Posts Tagged ‘inmate’

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So here we are, on the brink of the new year and I’m feeling very introspective. I’ve seriously slacked in maintaining this blog in 2015, and for that, I’m a little sorry. Truth be told, this blog has served as a coping mechanism for me. It has been a means of expressing myself and fleshing out my thoughts in a meaningful way that allows me to make sense of them. 2015 has taught me that I don’t always require or have the steam for this particular mechanism. The writer in me laments this fact, while the survivor in me understands that it isn’t a horrible thing. I truthfully hope that I manage to be more attentive to this means of expression in 2016, and I have every intention of making every effort to make it happen. Time will tell.

So it’s 10:30 pm CST and I’m vegging out following a much needed shower after putting in two really long days at work. Since my husband’s arrest in 2013, I have found holidays to be the most difficult to contend with. I absolutely don’t begrudge anyone else their happiness and their companionship and celebration on these occasions but I’ve found time & again that I don’t really have a place in them. It’s awkward more than anything, and it’s just easier for me to separate myself from it as best I can. In doing so, however, the cue to maintain caution for another reason sounds. I’m 20 months clean now, and most of the time, getting high isn’t even an afterthought. It’s not even at the forefront of my mind in any sense of the word. When I’m alone though, and unoccupied, my mind wanders to places I haven’t voluntarily visited in quite some time. This is why I immerse myself so enthusiastically in my schooling and my work. Much like idle hands are dangerous so, too, is an idle mind.

I’ve made a lot of progress this year though, in spite of the conflicts inherent with adulthood. I’m in a transitional period now as I try to get situated and get a home, and that has been a little stressful for me. A lot of this scenario resembles some factors of the calamity in 2013. I try not to look directly at it for just that reason. The busier, the better.

I was inducted into two honor societies this year, and am hopeful for some scholarships through them to continue my education after the federal aid dries up. I’ve started a small business, promoting health & beauty products that I really believe in, and it is slow going but it is exciting just to consider the potential it carries. I hope to grow that business substantially in the coming year, and (though I hesitate to even say it out loud,) regain some semblance of financial freedom. Oh to be debt-free again. There is so much potential that it just makes me weak in the knees. I’m not a greedy woman, but I am no stranger to stress and I create more than enough of it myself without the added burdens of responsibility.

On the note of stress & anxiety, I dropped from weekly counseling sessions for 17 months to every other week in the forth quarter of 2015. I feel that denotes some semblance of progress on my part. I’m less prone to post-nuclear meltdown, which is nice. I still have bad days but they are less frequent & I blessedly perceive fewer boogeymen than I have since I was assaulted in 2013. It is a massive relief on a scale I’m not altogether prepared to express. One such development in counseling has been survivor panels. I spoke at three of them in 2015. These panels are an avenue for advocates at the crisis hotline provided by my counseling agency who answer those calls to speak directly to survivors and to get a better idea of what victims need from them. These panels have been incredibly empowering for me and have been pivotal in my own healing process. I’m happy to say that I am already scheduled to speak at one in the first quarter of 2016. I’m looking forward to it more than you know.

April 2016 also has the potential to carry happy news concerning my husband’s incarceration. He is up for parole again and, should the state grant it, he will then only have 14 months to serve in a federal facility before coming home to me. I’m trying very hard to not get my hopes up, as last year’s denial was soul crushing. If not for the amazing people in my life, I might have relapsed. I’ve resolved myself to hope for the best, but brace for the worst this year.

I am on track to finish my Associate’s Degree in 2016, and transfer to continue work on my Bachelor’s Degree. All in all, I am cautiously optimistic about all the potential I see in 2016. I’m eager to see what it brings, and hopeful that it will prove to be the fruition that the transitional period of 2015 brings.

I wish you all a safe & Happy New Year and that 2016 finds all you’ve been working towards and hoping for.

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This is another paper I wrote for my English composition class. I share now because the topic of recidivism and addiction came up today. This paper was also written in MLA format.

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A disease, according to Merriam-Webster, is defined as “an illness that affects a person, animal, or plant; a condition that prevents the body or mind from working normally” (p1). Additionally, addiction, as defined by the National Institute on Drug Abuse is “a chronic, relapsing brain disease that is characterized by compulsive drug seeking and use, despite harmful consequences.” (“The Essence of Drug Addiction.” p7). The link between the two words is plain to see. Yet America, as a nation, does not treat addiction as a disease. Instead, it is punished, swiftly and indiscriminately, as a crime. The symptoms of the disease are simply suppressed by the system. Drug offences alone were accountable for over half of the population in federal prisons in this country in 2013, per the U.S. Department of Justice Statistics Bulletin (15). For the sake of perspective, the Federal Correctional system housed 193,775 prisoners, serving sentences longer than one year, and 98,200 of those were for drug convictions alone. (16).

How does that look at the state level? According to the same source, of the 1,314,900 inmates sentenced at the state level in 2013, only 16% of those were sentenced for drug convictions. (Table 13, page 15.) The stark contrast here has to do with some states softening the penalties for low-level drug offenses, while others are somewhat more lenient with regards to parole violations (i.e. they do not necessarily get sent straight back to prison upon their first violation, depending on the nature of it.) Nevertheless, it is incredibly alarming as to why there is such a massive difference between the federal correctional system and the state systems within the same country. How can this be explained?

