Category: Pivotal Moments

Angels Among Us

On By In Angels, Pivotal Moments, Rehabilitation1 Comment

When I started this blog, I knew I wanted to write about what incarceration is like here in the U.S., and I strive to stay true to that at all times. Today I’m going to share with you something very personal. Since my experience while incarcerated has influenced what I am about to tell you, I present it here.

Have you ever wondered, “Why are we here? What is our purpose in life?” How about the age old question, “Is there an afterlife?” I pondered these questions for years before I found the answers, but before I tell you how I came to understanding, I want to tell you a story.

When I was a child I had a friend who was always kind to me. When I was afraid he’d comfort me, and when I was sad he’d lift me up. Sometimes though, when I wasn’t expecting it, he would show me wonderful things. On very rare occasions he showed me evil things, but only because he wanted me to be aware. Most importantly, I knew what he was and I never questioned it. He was what we would call an angel.

It wasn’t until I grew older where I became aware that this wasn’t normal. None of my friends talked of similar experiences, and whenever I mentioned this to my parents they always told me I had a vivid imagination. When I was a child I took these occurrences in stride as I thought it was normal to see, hear, and talk to angels. I thought everyone did.

My encounters ended sometime when I was 12 years old. When the last one occurred I knew it was the final time. There was always an unspoken communication, and the last one was specifically to say goodbye. It was a traumatic moment for me and it was a goodbye that I struggled with for a very long time.

From that moment onward, darkness seemed to come into my life. Slowly I began to question the existence of God. What type of God, I wondered, would show a child a glimpse of heaven and then abandon him? When I looked around I began to see all the things I never saw as a child. I saw hatred and anger in people, and I saw pain and suffering everywhere. By the time I was 18 years old I had become a staunch atheist and was in full rebellion against the world.

When we were children, all of us saw the world differently than how we do now. If you watch and listen to children, you discover that they are willing to love you unconditionally. Why is this? It’s because children are naturally attuned to God and loving others. For them talking to God or angels is nothing out of the ordinary. There are tomes of works that attest to this. Hollywood has even made a number of movies about the experiences of these children.

It took a near-death experience when I was 20 years old, followed by years of introspection, before I came to understanding. We all share a common destiny, and now I understand why the angel’s goodbye was necessary. It was so that I would discover on my own the answers to these questions, because with discovery comes understanding and spiritual growth.

So then, why exactly are we here? We are here to discover our purpose in life. This is the underlying core of our existence. If this is so, then what is our purpose? Our sole purpose in life is to find God, and through discovery we learn that all of us are part of the same great family. Every major religion in the world has at its core one purpose: to help us find God. Think about it. It’s true. It doesn’t matter which faith you follow, because at its core this is what its all about. Is there an afterlife? Definitely, and this is found through personal discovery. Some of us discover this as children through interaction with angels; some discover this after experiencing a near-death experience or through great sickness; still others discover this by talking to those who already have.

How can I be so sure I know the answers to these questions? I know because I’ve experienced everything I just wrote about. Amazingly, my experiences are not unique. Some of you out there already know this because you too have experienced similar things. But for those of you who are unsure, I say to you I speak the truth.

No matter what you believe or where you are from there is a path offered to us all. It has but one destination, and it is solely up to you to discover it. To discover is to see, and to see is to understand. With understanding comes enlightenment, and with enlightenment comes peace and happiness.

—Christopher

The Director of Ohio Prisons

On By In OH Director of Prisons, Pivotal Moments4 Comments

I’ve spent most of today thinking about all the positive moments during my incarceration that have inspired me or changed my direction in life. I want to tell you all about one that simultaneously terrified and inspired me. It was a moment that I almost aborted, but am thankful I didn’t.

In 2014 I had the good fortune of personally meeting the Ohio Director of Prisons, Gary Mohr. I was in medium security at the time (level 2 in Ohio), and in the only dorm style housing unit on the compound. It was a transitional unit specifically for those offenders who would soon be leaving level 2 for minimum security. It’s a moment that many offenders view with trepidation because it involves a change in what is otherwise a Groundhog Day existence.

The transitional unit reminded me a bit like being that new goldfish you are about to put into the tank at home. You let him float around in his plastic bag for a while, making sure he’s ready, before setting him loose in a new environment. In a way the transition is necessary for many men, and I think the Ohio Department of Corrections realizes this. By the time you’ve made your way down to this point, you’ve witnessed and experienced terrible and sometimes traumatic things. It’s akin to leaving a war zone. Some men have even suffered from PTSD.

