My first day in prison
There
are actually a few ways to talk about this, because when I say my first
day in prison, most people confuse that with jail. For a small
percentage of people, they don't really go through the jail system if
they are fortunate to have money for bond. In my case, and about 98% of
most people, that may not be possible.
So I could have just as
easily said my first day in jail, rather than prison. But I am not
going there yet. I wanted to try to share what I felt when I entered
Craven Correctional in Vanceboro, North Carolina.
So why am I
sharing this? Because I have found that there are so, so very few
accounts from former inmates. Let's be honest, it's not like there is a
shortage of ex felons in this country. If there are about 2 or 3
million incarcerated now, I bet there may be as many as 10 million or
more who have done time. So there certainly are people that COULD talk
about prison, but don't or won't.
This makes me no different
from them, but it makes those like me a rarity. I don't care if you are
a mom in Tennessee, Michigan, California, North Dakota, New York,
Florida....anywhere. A mom is a mom, and when she loses someone to the
prison system, she is trying to find answers. One of those questions
might be "what is my son or daugher going through right now?"
I can't answer that for anyone but myself, but I can at least do that.
So, what was it like for me on my first day in prison?
There
are a few ways to answer that, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and
physically. Actually the hardest to describe is the physical aspect.
Why?
Because it wasn't like I was physically beat, or hurt or anything like
that. By physical standards I was ok. Maybe tired, but otherwise ok.
When I left the county jail and arrived at Vanceboro, it was the first
time in about 15 months that I had been outside the jail...I had spent
that much time in a cell, a single cell.
In fact, it was about
this time of year too, the beginning of the college football season.
But again, physically I was ok, maybe anxious about where I was.
The other issues are not as hard to pinpoint, but more direct.
Mentally
I was a mess. I fancy myself as a relatively smart guy (then why are
you a felon). I graduated from college, near the top of my class, and
made national dean's list at least once. I made good grades and was
involved in many things from the campus radio station to the campus
newspaper.
But mentally, I was at a loss at what prison was
about. You hear so much about the horror stories in prison, and now
here I am, a recent grad, walking into the mouth of hell. I had no
answers, but so many questions. I really thought I might die in prison,
I might as well had. What if someone wanted to kill me, just because
they could. What if someone threatened to rape me? Would I be willing
to fight someone, or even kill them, to protect myself? What if an
officer wanted to make an example out of me and beat me to a bloody
pulp?
When I got to Craven Correctional, I had all but reasoned
that maybe, just maybe, I would never see the outside of the prison
again....I almost expected that sometime in my incarceration, I might
die. I had resigned to that, but certainly not looking for it. It was
just something I might have to get used to.
Emotionally
speaking, I was ruined. Just as intellectually I was broke, so was I by
emotions. I could not cry because you just can't do that in front of
other guys in prison. When I was in jail, I could cry anytime I wanted,
and no one would be the wiser, because I was in a single cell. But now
I had to keep my emotions in check, because that might be my only real
strength.
Was I sad....that does not fully describe how I
felt...try suicidal. But I was also numb at the current situation. I
felt that I was just... existing. Neither here nor there, neither alive
or dead. I felt like a zombie, just kinda going through the motions of
processing at Craven. At first I wasn't hungry when they served us
lunch, but I reasoned that I might not eat anymore today, so I better
force something down.
Strange thing about food, sometimes it
gives you more than physical strength, sometimes some emotional
strength as well. When I ate a little, I just started to feel just a
tad more... comforted. Not in a very good way, but just enough to say
that maybe I can get through this. My heart was still very heavy, but
at least it was 3 tons, rather than 4 tons.
Spiritually, I was
broken. My faith in God was down to zero, and if you read my first book
of "Grades of Honor", you know exactly how I felt. Sometimes I try to
watch my words when I wrote on other sites, because I knew there were
"die hard" Christians out there, but on this site, which is mine, I can
say how I felt.
I hated God.
After spending 15 months in
a single cell, reading every scripture I could, writing to every
ministry that I could find an address to, often times praying on bended
knee on a concrete floor with tears in my eyes, I felt betrayed by God.
So much for answering prayers.
I
felt that God chose me to fail, and turned His back on me when I needed
Him to help me. How can you ask me to praise and honor God if He does
not care about you at all?
In that ride from the county jail to
Craven Correctional, I promised myself that God Himself was no friend
of mine, that as far as I am concerned, He failed me when I needed His
divine help.
Mind you, I never said I had a halo around my head,
so don't go judging what I say here. But in the purest essence, if a
person cried to God for help, regardless of what his past record was,
God promised to be there AND to help. It's not enough to just be there.
I can see a burning building with a mom and children in it, but until I
ACT and try to help them, I have done nothing.
What good was it
for God to know I was in prison, yet not lift a finger to help me? He
made an enemy in my eyes that day I first went to prison, and I made a
promise that I would never trust Him again.
But this turns out
to be an ongoing story that covers my entire incarceration and even to
now. Again, if you read my past writings, you know more about what I
have shared.
Does this mean I don't believe in God? Of course
not! Does this mean I am not a Christian? You'd have to define
"Christian" to me. If that means I believe in one God, and believe He
sacraficed His son, Jesus, for our sins, then yes, I am a Christian.
But
if you ask me if we got along...no we did not. And that brings in a lot
of irony of how I did my time, but too much to start on here.
If
you asked me to sum up my first day in one word, I think maybe the best
word is "confusion". That is what I was that first day. Maybe your
loved one went though some of the same things I did. It is important to
understand that these situations come under supremely difficult
measures. How many of YOU could say you would have fared better?
Even
the best of Christians, if subjected to such a situation, I think would
crack one way or the other. You see, I think a lot of Christians think
that serving God through a prison ministry only means a cheerful letter
once a month to an inmate, or a half felt card sent to them. Or setting
up a prison ministry which does very little to help the inmate, and
turn to God saying, "look Lord, I am helping You!"
But what if God needed people on the inside...of prison.
"Well, I am sure my church can go visit them and have service once a month"
What if that is not enough?
What if God needs people INSIDE the prison?
After all, how do you expect to reach those people if you are only there 2 hours a week (or month)...
But enough about that, I made my cheap sermon today. It's time to play some video games.