The nature of drug crimes insofar as convictions are concerned, can be broken down into subcategories: possession, delivery/trafficking and manufacturing. Each carries varying degrees of severity, depending on the specific details of each case. What the typical census fails to consider is the drug related element of non-drug convictions. As mentioned earlier, addiction describes compulsive need for a substance. Alan I. Leshner, Ph.D., the Director of the National Institute of Drug Abuse within the National Institute of Health describes it perfectly:

“Drug craving and the other compulsive behaviors are the essence of addiction. They are extremely difficult to control, much more difficult than any physical dependence. They are the principal target symptoms for most drug treatment programs. For an addict, there is no motivation more powerful than a drug craving. As the movie “Trainspotting” showed us so well, the addict’s entire life becomes centered on getting and using the drug. Virtually nothing seems to outweigh drug craving as a motivator. People have committed all kinds of crimes and even abandoned their children just to get drugs.” (“The Essence of Drug Addiction.” p8.)

The science behind this has been performed. It is a widely accepted fact that addiction is a disease. Upon further consideration, it is clear to see that if America as a country was more widely inclined to address the illness itself, rather than the current method of staunching the symptoms, there is a very real and attainable possibility that crime of all kinds will decrease.

America is certainly on the trailing edge of implementing these findings. The Netherlands, for example, has systems in place where soft drugs such as marijuana are accessible in a safe, legal environment, where the users of such substances (young or infrequent especially) are not necessarily exposed to the harder, more volatile drugs, such as heroin and cocaine. Furthermore, in various European countries, there are safe rooms in place where addicts of hard drugs are free to go and use their drugs in peace, with medical supervision and clean needles. (“Denmark’s ‘Fix Rooms’ Give Drug Users a Safe Haven. P6.” This carries multiple social benefits: these addicts are not littering public streets with refuse and dirty needles, and the Netherlands has all but eliminated HIV transmission through drug injection while also boasting the lowest rate of problem drug use in all of Europe. (“…Look to the Dutch. P11.) There is more to it still: the coffee shops where the marijuana can be purchased, generate a staggering amount of revenue annually while the citizens are not strapped with criminal records for non-violent, minor drug offences, since fewer arrests are made. . (“…Look to the Dutch. P4.) The end result is a much cleaner, much more prosperous society. Some believe more lenient law enforcement would lead to an increase in drug use. For the Netherlands, this was not the case. . (“…Look to the Dutch. P5.)

Ultimately, the mentality behind policy in the Netherlands is that different substances carry different risks, the contrary of America’s stance, wherein all drugs are equally as hazardous and criminal. The pros most certainly outweigh the cons, and there are so many examples made overseas that America should follow. More leniency with low level offences has the potential to reduce recidivism, in that minor offenders would not be subject to felonies that make it exponentially more difficult to attain gainful employment, which contributes in and of itself to the alarming prison overcrowding issue in the United States. If we were to delve further into the issue, and take steps to identify those in the ranks of America’s incarcerated, who are addicted to hard drugs, such as methamphetamine, cocaine, heroin and all the incarnations thereof, and take steps to treat their conditions as the disease it is, crime rates would drop exponentially. The addict mind drives otherwise good and decent people to alarming lengths to feed their addiction. Breaking and entering, theft, robbery, grand theft, and even some of the more violent crimes, are examples of some of the radical lengths an addict will go to in order to pacify his or her demons.

Imagine then if, as a society, we took steps to exorcise those particular demons. What, then, is left? The human condition dictates that there will always be some crime. The alarming numbers of men and women that fill both state and federal penitentiaries would dramatically decrease if, as a people, we took one of the more common variables off the table. Progress is progress. Consider as well, how many families living below the poverty line might have a fighting chance if their finances were not dictated by the need for a fix. Though times are still hard, in light of the recession, the black mark of a felony conviction on the background of non-violent men and women make it that much more difficult to find gainful employment. It is a vicious cycle: addiction, crime, incarceration, release without treatment for the disease, struggle to reintegrate back into the free world, inability to find work, relapse under stress or necessity of subsidizing income, crime, incarceration. This is the reality for an unacceptably large number of Americans.

The system is broken, but it is not beyond repair. The United States of America should follow the lead of more progressive countries like The Netherlands and treat the disease. Without the disease rampant and out of control, the symptoms will become irrelevant. Treat the disease; stop suppressing the symptoms.

Works Cited:

Carson, E. Ann, Ph.D. “Prisoners in 2013.” U.S. Department of Justice – Bureau of Justice Statistics Bulletin. Sept. 2014. Web PDF. 12 Oct. 2014.

Leshner, Alan I. Ph.D. “The Essence of Addiction.” National Institute on Drug Abuse. March, 2001. Web. 12 Oct. 2014.

Malinowska-Sempruch, Kasia. “For Safe and Effective Drug Policy, Look to the Dutch.” Global Drug Policy Program. Open Society Foundations. July 16, 2013. Web.

Merriam-Webster. An Encyclopedia Britannica Company. Web. 12 Oct 2014.

Overgaard, Sidsel. “Denmark’s ‘Fix Rooms’ Give Drug Users A Safe Haven.” Parrallels: Many Stories, One World. 16 Dec 2013. Web. 12 Oct. 2014.