It was spring of that year, and everyone knew that someone of importance was coming. The administration never tells us who for a number of reasons, partly because they don’t want inmates airing the institution’s dirty laundry, and partly for security reasons. I learned that the VIP in question was the Director himself. I had told myself that if I ever had the chance I was going to talk to him because I had a few things to tell him, but not what you may think.

I was sitting at a table in the dayroom area when suddenly an entourage of people entered the unit. There came the warden, then a number of the institutional brass such as the Major and a Captain, followed by the unit manager and the institution’s Unit Management Administer. They were like a moving Maginot line ahead of the director and his people, ready to block, deflect, and discourage any inmate that dared to attempt contact.

Gary Mohr entered the unit with his personal assistant Ms. Melissa Adkins in tow, as well as the regional director. There may have been others, but time has clouded my memory a bit. Until that point I had only seen Director Mohr on television, once when he was appointed by the governor, and a couple of times in interviews. To see him in person was exciting, partly because he was actually here and partly because of what I was about to do.

In that instant I arose from the table, my movement definitely spotted by staff the moment I stood up. The institutional brass shot me frowns of disapproval while shifting left and slightly into my path, enough that I got the message but imperceptible enough that the director himself wouldn’t notice. I felt my stomach suddenly go queasy.

“Excuse me, Director Mohr?” I said.

Director Mohr turned toward me. I was relieved and smiled when he said, “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

“Sure,” he said.

He then did something that shocked and terrified me. He said, “We can talk over there,” and motioned for me to follow him away from institutional staff and over to a nearby corner. I followed, but not before catching a glimpse of horrified looks from the institution’s leadership.

“What would you like to talk about?” he said, once we were alone.

“Sir, I’ve been incarcerated for almost 20 years,” I said. “You are the first director that has taken an active interest in pushing rehabilitation, and I see the change. I just want to say thank you, because you have made a difference in my life.”

I saw surprise cross his face. He wasn’t expecting what I said. I imagine he was probably expecting to hear some complaint about the institution or staff or about some dark issue. He was genuinely taken aback.

A long moment seemed to gather.

“In what way?” he finally said.

“Well, sir, since you’ve been director, there has been an increase in rehabilitative programs here. A number of staff here believe in what you are doing and it shows. I see it. All of us” –I reached out, making a sweeping motion– “see it. For me, because of you, several staff have gone out of their way to help and encourage me.”

He chuckled, then said, “Well, I wish all my peers believed in what I was doing! There are a lot of people below me who don’t like what I’m doing. But you know what? I don’t care what they think; that’s okay.”

“A few years ago,” I continued, “a staffer here encouraged me to write about my observations regarding rehabilitation [*], because we often talked about this. The fact that he was even willing to consider my observations, let alone encourage me, really surprised me. It broke a stereotype.

“So with his encouragement and the assistance of a number of other staff here, I wrote the first volume of a criminal justice series aimed toward the corrections professional. He credits you for his interest in rehabilitation and helping offenders toward the path of change.”

Director Mohr listened attentively to everything I had to say. He never interrupted me or seemed impatient. We then spend the next 10 minutes talking about rehabilitation. He was very candid and honest with me. He spoke passionately about his vision of reforming Ohio corrections toward and emphasis on rehabilitation. He mentioned the Tennessee model, and was very well versed in other existing and successful rehabilitative efforts nationwide.

“Have you finished your book?” He then asked me.

“Yes sir.”

“I would like to read it. Would you send me a copy? I’ll have my assistant Melissa Adkins give you my information.”

And so she did.

I came away from our talk full of optimism and energy. Our conversation exceeded anything I ever expected, and it was so positive I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too good. Was the director simply humoring me? Did he genuinely believe in rehabilitation and was he genuinely interested in what I had to say about it? If you had asked me these questions that day, I’d’ve said it’s hard to say. However, here in This World, we have a saying: time reveals everyone’s stripes. In the ensuing years as his time as director it became obvious to me that he meant every word he said. He was one of the few who truly understood and truly cared about reform.

