Transcript
Getting By by Rick Anderson There is a picture of one of the Minion’s on my bulletin board. You’ve probably seen him. He’s the one with the single goggled eye. He’s a bit downcast with a caption that reads, “Sometimes getting out of bed just ruins the whole day!” I get that. Every night I begin dreaming nearly from the moment my head hits the pillow. Each time I wake during the night I seem to drop back into the same dream right where I left off. In the morning, when the clanging steel doors and obnoxious yelling over the loudspeakers wakes me the image-rich dreams end and I realize I am still in this eight square foot concrete and steel cage. That can be, well, a discouraging start to a new day and my kinship with the minion is cemented once again. But I screw on my mask of apathy and tolerance to begin a new day here in paradise. The first order of the day is a trip to med line where I get my daily allotment of chemical faith and hope. After a handful of pharmaceutical Skittles I’m ready to venture into another day of dreary, clamorous, mind-numbing boredom. If I’m lucky it will be a workday. I have an enjoyable job and am allowed to listen to CD’s while I work. Music is my meditation so this is my most spiritual time of day. Othen/vise I’ll try to fight through the drowsiness of the meds by writing, reading a good book, sometimes a not-so-good one or watching television. TV does have its drawbacks though. The tantalizing food and Cialis commercials are serious distractions to my tranquility! Occasionally I will write poetry or very short stories — essays are more accurate I suppose. Early in my incarceration this usually manifested as dark and disturbing torrents of animosity, blame and vitriolic rancor born of long-held emotional baggage. I think l’ve worked through that for the most part. I’ve written about my love for the mountains, nature and my experiences there. I like these most. Others are glances at memories of people and places that hold some nostalgic Rick Anderson 1 magic, and tragedy, for me. I was fortunate to have come to prison later in life (if there can be an upside) as I was granted the rewards of raising a family, pursuing a career and enjoying many wonderful life experiences. I usually attend a meeting called Poetry Unlocked here and regularly associate with some of the members. Our facilitator and mentor is a wonderfully enthusiastic and very encouraging man. The group would not be possible and we would be the poorer without him. I am nearly always humbled by the emotionally revealing and often skillfully crafted writing many of these men share each month. Many came here in their youth and have been here for years, even decades, yet their writing reflects wisdom beyond the scope of this environment they’ve grown up in. I envy their courage to share of themselves yet find it too difficult to do so myself very often. My fear of being judged oven/vhelms me. I know this is selfish on my part and I’m working on it. One has to be careful, I’ve learned, about becoming too close to anyone here. Not for the reason’s popularized on the V documentaries but more for the disappointment and loss experienced when, not if but when, someone you've allowed in is suddenly moved. Whether they are sent to another facility or just another unit it may as well be to another planet in most cases. Contact will likely be lost permanently. Starting without friends and staying that way, as lonely as that may be, seems easier emotionally than having a friend and losing him. Either is mentally punitive and seems to be an actively pursued culture within DOC. Social media has been a devastating development for inmates. All but the eldest in society today see writing as a time-consuming inconvenience but it is all many inmates have. Friends and family don’t always comprehend the importance of written correspondence with us to maintain some continuity in our relationships with them. Phone calls cost prohibitive and even getting someone to answer a voice call can be [challenging so letters become the only form of Rick Anderson 3 communication let for a large number of men and women. When I first got here I wrote eight- ten letters per month and would often see responses from the majority of those. That slowed as time passed but I continued writing in hopes they would find the time to respond occasionally at least. Now I’m lucky to get eight letters in a calendar year and I am not atypical of that example. Some men haven’t heard from anyone outside in years and even decades. A few never have. We are haunted by questions such as, “Have they given up on me?” or “Are they too ashamed of any association with me?” and worse. An overwhelming sense of loneliness pervades until a grudging acceptance forces one to lose any last hopes of holding onto those they loved and the life they had before. Prior to my incarceration, living with bipolar (manic/depression) was sometimes problematic but pales in comparison to being so in a penal environment. Sharing a cramped box with another man and a toilet can stretch the patience and tolerance of the sanest of men. For a bipolar, prison is exponentially more difficult with challenges not encountered on the outside such as constant oppression and provocation by staff, racial hatreds and tension, rampant narcissism and the constant threat of violence that permeates the facility. A proper regimen of medication along with an ability to tap into the deepest wells of control and resilience are an absolute necessity. When the meds are working well I am able to traverse through or around the negative aspects and personalities I am immersed in. I’m even able to find amusement in other’s antics and the goings-on around me. I can easily engage in social interactions and find ways to pass the time productively and with as much comfort as is possible in such an environment. As I’ve aged, though, the disorder has changed and I’ve grown a tolerance to the medications. The manic periods are much less frequent now and of much shorter durations. While a manic episode may last only an hour or a day the depression will hold me for days, weeks and sometimes months. If Rick Anderson I’m lucky |’l| have a few weeks between cycles/episodes but either can begin or end as quickly as turning on a light or blinking an eye. Mania is like an adrenaline high with racing, disjointed thoughts, an inability to stay focused for long but intensely focused in those short times and very high energy. But depression has become the dominant symptom. A depressed episode is a nightmare of washed-out color, tightening walls and crushing despair. It is darker, longer lasting and often much more difficult to find a way out of. The sight or voice of an authority figure can provoke anger, frustration and sometimes hatred. I bristle at every slamming door and grow extremely agitated by the incessant noise; the static and illegible prattle over the loudspeakers and what seems like ten thousand voices screaming at once outside my cell door. I become unable to differentiate between the voices in my mind and the cacophony outside. internalization and isolation are my only refuge as I wait for the cycle to pass. I know it will but know also it will surely return and wonder if I can survive it one more time. I read, “Exorbitant|y long sentences, a highly prejudicial justice system and a culture of dehumanization offer little in the way of rehabilitation or correction.” Stacking charges and consecutive sentencing, along with the three strikes law, has created lifers in far too many cases. Omission and suppression of evidence, manipulation of testimony, double standards and hypocrisy in legal interpretations of statutes and The Constitution as well as an agonizingly slow appeals process heavily weighted in favor of the prosecution are all hallmarks of the justice system today. Nearly everything that makes life worth living is stripped away or severely restricted so powerlessness becomes the way of life for inmates. The state has virtually no incentive or desire to reduce recidivism so there is little in the way of mental stimulation, educational or personal growth opportunities. Even the 13”‘ Amendment endorses the inhuman and sometimes sadistic treatment of inmates. Rick Anderson Finally, l’ve come to perceive this place and those like it across the state at least as nothing more than warehouses for human commodities consisting of the reviled and mentally ill. Prisons seem to be little more than islands of societal vengeance where the righteous can set aside and forget about the refuse they see the inmates as for as long as possible. The penal system has grown into little more than a revenue stream for the state and a powerful weapon wielded by the politically ambitious within the judicial halls of state government. Ultimately I wonder if taxpayers, who have literally no idea where all the hundreds of millions of dollars for “corrections” actually go, would be better served if we were taken out behind the courthouse and hanged immediately like back in the good ol’ days (you know who you are). The funds could come in handy for more liberal entitlements, more corporate bailouts and maybe even a little war in some third world country. Just saying, you could use the cash! But then the DA and judge wou|dn’t fulfill their million year sentencing promise and what a pity that would be... Rick Anderson 9