One of the wonderful women in one of the Inmate Wife support groups I am a member of posted this and I was very moved by it. I asked her if I could repost it on my blog here. Again, this is credited to miss Sherrie Montgomery – I did not write this. Thanks so much for sharing, lady. This is really a wonderful piece.

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The Prison Wife
Who is she??

She is around you more than you may ever realize. She is the girl in line at the grocery store. She is the girl sitting next to you at work. She is the girl on the other end of the phone when you call customer service. She is the girl standing at the mailbox just waiting and hoping there is a letter, amongst all of the bills, with his name in the top left corner. She is the girl jumping up and down when she hears his ringtone every day. She is the girl searching everywhere to find new perfume to spray on his letters. She is the girl laying alone at night…thinking of how it will feel to have his skin on hers all night long as they sleep. She is the girl crying tears because he is so far away…but do you know that is what the tears are for??

She is the girl setting out to achieve her goals and earn a college degree so that life can be successful for him and for her when they are finally reunited…and she does it with so much love and appreciation for all that he does for her, even though things are limited for the moment. She is the girl that everyone does not feel sorry for because this is the life she chose…so when things get rough…all she hears is “well that is the road you chose to take” or “if you would just move on and find someone who could be here and support you”…you just don’t get it, do you??

She is the girl who has nobody to comfort and hold her when someone she loves passes away. She is the girl who must remain strong in the face of challenge. She is the girl with nobody to hold her hand and cry with her when she finds out that she has a medical problem. She is the girl that people look at with pity in their eyes because there is nothing they can do. He is the only man that can take this all away.

She is the girl that loves her man more than life itself. She is the girl that hurts when he tells her how worthless he is because he can’t provide for her. She is the girl that tells him he is wonderful when the cops make him feel like he has no value as a man…when the only difference between them and him is that he just got caught…the cops will someday too. She is the girl that would give anything to make him understand just how much he really is loved and valued in this life. She is the girl that he vents to when he is struggling. She is the girl left in the dark because he will not tell her what life on the inside is like…she is too precious to know all of this and he wants to keep her sacred and away from this hell that he calls home. She is the girl wondering if she is on his mind as much as he is on hers. She is the girl that is just as imprisoned as he is…sure she does not live in that world…but she is doing the time right along with him.

She is the girl running to the bank to make sure she has enough quarters to get through the whole 8 hour visit. She is the girl driving an hour, 4 hours, or 14 hours so that she can finally kiss the man that she is in love with and be able to feel close to him for the hours that they are together. She is the girl who can’t wait to see his face in person again. She is the girl going to “visit” her sweetheart…knowing that she will have to leave him again. She is the girl that hurts, knowing that any and all privacy that he has was gone the moment the cuffs were put on his wrists. She is the girl who wants to throw up when she thinks of the most incredible man that she has ever known, being shackled with chains around his stomach, his hands cuffed in front of him, his feet chained together…and chained to the person sitting next to him or walking in front of him. She is the girl that does not see the monster in him that they all think exists. She is the girl they call “naive” to the real world…she is not…she is sick of being classified like this just because she believes in people more than they believe in themselves.

She is the girl who lights up when she mentions his name or just thinks about him. She is the girl that gets butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her. She is the only person in this world that matters when he gives her a hug and tells her that he loves her. She is the girl counting down the days…waiting until he is free and there are no limits to how they express their love to each other for one another. She is the rock in his life…the solid foundation. She is his escape…especially when she is on the other end of the phone. She is the girl that he prays for. She is the girl that he fights for. She is the girl that he hopes is being faithful…but does he really trust her to be…and does he really believe her when she says she is?? She is the girl that does her very best in everything…inspite of the situation. She is his whole world…the letters she sends are priceless. He loves to smell her letters…it is refreshing from what he smells in there every day.

He is her whole world as well. He is on her mind 24/7/365. She is wondering what she can do to make him happy…she is limited…but she can change everything in his world for the better or for the worse…how is she going to decide to change it?? She is the greatest creation that God has ever made in his eyes. He is the most wonderful and incredible man on this earth in her eyes. The past is the past and that is just where it needs to stay. They pick up their lives…move toward one another…and create a whole new world inside of one another. When one gives, they receive. For everything she does for him to make him happy…he returns that to her. He showers her with unexpected gifts and amazing words written by his hand. He spoils her…and she spoils him. They fit…they always have…they always will. He loves her more than he could even try to describe…she loves him just the same…maybe more

Who is she?? She is me.

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It’s come to my attention throughout my journey of being shattered and then gradually putting my pieces back together and reintegrating into the world as it is that more people than not undergo struggles of this nature. Sure, the details vary widely but generally speaking, there is not a single person I know of that hasn’t endured an event that has forced them to completely adapt themselves or alter their thinking.
One of the prevalent themes in this seemingly universal phenomena is change. Change, in and of itself, can carry both negative and positive connotations, and some people are more adept at acclimating to it than others but generally speaking, I believe human beings are fundamentally creatures of habit. We thrive with structure. Positive, personal changes rarely occur outside of a carefully structured and applied plan. The negative changes are the ones that are more apt to blindside us when we absolutely don’t expect it. It is in those moments that our coping skills and sense of perseverance are tested.

