It is not that unoften in a correctional facility that when an inmate is in a state of mental crisis

It is not that unoften in a correctional facility that when an inmate is in a state of mental crisis that he be tethered down to a "state of the art " solid steel restraint chair against his will, his safety or his basic human rights. And many times did I feel the chilling embrace of those steel arms, the coarse velcro wrist straps being so tight that the sense of my pulse struggling to slip past and reach into my extremities became unbearable and the fixed posture of my back, with a waist belt dug into my stomach came with intense pain. Now being autistic with acute sensory factors already in play, in culmination with being strapped to a device that, at least by civilized definition amounts to a tool of torture and on top of all that the pre occuring torture in my childhood now comes the point where the correction officers, recognizing my pain through my squirming one asks me why I am in such uncomfort. Of Course I answer honestly, from the heart and from a place of legitimate trauma, thinking that this man is sincere and genuinely wants to understand my status. so I tell him. In my youth I had gone camping with my father and some of his friends at a campground in New Hampshire and when my father decided to go off drinking he tied me to a fold up chair then tied the chair itself to a tree and left me there for days and because of that trauma I am in greater distress in a restraint chair. All three CO's laughed hysterically at this, laughed at another's pain and trauma without stopping there, the CO's even went so far as to taunt my inability to escape and claiming for themselves that it could have never happened to them. I sat there in the center of the booking room for another two hours. The taunting had stopped pretty early on and the CO's went back to playing on Youtube and Facebook and what not. But I had had enough and with no shoes or socks on I began to drag myself just by the tips of my toes. The wheels on the chair were locked down but didnt stop me at the least from pulling myself across the floor towards the stairwell, the officers oblivious as always. It wasn't till I reached the threshold of the stairwell that I decided to roll over in an attempt to fling myself down the long concrete stairwell. as I began to tip forward the cook caught me on his way to the kitchen. I didn't or couldn't resist his efforts to roll me back into the corner, though staring down at the floor as I glided back, I could see my bloodied toeprints along almost the entire length of the hall. Cuffs were quickly brought out and the chair was secured to the wall by the steel chains where it remained with me still in it till the next morning when the jail administrator got into her office at four AM and saw me head down tied to a wall on the security camera feed and then quickly had me freed and sent "Home" to my block. All of this for simply spitting on a CO's boot and telling him to "Lick it yourself"