Director Gary Mohr ended his tenure as Ohio’s Director of Prisons in 2018, ahead of a new governor coming in, and ahead of a new director, a woman named Ms. Annette Chambers-Smith. Only time will tell if the push for rehabilitation here in Ohio will continue. I remain cautiously optimistic. In her first few weeks as director, Ms. Chambers-Smith has been faced with renewed scrutiny over the Ohio Parole Board in the wake of the high profile resignation of board member and former Ohio senator Ms. Shirley Smith, over her allegations that the board is biased and hampers the rehabilitative mandate. How Director Chambers-Smith chooses to respond to this will affect policy and rehabilitation efforts in Ohio for years to come. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to talk to Director Chambers-Smith someday, because I would tell her many of the same things I told Director Mohr. I would encourage her to continue down the unpopular path of rehabilitation because it works. Everyone benefits from society as a whole to the very men and women who decide to make that change in their lives.

Director Mohr, in a PBS interview during his final days in office, said he only regretted that he was unable to do more, and that many of his efforts were blocked by his peers who did not agree with his direction.

If I could see him again I’d tell him, on behalf of all the families who would be touched by crime but now will never have to know, and on behalf of the families of incarcerated offenders, thank you for making a difference.

—Christopher—

*An excerpt of the written work that was suggested and encouraged by the staffer mentioned in this post can be read here.

Watching Children Grow Up in Prison

On By ChristopherIn Children in Prison, Pivotal Moments5 Comments

The youngest juvenile offender I’ve ever known was 14 years old (see Wrongful Convictions). Sadly his is a story of tragedy, but I’m happy to report all of them are not like this. I estimate that I’ve known around 300 incarcerated juveniles between the ages of 14 and 17, all of them tried as adults. From this group, I still know about a dozen of them to this day, adults now of course, most having served out lengthy sentences and returned to the free world. A few of them are still incarcerated. Those that are free have families of their own or are married and planning for one. I keep in contact with each and every one of them.

Unfortunately, that dozen is a minority. Many juvenile offenders will serve out their sentences, some upwards of 25 years, before being regurgitated back into society with no real life experience, all expected to somehow pick up and carry on without issue. Throw in a lack of family or community support, or a lack of real world job experience and skills, and you have a high probability of recidivism.

I used to believe that punishment was the key to handling crimes committed by juveniles. After more than two decades interacting with kids convicted as adults, I’m now convinced that I was wrong. It was a short-sighted and very uninformed view. Yet, this view is held by nearly half of all Americans. The other half contends that we cannot handle children the same as adults, as there are almost always mitigating circumstances in the child’s background that can be traced back to the offensive behavior. I fall more into this camp than the other, but I think both camps have valid arguments.

Sometimes we should punish adult behavior with adult time, but only after exhausting all other avenues and considering all other circumstances directly related to the individual’s age, mental state, and background. This means a careful examination of the child’s home life and family support, socio-economic situation, and past behavior amongst other things. Sadly, this is often lost in the heat of public anger on the heels of high profile crimes committed by these youth. Prosecutors are solely focused on obtaining convictions. It’s up to the juvenile’s counsel to present alternatives–and arguments for alternatives–to incarceration, and to offer evidence why this should be considered by a judge.

Herein lays another problem. Most of the juvenile offenders I’ve known came from poor or dysfunctional backgrounds. They were represented at trial by public defenders appointed to them by the courts, because they or their families could not afford an attorney. By their nature the offices of public defenders and those dedicated to the service carry very heavy caseloads. Resources are sparse and they are literally forced to choose which cases they will devote meaningful resources to. This is beyond the scope of today’s entry, but I discuss this disparity in Wrongful Convictions.

Before I continue I need to provide a little background. There are so many juveniles incarcerated in Ohio, that at my institution an entire cell block was once dedicated to housing them before the state scattered them throughout the system to save money. When the unit was fully housed there were 120 juvenile offenders. All of them were under the age of 18, most between the ages of 15 and 16. Within the unit was a unit manager who was tasked with overseeing the function of that unit, as well as 3 other units (approximately 480 offenders); one case manager who was tasked with handling juvenile case files and managing things like visitors lists and special needs related to one’s family or local institutional issues; one custody officer (here known as a “C.O.”) whose job entailed daily unit security and tasks; and one unit sergeant tasked with overseeing custody staff, unit security and disciplinary write ups against other things. Within this juvenile unit was a segregated area caged and secured, and used to house juveniles under disciplinary punishment for having violated institutional rules. A type of mini ‘hole.’

The juveniles interacted with adult inmates whenever they were outside of the housing unit: at recreation, education, medical, the chow hall, and on the yard. It was like this for years. And for years these children were preyed upon by adult offenders, extorted and assaulted, and treated as a means to an end by predators. The unofficial stance of the state of Ohio was ‘See no evil; hear no evil; speak no evil.’ Until one day, a gang of convicts seized control of the entire juvenile unit and set about methodically hunting and killing. By some miracle the loss of life was limited to one, and the state was no longer able to turn a blind eye. I knew every child in that unit. I also knew the child who was murdered, for I tutored him and a number of the other kids in their GED studies.