I’ve been told by many that I am remarkable for what I have accomplished this last 18 months, and I suppose in some ways, that is true. At the same time though, it never really occurred to me that it could be any different. No, the things that befell me and events in my life were absolutely not planned… who has a continuity plan for that sort of thing, after all? No one I know. I guess where I differ from others is my adaptability. I was pretty accustomed to dealing with more mundane curve balls on a fairly regular basis. After all, that’s life. I had my moments throughout all of this where I felt completely crushed under the weight of it, and definitely at a loss of where to even begin to start rebuilding. I am fortunate in that I have amazing family and husband who love me unconditionally. Without their support, there’s not much telling where I would be today.

Those who know me will have heard me say on more than one occasion that perspective is everything. When a situation is less than desirable, some people are content to play the victim and ride that horse into the ground. I’m not one of those people. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me with pity. I know rationally they meant no harm by it, that they truly regretted my situation and just didn’t know how to deal with it. But emotionally it killed me because every sympathetic stare and gasp seemed like it re-carved that title of Victim into my forehead. In hindsight maybe that’s where my motivation to be okay came from. I wanted to be seen as normal, or at the very least indifferently. I would take praise too.. just not pity.

That realization is what led me to structure one of those carefully laid plans of action to bring about change that I mentioned earlier. Achievement and accomplishment have never been foreign to me… I am no stranger to working for what I want. That realization was empowering. Sure, I started from lower than in my previous experience, but hey, the same formula was applicable.

I guess my overall point is this: change happens to all of us. It is normal to experience feelings that aren’t necessarily familiar as a result of whatever variables in your life have changed. It doesn’t have to be an ugly thing. Take the time to understand what you’re feeling and why. From there, you can establish a clinical perspective of your state of mind and then you’re just a few short steps away from formulating your plan of action to get from where you are to where you want to be. If I can do it, anyone can. Perspective is everything. Take control of yours.

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I’ve got some time before my appointment and have been in my head a lot this weekend so I’ve got some more thoughts for that jar.

The foremost thought on my mind is accomplishment. I feel like I have a lot of little successes recently. I’m doing well in college, which means the world to me, not because I would feel like a failure otherwise but because it is another indicator that I’m not broken. I have struggled a lot with short-term memory issues in the wake of my assault last year. He caused a cortical contusion of the frontal lobe. He made my brain bleed. It was explained to me as shaken baby syndrome, just as an adult. The fact that I can still not only perform, but also perform well, in an academic setting is a huge victory for me. I am incredibly grateful for it.

The next big event… I attended Comic Con this past weekend. I was very apprehensive at first because I have a hard time even going to the grocery store. I experience high anxiety in public places, especially ones with open space and lots of people. I went to the Con with my cousins and felt little to no anxiety the whole day. It was amazing. I didn’t feel singled out or even the slightest bit threatened. That really bodes well for me. I don’t think I’m ready to try something similar by myself just yet, but it is most certainly a victory.

Aside from those happy things, I’ve spent more time thinking about my husband. I’ve been a little stressed lately as his parole hearing draws closer. I don’t sleep very well at all. If they grant him parole, he will go into federal custody and hopefully serve his 12-14 months in a facility MUCH closer to home. Furthermore, with the feds, he will actually have a set in stone release date. I’m beside myself just thinking about it. That in and of itself would make life exponentially sweeter. I would have a tangible date to look forward to, as well as a date with which I can really start putting effort into making arrangements for work when he comes home. I feel like it is a figurative light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. I long for it.

 

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Ever since I’ve known him, he has had this uncanny ability to calm my anxiety. I was anxious before this nightmare started, but not when he was nearby. The prospect of him coming back home to me and restoring the sense of peace and security that left when he did is almost enough to bring me to tears. We have both more than paid his debt to society, in so many ways. Any prayers and affirmative wishes for the parole board’s decision are most certainly appreciated.

It’s funny how losing so much can make you realize how much it all means to you. I mean, I’m sure some turn bitter rather than grateful… I’m not bitter though. Not completely anyway. There are some elements of this nightmare that will very likely be an outrage until the day they put me in the ground. For the most part, though… I am grateful that he and I are alive, that we are sober, and that eventually we will get a shot at the future we dream of.

Silver linings are truly in everything. It just takes a keen and hopeful eye to see them. Take it from me: it’s worth it. Every last pain is worth the joy that comes from seeing the upsides and from holding onto the positive. I think that is really the only way to stay soft in a world designed to make us hard. If I could give just one piece of advice, that would be it. Stay soft. Seek the silver linings, despite how well hidden they seem to be.

