Six Days in the Hole

It was a year ago today (or maybe tomorrow) that I packed my simple belongings in one red transport bin and was moved from St. Cloud Men's Reformatorium to Moose Lake State Prison. I was so excited to make the trip for it was the beginning of my journey to boot camp and my early release. My hopes were high that I would be able to start my training right away. I had done roughly twenty push-ups total in the previous five months of Incarceration, and hadn't run except for a few times around the bases in softball. I knew I had to be in pretty good shape to pass the fitness test to even be able to go. Or so I thought anyhow.

Anyhow, after being shackled by my ankles and wrists, and had another chain that went around my waist and then connected everything, they loaded us on a small, very secure, bus and drove the two hours to Moose Lake.

Upon arrival I had to smile. I could see offenders walking around freely, with no supervision! Of course there were barbed wire fences around everything, and cameras everywhere, but still, I had come from a place where all movement was controlled: guards up and down the hallways, hall passes just like in school, and of course we were locked in our cages for about 23 hours per day. And the noise was insane. Never a moment of quiet. Well, as it turned out, I would get my quiet.

Anytime you arrive at, or leave from any institution, in my experience, there's always two hours of sitting in a rotting kennel before the guards actually do anything. This was no different. But as I said, I was happy just to have made the move. They finally called us out individually and when it came to my turn, all they asked was if I would fit in a large. A large what? All prisoners wear the same shit. They then threw a bag at me and said to change out, I was going to be temporarily housed in segregation until there was room in general population. What the fuck!? Why would they bring me here if there wasn't any room? If you ever go to prison, don't ever ask any employee anything. They don't know. Period.

They walked me down the sterile endless white hallway of the former insane asylum to health services where they asked if anybody had raped me since I left St. Cloud. I replied with a joke which gets a blank stare. Different guard, same stare. There must be a class. I hadn't been raped and I didn't have any  other medical issues so off I went to the hole.

Segregation is used for people that get in to fights, break major rules, and for people who have followed all of the rules like me. I thought maybe it would be just overnight but it lasted for six miserable days.

I was given five pieces of writing paper, two envelopes, a two inch long toothbrush so I couldn't sharpen it and kill myself or brush my teeth, a cup, used underwear, and a liquid toothpaste. And a few changes of clothing and bedding. Oh, let's not forget the pillow. Imagine a prison pillow and then don't change anything. It's not soft, not hard, offers no support, and is possibly filled with unused Bob Barker liquid hygiene products. Who knows.

The first thing I did was used up all five pieces of paper to write to a couple people and write about my move for the blog. That was day one. Day two I sat, stood, napped, paced, and sat. Day three, about half way through, the book cart came through. Yay! The gentleman pushing it around appeared to be a product of incest at best and didn't understand what I was asking him. I simply inquired of a couple different authors and he looked as though I had done just that. So, I pointed to a book and said the color red, he responded to that and set a book outside my door. Four hours later, while serving dinner, a guard threw it through the hole that they pass trays through. I can't remember the title but it was the most boring piece of shit book I have ever read. Why couldn't I have said a different color?

I had no concept of time other than day and night. One day a guard walked by and asked if I wanted exercise. I said yes, he told me to stand by. I said I'd stick around, he stared. An hour later I heard my door click open. I shyly stepped out and immediately an angry voice yelled, "Close your doors!" over the intercom. I did. I had brought out my mail, my shower stuff, and some kites I had written about the status of my stay in the hole. Up and down the hallway I looked for signs of life. Nothing. Just a steel table and chairs. I sat. Nobody ever came by. And after what I assume was an hour, the angry voice told me to go stand by my door and I eventually went back in. And I sat. And I stood, and I tried to read. And I thought about what had gotten me into this awful mess in the first place. I'll give it that: that time in seg. made me never want to touch drugs again, and it stuck with me.

Six days without a shower, without a conversation, without laughter, acknowledgement, or even a simple reasonable explanation. I felt so alone. I did make one phone call to my mom which was great, the highlight of my stay. But that was short too.

I decided to write about it again because, in a way, its the same way I'm feeling now. I'm alone. I'm sad. And I hate it. But I can deal with it out here. I'm putting this down so I know this is better than isolation. I'm typing this on my phone right now which I can use to call people. Nobody ever calls me, but that's on them. I have the power to reach out. I can eat when I want, what I want, and I can take another shower if I want to. I can even take a shit now without people looking at me!

ISR really sucks. But its only three more months and then my freedom opens up. 16 hours a day from 6:30am until 10:30pm I can do what I please. Six months of that, and I'm on regular parole and I can do what I want within the confines of the law. I have to look forward, if I keep doing that, I won't go back.