THIS IS WHY I'M DONE

Sunday, I'm up early and eager to begin my day. The reason why was I get to call my mother. This was our Sunday ritual. Shoot, all my friends knew this as well. So, I'm skipping up and down the boulevard, hurrying to eat breakfast, then getting back to grab a phone to call her.

I'm in the day room, punching in my code to access my phone account, then dialing my mother's number. I'm singing in my head, happy to have this escape from the daily grind of prison life. My mother answered. Her voice was cheerful...then it broke.

I'm automatically wondering what was going on? I asked...and when I did, my world caved in: my sister was arrested for child abuse. My sister...child abuse. Are you kidding me!!??

As my mother relayed the story, I gripped the phone harder and harder. I'm angry. Nah, I'm a nuclear warhead ready to destroy everything around me. I had to grapple with my emotions, just so I could gather what transpired. When I did, I lost it.

My sister spanked her daughter, and my niece told someone at her school what occurred. They called my sister down to the police station and placed her in handcuffs.

My niece was taken from her home and sent to her father...another uneducated man who was scrambling to get his life in order. None of this sat well with me as I'm hunched over on the phone. I'm doing my all to compose myself.

You see, my sister is like me, the black sheep. They call us twins because we're the ones who could never get things in order in our lives. So, we had that connection, and I didn't like it. She was alone out there due to her limited education, being unemployed, and raising two kids on her own. I don't like what she did to our niece and being arrested is a wake-up call for her, and God, I pray it'll get her moving in the right direction. I do.

I hung up the phone feeling the weight of this life I made for myself. I'm hearing the darkness calling for me to punch somebody in the face. I'm also hearing I should get high and cower on my bunk. This was deafening for me as I tried writing a letter. I gave up and broke down in tears.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. I'm the fuck up. Me! I showed my entire family why we gotta ask for help. Why it's not smart to go at the world alone. Those tears weighed me down, buckling me to my knees. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to just disappear.

I wiped my eyes and escaped my cell. I marched out onto the tier and peered into the day room. I needed to vent. I needed someone who would just listen. I found my oldest friend, Bolo. He had his headphones on listening to his music. I had to get one of my friends to get Bolo's attention. Bolo saw me waving him to my cell. He came in there with me, and I just broke down sharing what I was dealing with. His insight helped, and I mean it, his words helped me gather myself back up and get back to work on my life.

I can't be anything for my sister if I'm screwing up my life over actions of others. So, I wrote two letters to the Governor of Virginia, and to a woman who looked at the clemencies for a pardon; my weekly commitment to showing I'm ready for a second chance. I shared what occurred with my sister, then I vented through my writing in my journal. An outlet that helped me deal with my emotions in ways that used to have me acting out in violence. Something that I'm not, and I proved it by calling out for help.

I'm working through my thoughts by recognizing I can't do anything but be present for myself and others. My sister, I'm beyond pissed by her shameful actions, but I'm concerned about my niece and how this will play out for both of them?

I hate being in prison. God Almighty, I do. This was another reminder of why I gotta get to working on my freedom, because when I think about my mother who is hurting for seeing another child fall, I cringe. She doesn't deserve this. My sister let herself down, and I'm hoping that as she slept in a cell, that the disgust of what she did smacked the living crap out of her.

A mother was to nurture and protect their child, not beat them. No, never. I'm sitting in my personal hell and all I'm doing is carrying this pain with me as the men drift by me in the day room, and I'm wondering how I'll be when I stop writing and remove my headphones and rejoin them?

My heart hurts so bad right now. My niece is so scared that she called the police on her mother. My sister is in jail. My mother is blaming herself. My siblings are cursing the apartment that they felt was cursed, because the last time the police showed up, they had an arrest warrant for me. What the fuck!!

Nobody knows what's going on in my head, and how would they? My celly just returned from his first visit with his family in a decade. How am I going to open up about what I'm dealing with him?

I hate you, prison. I hate all that you are to me. This constant reminder of how fucked we all are--damn you. I can't even run from this. I can't. So now I'm going to work through my day by acting happy. Yeah, it's not healthy, but I'm having a bad fucking day.

Fuck!

This is why I gotta keep working on my life, or I'll die in this crap--and that's exactly what prison is and will always be.

Fuck!