 

You know, I think it’s kind of funny how a song, or a scent, or a movie/book title or cover, or really anything can spark a memory and take you so vividly back to a place and time long since past. It’s really an amazing phenomenon, how we create these associations with otherwise mundane things. It can be something positive or it can be awful. I’ve experienced both myself, but more so the latter in recent days. It’s referred to as a trigger in the negative context. It happened to me a few weeks ago when someone randomly squeezed off four shots on a Sunday night around midnight. My dogs stayed close by me and didn’t react how I would have expected them to. That was a long, restless night that led into a long, anxiety filled day. It was the absolute worst. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. My pulse kept quickening and dropping again for no apparent reason. It wasn’t a good day, but I survived. Today, on the other hand, I blessedly got to experience the flip side of this phenomenon. A song I hadn’t heard in ages came on, and it was a genre of music I’ve never followed adamantly myself. Before I even recognized the song, I was taken back to September of 2011, when I visited a dear friend outside of Houston, Texas. On our way home from the McDonald’s drive thru and that very song came on and he serenaded me; made me feel beautiful, made me feel wanted. There was always potential for us to have been great, but we were so different. We were at different places in our lives and it wasn’t meant to be. We parted on good terms, and I have nothing but fond memories of my time with him. I feel very fortunate that I can still experience these little gems of pure happiness from the past, since my more recent past is so polluted with ugly, awful things. It also helps reassure me that I’m not broken. The head injury I sustained has consistently altered the reliability of my short-term memory and it has been an obstacle in and of itself. My grey matter is still functioning though, and clearly is adamant about reminding me of that fact every now and then. (:

Here’s to the past. May it ever be a firm but nurturing teacher to prepare us for the future.

 

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I like how it’s becoming a trend for me to arrive early to counseling and finding time to post here. How very fortuitous for me.

I’ve always known that I’m a hyper-emotional person. I feel my emotions in high def 1080p, both good and bad. I have long since accepted it for what it is and have adjusted accordingly. This last couple of weeks have brought my thoughts to this topic more than once though, in both positive and negative ways.

I suppose to begin with I was feeling pretty heavy last week because I hadn’t heard from my husband in a while and I was missing him, for many reasons. At the forefront of that was my ‘homework’ assignment from my counselor for last Thursday’s session (which ended up being canceled.) She asked me to write a letter to my assailant for her, to give her an opportunity to see into my feelings on the matter. She instructed me to wait until Wednesday evening or Thursday afternoon to write it, so that I wouldn’t have to suffer in the mindset all week long. This made sense to me because I have excellent coping skills in place. I don’t have time to fall apart, so the less time I spent on the thought process, the better. Unfortunately that is a good idea in theory only. The prospect of completing the task loomed over me basically the entire week. Just the idea of performing the task caused me a great deal more anxiety than I had anticipated. I was in a pretty somber mood all week long. Naturally, no mail from my husband, my best friend, my soulmate, definitely didn’t help matters.

Thursday afternoon, I dutifully put pen to paper on my lunch break and wrote the letter. I was a great deal angrier than I’d realized, and managed to scribble down three pages before I felt sufficiently vented. Within an hour or so before I was due to leave the office for my appointment, my counselor canceled. She offered to reschedule apologetically but being as busy as I am, I opted to wait until this Thursday, so I wouldn’t have to reshuffle my days. I strive to keep a very organized schedule. (Possibly yet another of my myriad of coping skills… control thing? I feel like I am very together when I have plans in place. Who knows?)

I left at the same time anyway, feeling pretty loaded down with the anger brought to the surface by the letter. I stewed in it some. I cleaned my home repeatedly, cooked as usual but opted to treat myself more than I usually would.. I have the mother of all sweet teeth. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I comfort eat… since moving to Texas, I’ve shed more than 100 lbs and am proud of that fact. I recognize the dangers of comfort eating in regards to keeping that weight off. I don’t deny myself little treats now and then though. I always found that I would eat more if I denied myself and then broke under the inward facing resentment. So I never deny myself. Anyway, I made it through the remainder of the week and got to visit my husband on Saturday. That was nice, but brought up a few unrelated stresses, which I promptly vented in inmate mail on Sunday. I learned on Saturday that he had written the letter I’d requested and put it in the mail Wednesday or Thursday and that it should be arriving any day now. I was hopeful it would be waiting for me when I got home Saturday – not so. That fouled my mood further. The letter I wrote Sunday definitely reflected the discontented nature of my mood.. it’s fortunate he knows me as well as he does. I’m sure it would be a great deal more distressing otherwise.

Well, here comes Monday… back to the grind and as stressful as work is sometimes, I’m still grateful for it. Performing my duties keeps me out of my head and keeps me busy. Time passes much more quickly and productively when I’m working. At quitting time on Monday, I hurry home, thinking the letter MUST be there today, surely. Not so. I almost fall apart this time. I cry for the first time in months. And really it’s silly. I just saw him Saturday. It’s really a very little thing. I’m so ate up by my mood and emotions though that it may as well be the end of the world.

I struggle through the work day Tuesday, in an awful mood and just generally displeased with the world. I head home at the end of the day and try not to be too hopeful about the letter, my reasoning being that if I don’t get my hopes up, I won’t be so upset if it isn’t there. Well apparently that worked. There was my inmate mail waiting for me when I got home. I was elated.. almost walking on sunshine. Scrawled across the front of the envelope in an unfamiliar hand was a note that said it had been delivered to the wrong address and to please redeliver. Now in my mood the previous week, I would have been all hellfire and brimstone over the screw up by the postman, as naturally I checked the address and my husband hadn’t erred. But instead all I felt was an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the accidental recipient of my letter for taking the time to write this and then put it back into the mail. I’d probably hug this person if I knew who they were.

