worry. A lot. Let's just say ALL THE TIME! It's overwhelming from that first phone call from hospital telling you that you need to get there. But you still have everyday things that need to be handled. While my daughter. And her fiancé were in hospital, I had two young girls to take care of, one 4 1/2 and one 6 months. Luckily, I had help. But you still have to figure out, what do you say when they ask were mommy and daddy are. Those long nights that you can't sleep because of nightmares, holding a confused 6 month old, you come up with some pretty stupid coping methods. At night, I had one granddaughter sleep in my bed. The 6 month old would wake up crying. I would get up because, honestly, I'm the only one there. This will probably come back and bite me later, but when Namine would wake up, we would spend the rest of the night watching Supernatural on Netflix. We watched nine seasons before my gimps came home from hospital. We watched conventions on you tube. And that's why my youngest granddaughter loves the sound of Jared's voice, but Jensen's singing. It's also why she lives music videos. Eminem's Not Afraid is one of her favorites. AC/DC Thunderstruck. Beyoncé I Was Here. Calling All Angels. She knows them, she rocks them. She's not scared of too much. Actually, I haven't found where she's afraid for very long on anything. When we had to go up to Ann Arbor for all the therapy treatments daily, we stayed in a hotel for three months. They had a pool. It took awhile before Gimp one and Gimp two were allowed in the pool, their open wounds had to heal over first. But both girls loved playing in the water. And when mommy and daddy got to join them, it turned into party time. As for the eldest, Rena, she latched onto me like a burr. It was upsetting if I wasn't home with her. It's almost two years and she is still in my bed. She was diagnosed with childhood ptsd. I'm her coping method. Can we say yay? We do realize that she will need help, if we can get insurance to finally pay for it. She's become even more fragile than before. We don't know how she will turn out, but she already knows how to be around someone who can't be touched because they are all stitched up, with pins sticking out and braces for everything. Kendra was in ICU for ten days. I refused to take the girls to see either of them, mommy or daddy. But, when she was released into step down room, I couldn't ignore the damage and fear of Rena loosing her family. I had to bring both. You have to understand, by the time we reached that point, to us, she looked a hundred times better. But to a four and half year old, her mommy looked like a nightmare come to life. Everything she feared, there was the proof that mommy was hurt bad enough, she might not come home. Of course, by that time we knew mommy and daddy both were going to come home. To a little girl? Who wasn't allowed to hug or be close to mommy, it was devastating? Our normal everyday world was blown up. Nothing would even come close to matching what we used to think normal was. We had to learn to embrace a new normal every couple days. The only things that have stayed the same is Namines music and supernatural, and Rena sleeping with me. But, let's talk about me. Not much. The first can be best described as living a nightmare for every single moment of my day. At first the fear was a live tangible monster. If I left the ICU, my fear was if she would be there by the time I came back. Seeing Shawn and letting him know any progress. Even today, he still has no idea just how close it came to ending horribly. When he starts to find out, he closes down. Not me. I was there. I was a very tightly wrapped bundle of fear, hiding it all so I could function enough to do all that needed done. Making sure everyone got what they needed. My husband is a lord no haul driver. He had a high value load on its way to Texas when I told him. We live in Michigan. He had to find a driver that could take the load the rest of the way, clear it with both shipper and consignee, and drive back up here. This nightmare started on Friday. He didn't get home until Tuesday. I tried to let go enough so I could release some of that emotion. I tried, I really tried. But right when I was laying there beside him, with his arms wrapped tightly around me, crying into his shoulder, at that moment, Kendra's cat, Nappa decided to jump from the back of the bed where he was hiding onto Scott's head. He was half coon so he was huge. So instead of crying, I ended up laughing. I didn't care. Release is release. It felt good. But, sleep was still difficult. The nightmares nightly. We went to see the car to see if anything was salvageable. A marker. That was he only thing we found that wasn't damaged. I still have it. Of their phones, never found them. But when I saw where they were sitting, I began to see why they were hurt as bad as they were. The dash from where Kendra's knee was embedded was completely torn apart. I had washed their clothes from crash, because they asked to keep them, and plastic parts fell out. One piece I found where it went to. The state police was there to ale sure I didn't destroy any evidence. I handed him the piece. Told him I found where it went. Showed him. I saw how much the steering wheel was pushed forward from shawn hitting it. I think, by that time, living in the shock for so long, trying desperately to make sense of everything, and not give into the fear eating me up inside, your mind goes to weird places. I finally understood what they experienced. Kendra was still in a coma. We still didn't know if she would live, or how much brain damage, or keep her leg, or walk. I remember asking the officer what happened. Just like everyone that saw it, he told me the other driver went completely left of center and hit my car directly head on going 55 with an impact speed of 110. He asked how they were. I know I told him she was still in a coma and that shawn had shattered his wrist and sliced off his heel. I don't remember much else. I've yet to take time to fully react to what our life has become. I've tried to come to terms with everything. I haven't. Everyone is still here. I'm still helping with what they can't do. I can't settle for long. I used to be able to read for hours. Now? I'm jumping from thing to thing, trying to keep myself distracted. I don't need to. I'm just so used to it, I can't seem to stop. For me, living with the fear and our new normal has changed me. You find you don't have time for bullshit, unless you decide it would distract you. My sense of humor was always a little dark. Now it's totally black. Black hole black. I don't bring it out often. People find it unsettling. Which only makes it that much more funny. Looking back, I have no problem remembering that fear. That feeling of desperation. It's better now. I know they both will live. Kendra didn't have too much TBI, nor Shawn. She kept her leg. She has horrible scars. So does he. In a way, they have it easier. When telling others why they are the way they are, they point to their scares. From how horrible it looks, you know it was a horrible time. For me, you only notice if you knew me before. I've become more afraid with having to know where everyone is. The gimps are not allowed to go on dates. Every time have tried, it kept getting worse. The last one being the crash, I absolutely refuse to help if they try to date. They go on outings. Their last date they almost died. But on their last outing, they had a blast. I hate silver cars. Both cars were silver. Lots of accidents have silver cars. The Gimpmobile is red. Silver is bad luck. And I can only eat cornflakes if I don't want upset system. It was months before I realized that the only thing I ate every day was cornflakes. It was food, filled me up, I didn't have to think how to make it. Now, if I don't have a bowl before I sleep, I won't be able to sleep. As obsessions go, it's weird, but not like eat my hair weird. So I'm fine with that. The thing to remember is that everyone becomes involved in a traumatic event. Not just the ones who experience it. But the family and caregivers also. No one comes out with no wounds. From the little ones to the old farts. Watching every day wen your loved one has to be in pain so they can check this or that, weather hurting, or their unbelievable amount of fear getting back inside a car, and knowing that there is not one damned thing you can do to help will leave there own marks on you. Just unseen. It's not over when thy wake from their coma, or get released from hospital. Or all their multitude of therapies. It's still going strong after 21 months. And we haven't even gotten thru the other drivers trial or the lawsuits because their insurance isn't paying what they are supposed to. And it might be years before we see the end to this damned nightmare.