by William Smith

Prison

Prison for me was an experience unlike any other. Even as humane as society attempts to make prison, it is anything but that.

I was put in a condition that is absent any conveniences, comforts, or privacy. Everything that you do is dictated and commanded to you. When to wake up, when and where to eat, how to eat, what to eat, how much time to eat, when to move, when not to move. There is always a threat of discipline and violence hovering nearby. Trust is an unthinkable thing. You can’t trust anyone. Friendship is rare but happens rarely. Paranoia is a way of life because it keeps you alert and safe. There is never a moment you ever relax. Relaxing is dangerous. There can be some brief respites from this way of living. Escape into a book, a visit from someone, or a phone call or package. At best they are temporary and for a brief moment. 

Prison made me feel more or less inhuman. It is a extremely cruel place. Only those who have been there truly understand. It brings out the animal nature of the most gentle of people. You cannot be soft in the prison setting or perceived as such. One will become victim and prey if through of as “soft.” Another way of defining “soft” is to say “a kind person.” 

I don’t think anyone can do three years or longer in prison surviving and not become “hardened.” It is a natural instinct of survival in the “hood.” Years and years of this as I have lived makes you this way. Even if an innocent person ends in prison and is finally exonerated, the damage is done. That is no longer “normal” as people who have never lived the prison life.

Prison is a man made “Hades.” Especially the maximum security prisons. “Behind the wall” as it is called. The sky is the only thing you ever see. No trees, no animals, no insects. Just rats, roaches, and men who have no kindness in them.

The things you see and experience. Nothing but bars, steel, concrete, and asphalt. No grass, no dirt, no color. Just green and gray blue and orange. Each color signifying different rank, authority, or danger. Men beating each other or stabbing each other in rage. One trying to kill the other. All of this chaos because ones’ idea of “normal.” The insane, the angry, the cruelly perverse. These are those of your world. Imagine 10, 15, 20 years of this way of living. Finally, you come back to the “free world.” PTSD is putting it lightly. It is a combat zone from which it will take years to recover. Sleepless nights, frightening nightmares, antisocial-ness, flashbacks, avoiding conversations about prison, detachment, being very vigilant. This is my norm until I can work through all of this.

Doctor

Doctor, I’m sick and tired. No matter how much I tell people they don’t understand me. They don’t understand my pains. The road is hard. I’m always scared. People don’t know my heart. My smile is gone. I’m tired of people telling me stuff ain’t real when I’m the one who is suffering.

Lately I’ve been having all this pain and all kinds of dreams. Hard to sleep, can’t eat. It’s scary every day. Live is getting crazy. I can’t really talk to anybody about it. Nobody seems to understand my pains. My heart is heavy. How can I trust anyone? People don’t know how I’ve struggled.

They say love should keep you strong but I don’t have any love. I feel so all alone. You don’t know my pains. I’m sick and tired of people telling me stuff ain’t real. I don’t trust anyone. My heart is gone. People telling me stuff ain’t what it seems. I ‘m sick and tired. My smile is gone. I cry all the time. The pain hurts so bad I don’t know what to say. Now I’m supposed to deal with it and get through all this pain. Times are so hard. The pains are so hard to bear. There’s no hope left. I feel helpless. I’ve tried everything. There’s’ nothing lefts so I’m tired of trying. This pain just won’t go away. Life is just getting real strange. These storms have lasted a long time. You’re looking at the now but you don’t know how I have struggled. This is all too overwhelming. I’m tired of trying. Giving up seems so much easier and besides I don’t have anything left to live for. I’m frustrated and broken. I’ve talked about this stuff so many times. I’m just tired. Nothing seems to work. I’m tired of beating my head up against the wall trying to please others. The rain has lasted a long time.

William Smith was born and raised on a farm in Tennessee and has lived in Rochester for over 20 years.