Isn’t it funny how such little things can mean everything? That little gesture of selflessness by the hand of a stranger helped to completely alleviate my funk. Don’t get me wrong… my anger and general stress brought on by various aspects of life is still here. I still carry it. But it’s not a defining factor in who I am right now. It’s just something I do… not who I am. Moments like these where I am in tune with these little gems also make me feel like I really have it together. If that makes me crazy, so be it. I’m crazy. I’ll graciously accept that title and many others provided I keep getting to (and more importantly, remembering to) celebrate these little victories.

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Well here I am, an hour early for therapy again. Tonight is group expression through art therapy. I am blessedly in much better headspace than I was last week. Seeing my inmate this past weekend may have had something to do with that. Or maybe it’s the continuously renewing revelation that I am so blessed to be surrounded by amazing people with such a rare and profound understanding for those things that are out of the ordinary. I truly am blessed, in spite of the card hand I’m still working on getting rid of. One day at a time. I do get better every day.

I mentioned some things last week that I’ve mulled over more than a few times since I wrote them down. I’d like to revisit them again, from this more positive headspace. I had said I’d accomplished many things on my own in spite of circumstances. There have been many questions and criticisms over the last year, some more positive than others. One of the most common ones “why don’t you just come home?” I am home. The actions of one sad, sick man cannot drive me away from my home. I arrived here following an uncertain path, true… but it was, and is, my path. I will follow it through until the end. My nature will allow nothing less.

Following the incident last year, I went through something of an identity crisis. My compassion and kindness were some of the factors that created an impossible and horrific situation. I struggled with the fact that I’ve always strived to be true to myself – to the person I knew myself to be. But how could I rationally maintain that mentality when key components of the person I knew myself to be had nearly gotten me killed? It scared me to think, that if I forced myself to toughen up and evolve my nature, that I may not recognize nor like the person I would become. Furthermore, I feared that my inmate might not love the person I would become. Those were very dark days. I finally resolved myself to the mentality that my choices – the act of kindness and compassion – were a reflection of me. It was a reflection of a good person in a world where there were very few good people, whereas what he did to me was a reflection of him. I decided I had to stay true to my convictions, because I had worked hard and endured trials throughout my life that molded the person I am. I earned the right to be me. No one can take that from me.

 

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Another line of questioning I hear a lot of has to do with my inmate. Why wait around? Why struggle through this? There are plenty of fish in the sea. To this I have answered a great many ways, primarily among which was: not for me. If you read the first couple of entries in this blog, you will glimpse the history between my inmate & I. I truly believe with every fiber of my being that we are destined to be. I am a spiritual woman by nature… a healthy skeptic of things I cannot see and explain. But I see Design in us. I believe forces beyond my understanding have orchestrated everything that has transpired our entire lives to bring us to where we are. How can I possibly walk away from that? I may as well carve out my own heart for all the good it would do.

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Life is hard for everyone. We all have our own trials and roadblocks and tests. They may look different but so do we. We are all products of our own environments and experiences. It only makes sense that the obstacle courses of each of our lives are different. I choose to press on. Knowing myself how I do, I can’t imagine doing anything else. How do you go back to black & white when you’ve been living in Technicolor HD?

I am forever changed, and that’s okay. Tomorrow is another day with new opportunities for personal growth and repair. I wonder sometimes if I’m broken. I don’t think I am. I might be a little chipped, with a few pieces to put back together, but I am far from shattered. Frankly I don’t have time to be shattered. There is too much to do: too much rebuilding of my life and a life for my inmate to come home to. I have no time to sit and cry in the corner.

 

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I feel I’ve gotten a little bolder since I learned that my assailant is in federal holding a few hours away, not due to be released until fall of 2017. I’ve been spending more time in public, less fearful of everything that moves. I’m no longer afraid that he’s going to jump out from behind every corner. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath and just now, months later, I’m able to breathe again. It’s a very good feeling. I get a little better every day.

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So it’s extremely fortuitous that I’m not only on the roster for an appointment with my counselor but also that I’ve arrived early and thus have time to jot this down.

I’m in the midst of one of my mini meltdowns borne of one too many straws on the camel’s back. My counselor has raved on multiple occasions about what a strong woman I am, for all the blows I’ve taken, repeatedly and my get-shit-done attitude.

To paraphrase in the name of context, my husband and the love of my life was arrested in May of 2013. I bailed him out and he was arrested again less than a week later. I was left to clean up the mess left in the wake of his tailspin out of control in addition to trying to heal from the damage done to our relationship. Two months after he was arrested, I was kidnapped, raped and beaten within an inch of my life. This cost me my job, my car, my sense of security and my home. I was blessed to have family not too far away who were willing to take me in while I recovered and worked on getting back in the saddle. It took me almost two months and six different police agencies to file a police report (while ultimately was for nothing because the grand jury no-billed the charges against my assailant. It was an act of God that my assailant was arrested on unrelated charges and has been in the custody of various agencies since September of 2013.)

I got myself a good job in October of 2013 and have been there since. I was commuting 60 miles each direction every day until April of 2014, when I got an apartment in the city with my income tax return. I have since earned a promotion at work, and enrolled in college to begin work on an associate’s degree. If all goes according to plan, I should complete my degree around the time my husband is released from prison. Oh, did I not mention that? I’ve done all of the above on my own. I have survived and sought counseling and slowly but surely managed to begin to rebuild not only my life, but a good life for my husband to come home to.

