Reflective in Feb

I always become reflective around this time of year. No, not because of Vday or the passing of Black History Month. See, it was Feb 20th 1997, 3am, that my life changed in a drastic deluge of bad luck gone worse. Some internal clock triggers in my head, makes me recount the events, and causes my heart to get that achy burn that one often feels over regret. I walk from room to room, converse with person to person, eat meal after meal without paying much attention at all. I think... I punch imaginary holes in history, gnashing my teeth and crying inside.


At 20 years of age I should have been youthful, idealistic, full of amazement, and hungry for life. I was none of these. By this age I had embraced a nihilistic attitude. The world was senseless, purpose was not in my sight, and everything perceived as evil, uncontrollable, and insane I had far surpassed. I had given myself a license to do who-the-whatever-the-fuck I wanted. Stamped it with my middle finger and kept it in my waistband next to my firearm, challenging anyone, even God, to stop me. A judge would later coin the term "loose canon on deck" when describing myself as he heard in the courtroom. This was, in my thoughts, putting it mildly.

I was arrested that fateful night for attempting to shoot a police officer. after blowing trial I was sentenced to 71/2 - 15 years in NY state department of corrections. The media portrayed me as an animal. The system caged me like one. My family wept. I continued to unravel.

Days are insufferably long in prison. Time is a whore that fucks every man, every day, and leaves him with disease in the form of anger, depression, guilt, perversity, mindlessness, and lunacy. I spent many of those first days unaware of who I was REALLY and allowed instincts to take over to the point where I had little thought at all. Life had further dissolved in meaning and depth. I found purpose in the foolish intrigues of prison politics. I only found enjoyment in violence and extortion.

It wasn't until my 4th year of incarceration that I began to surface from this madness. I began taking college courses through Ohio University correspondence. I read savagely, finding comfort in the escape, but also further increasing my loneliness. I had no one to discourse with on the level I was beginning to desire. I hid my academic mind from my so-called peers for fear of being different. For fear of no longer being feared. I would NEVER be a victim.

Once my classification dropped from Maximum to Medium security I began to relax a little. Came out of my shell, so to speak. I was no longer surrounded by men who would never see the outside, but men, like myself, who were going home fairly soon. I delved into getting one Vocational trade after another through the various institutional classes offered. I bought in to administrations assurances that with these certificates I would be eligible for all kinds of gainful employment. Until they're out to experience it for themselves the ex-con has no idea of the discrimination he/she is up against.

Eventually I came to a point where I felt I had genuinely "rehabilitated" myself on my own. I say "on my own" in the most literal way I can stress it. The system is not built to rehabilitate like many would like to think. It is merely containment. What happens with that containment is entirely up to the individual. I had begun to clearly see what had lead me to my current situation, blamed no one but myself, and knew exactly what I had to do to prevent myself from coming back. Avoid the monster I am so easily capable of becoming. The monster we ALL are capable of becoming given the right circumstances.

I have not feared much in life. Done quite a few things that should have left me leaking in a giant pool of my own blood. Gone through periods where this might have been a preferable outcome. My point is, I do fear the person I used to be. I am scared to the center of my Self at not just going back to prison, but going back to existing as the man I left behind those walls. Although I surfaced through the muck and the mire to breathe better air, the fact remains, I am and always will be a subterranean creature at heart. Out of element. Out of things to say.