In addition to all of my baggage, bills and life expenses, I support my husband. I make sure he has food and personal hygiene products, as well as correspondence materials to communicate with those he left behind. I take care of my in-laws as best I can, making efforts to see them every week or two. I also make arrangements to carry them on the 300 mile drive to visit my husband a couple times a month.

The moral of the story is I hold everything together. I fight kicking and screaming to push on, feeling that I don’t have time to falter or succumb to a sense of being overwhelmed. Well, I suppose that brings us to today. When my husband got arrested, the police kept his phone. I got him a new one when I bailed him out and voilà.. they kept that one too the second time. This past weekend the contract for two of the three lines I’ve been paying for over the last 16 months was finally up. I canceled them and now blessedly have only one line. I was going to go with q competitor’s plan where they’d cover my cancellation fees for the third line and would set me up with a new phone and number without a contract. Well my credit sucks (because of the excessively shitty hand I was dealt last year) and the competitor wants more than twice what the cancellation fees would be. So to hell with that plan. That irks me because in spite of my perseverance the actions of my assailant are still negatively impacting my life. So what else is new?

That’s not the straw though. The straw that broke the camel’s back is this: this morning on my way to work, a light came on on the dash of my car. It was the tire pressure light. No problem, I’ll handle it before I go to my counseling appointment. Well, my mood is shot after the competitor took the wind out of my sails, but I proceed to the gas station, check the pressure in all my tires and air them all up to the same approximate ballpark. The damn light refuses to go off. The final straw is the fact that I am a survivor; I am independent, self-reliant and have no real sense of defeat. I am no stranger to tactical retreat and believe it to be a pivotal step to be visited many times on the road to success. In spite of my ‘sticktoitiveness,’ I can’t handle simple, basic maintenance of my car. It was in this moment that I realized I am angry at my husband. I am angry that he left me alone and that he’s not here to handle these trivial things that clearly aren’t in my skill set.

I am a painfully rational, logical person. In moments like these, I experience inner conflict between my inherent logical nature and the emotional tendencies that go along with being female. I understand why I’m feeling how I am, but can’t seem to flip the damn off switch.

As I said, it’s fortuitous that it’s Thursday and I’ll be seeing my counselor shortly, because my otherwise exceptionally long fuse is on the brink of finally burning up.

Forget this terrible, no good, very bad day. Thanks.

 

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Rewind now, ohhh 13 years.

I’m a 12 year-old child, only just coming into my love for video games and technology. It’s the time of the 56k modems and, fortunately, I hadn’t yet developed my fixation on MMOs (thanks for that, by the way, Blizzard.)

There is turbulence in my home. A lot is going on that I don’t understand, but I know that my parents are at odds.

A lot of things transpired but that’s not what this story is about. What matters is this: so many people dismiss the problems of a child as insignificant. I was struggling with a lot, because I hadn’t altogether developed coping skills yet. I was an angry tween. Most just concluded I was just acting out.

The Internet became my retreat. No one judged me or dismissed me there. I had real friends online, even if I had never met them face-to-face. I frequented several chat rooms as well as online games. These were my safe places.

In one such chat room, I met a Dragon. He was always kind to me, and listened to my stressors. He never dismissed my issues as insignificant. He was never rude or untoward, and I naturally clung to him for dear life.

The highlight of my days was coming home from school to see if he was online. Eventually, once we moved into the time of cable internet, he would leave his webcam on even if he was at work, so that I could look at his fish tank while I did my home work. I had pictures of my Dragon in my locker in school. I was beyond infatuated with him, all because he was kind to me, patient with me. He was a dose of stability in an otherwise tumultuous existence.

He had helped me cope with the most trying events in my life to date and that’s what I remember most when I think about those times and about him. As time passed, we both got older of course and life happened. He moved to the city and I was a teenage girl, making my own fair share of mistakes and learning life lessons. I had assumed that he had settled down and had moved on with his life. I held no hard feelings. In my mind, he had given me the gift of my life. There was no tainting that.

I went through my fair share of long-term relationships. I skipped the dating game and just committed to each as they came along, then cut and run when the nose dive became inevitable.

In March of 2011, I broke off the last of those doomed relationships. It was at that point that I realized I had spent virtually my entire post-puberty life as part of a pair and didn’t really know how to function as just me. So I plunged into the dating game, determined to learn how to not only exist, but also to function & thrive as a single, solitary unit. I spent some time with a friend I had met on WoW near Houston, TX. We were absolutely not at the same place in our lives though, so it would never be meant to be. Following that, I dated locally in the Ottawa area and met all kinds of interesting people. I was learning how to socialize. It was an invaluable period in my life.

Skip forward to February 2012. I recall that my father, sister & I were cruising around working on a photography school assignment for my niece. It was lots of fun! I was driving, so I didn’t pay a whole lot of mind to the Facebook notification I had received from someone by the same name as one of my bosses at work.

It wasn’t until much later that evening, seated at my desk at work, that I actually looked into my updates. I pulled up the profile, wondering why the boss man had created a duplicate profile, when it hit me. The location of this 2nd profile matched that of my Dragon. I was somewhere between shocked and elated. It had been years (a good 7 or 8) since I’d heard from him. I was awestruck; dumbfounded.

I added him and we got to talking. We discussed what had happened in the time since we had last been in touch. Turns out my theories had only been half right. He’d moved to the city and had settled somewhat with a girl, but the vast majority of those years had been spent in incarceration. He had gotten into some legal trouble over drugs. I was sad to hear it, and honestly a bit surprised since he had protected me from the darker side of his life the whole time I had known him.

It didn’t take long for me to decide I needed to visit him. I wanted to be supportive of him as he readjusted to life in the free world as he had been so supportive of me through the trials & tribulations of my youth.

I bought a plane ticket and flew into DFW in the third week of March. The time between making the decision and the actual trip seemed to crawl. But finally it had arrived!! I was an anxious ball of nerves for sure. I knew already how I had felt about him before, but had no expectations. I was making the trip as a friend and would not place undue pressure on him. That was not what he needed, after all.

He met me at the airport. If memory serves, I was wearing purple. He was wearing red & blue jeans. I was so shy but giddy as I could be.

After going through the motions & collecting my bags, I headed out the prearranged door. He was leaning right up against the railing just outside the door, so still and quiet that I walked right past him. He texted me and told me to turn around. I do & he’s shaking his head, laughing in a good natured manner. We are both a little shy but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. He takes my luggage and leads the way to the car, where grandmother is waiting.

It was an hour or more drive back to the house. My Dragon & I sat in the back seat, chattering a little and… Holding hands. I felt like a grade school girl all over. I had dreamed of this all through my youth and finally, here I was with the man who, in his youth, had been a pillar of strength and kindness to a wayward little girl. It is my firm belief that I would have turned out much differently had it not been for him.

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I had made an opportunity to begin to repay the kindness that had been so pivotal in my life. I felt (and still feel) that I would never be able to repay it in full. How do you properly compensate someone who has granted you your life?

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I spent 12 days there. They were amazing. We talked a lot, and after some time, we loved a lot too. We just seemed to synchronize with one another. It was surreal how well we just… Clicked. I felt like he not only belonged in my life, but like he had always been there. I felt a sense of calm and ease that I had never before experienced. Those who know me understand how anxious I am, how prone to worry I am and just general high strung I am. It was like he stunted all of that. Like he muted or muffled it. His very presence created a sense of calm and general contentment the likes of which I had never known. I was acutely aware before much time passed that the feelings I’d had for him in my youth were not only still there, but were so much stronger following the life experiences between now and then.

I told him of my desire to move back south, to spend some quality time with this side of my family before I missed everything. My nieces & nephew, all of my father’s side of the family and of course my big sister, were all down here and I wanted life with them. I also (seemingly jokingly) informed him that, should I manage to make my way down here, that he’d best watch out, as I would most certainly chase him. He was laying on the bed on his back, hands laced together behind his head, when I shared this last bit of info with him. I was sitting cross-legged on his right side, next to his hip. He made a dramatic show of considering it for a log moment, grinned, and so informed me that he just *might* let me. I giggled, thanked him for his benevolence & leaned over to kiss him.

During my stay, I met most of his family and we spent some time on the family farm as well as helped paint his mother’s new home. Relatively normal affairs, and not particularly eventful, but it was good. It was true and it wad comfortable.

Towards the end of my trip, I attended the orientation for his federal probation with him. I became as well versed in the conditions of his freedom as he was. I remember when he had asked his PO (who, by the way, ran a background check on me prior to allowing me to visit) if I could attend, the man told him that it was really intended for someone a little more permanently affixed in the life of the parolee. My Dragon smiled and told him he hold I would be.

Like all good things, the end came too soon. April 2nd was the date of my return flight. Grandmother took us for lunch at The Cotton Patch. On our way out for lunch, Jeff clipped a perfect wild rose out of the garden & gave it to me.

 

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Such a simple thing, and yet it was everything. I wore it behind my ear all day, until we arrived at the airport. He unloaded my luggage for me, and I bawled. I felt like I had only just got him back in my life. Leaving felt so unjust, so cruel.

After I arrived back home, I virtually had a phone glued to my ear. If we were both awake, we were on the phone. Period. He observed in that first week apart how profoundly silent it was without me there. I truly believe he missed me every bit as much as I missed him.

One day, during one of my morning rituals following a shift, I was cooking breakfast. My sister was working on homework and my Dragon, of course, was whispering in my ear. I don’t readily recall the topic of conversation, but it was light hearted. Context be damned, my Dragon told me “Well he may not know much, but he knows he sure loves you.” I paused, my jaw dropped & I swallowed the urge to giggle like a school girl. He was silent, like he had surprised himself as well. I asked him, in as level a voice as possible, to repeat himself. He refused of course, acting all embarrassed. I finally took mercy on him & shared the sentiment. I knew full well I had loved him since before I knew what love was. To hear him say the words to me… Oh, I was soaring so high with no descent in sight.

I knew then that I had to get back to him. The following few weeks were filled to the brim with overtime. I worked as much and as often as I could. The first week of May, I submitted my resignation notice. And of course, that brings us full circle back to May 15th, the day my whole life would change and the very purpose for my existence came within reach.

I knew love, and nothing would ever keep him from me again.

Or so I had believed, with every fiber of my being. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.