In the course of tutoring juveniles I found myself wanting to understand how and why some of them came to find themselves sitting in front of me. The more I got to know them, the more I became convinced that I was wrong that punishment alone was the key. Time and again I discovered there were mitigating factors behind each of their actions, nearly all of which could be traced back to lack of strong family structure or guidance. A disproportionate number of them came from the foster care system.

I’ve tutored many juveniles over the years. Oftentimes they lacked basic math or reading skills and I had to develop lessons that taught them while simultaneously keeping them engaged. It was no easy task.

My first eye-opening tutoring moment came when I tried teaching fractions. A number of the kids had difficulty understanding what 1/8 of something was, but if I framed it as a street question, “If you have a pound of marijuana and you divide it amongst eight friends, how much would each person receive?” my students got it. This may seem strange, but when you connect with the kids they become actively engaged. Once engaged you can steer them into constructive directions. I discovered that past drug abuse was often a factor in their lives, and I would always strive to take a negative like that and create a positive from it.

From tutoring I slowly transitioned into becoming a mentor. This of course isn’t a job here or something the corrections department mandated as part of tutoring. It’s a personal decision. Mentoring and tutoring are two distinctly different things. You can tutor and not get involved in the student’s personal life. When you mentor you are taking on an active and deliberate role in the individual’s life.

I remember clearly the moment I decided to become a mentor. I had a student named Alex that I’d tutored for a little more than a month in math and science. He was a quiet kid, but when he spoke his words came sharp and his tone was defiant. He hailed from the great foster care system of Ohio, and was 16 years old. He had one brother and one sister, both younger than him and both placed with foster families. His father had walked out of his life the day he was born, there just long enough to give him a name. His mother was a heroin addict (and thus his journey into foster care).

By the time he found himself sitting in front of me at a table in a prison cell block, he’d been passed between different foster families before being ensnared by the criminal justice system. At first glance, he looked like any other teen boy you might see at your local mall.

When I met him he was a sullen kid and often refused to participate in his studies. He didn’t see the point in it, he’d told me many times, so tell him why he should get a GED? This became a recurring conversation, and frankly, frequently pushed me to the edge of my patience. I had thought about quitting tutoring, that I didn’t need the stress. Those of us that tutored had volunteered for the job assignment.

In many ways I saw in him a reflection of myself when I was his age, and I think this is why I was unwilling to give up on him. I couldn’t have known then that 2 decades hence I’d become a father figure to him, and a driving force in his rehabilitation and successful reintegration back into society.

The first clue that there was more to this angry kid came when we weren’t in class. I was on the yard one summer afternoon walking the track by myself when Alex suddenly appeared at my side. A conversation ensued and this is how it went:

“Alex,” I said, “what brings you out here?” Until that moment I had never seen him on the yard.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, as if my question had taken him off guard.

“Okay, then.” I had been listening to music before he arrived and I had taken the headphones from my head. I now went to put them back on.

“Christopher?”

“Yeah?”

“You want to throw softball or something?” His voice was different. Gone were his sharp words and omniscient accusing tone.

I was momentarily taken aback. This was the last thing I thought I’d ever hear him say. I didn’t know what to say, so I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Um, okay; you go get the ball and gloves though.”

And so he went off into the distance, disappearing into the recreation building. When he returned he didn’t have any gloves or balls, but he had a frisbee. It was one of those red ring type frisbees with a big hole in the center.

“They wouldn’t give me two gloves, so I asked for a frisbee,” he said.

And I suddenly understood what was happening. This defiant kid had been tossed around the foster care system like inventory, placed in families with good intentions but vastly unprepared to handle his baggage; split from his siblings and mother and who never had a father; had been ensnared by a criminal justice system and tossed into an adult prison, further reinforcing in his mind that no one cared; had been rejected over and over again by the adults in his life he looked up to for guidance; and that he never really had the one thing he wanted: a father figure.

So, I threw the frisbee with him that afternoon and saw for the first time a kid that was, well, just a kid. That night I lay awake thinking of Alex’s situation. I didn’t sign up for this, I remember thinking. I don’t need this kids problems. I should quit tutoring now.

Yet, I showed up for class the following day. Alex arrived with a single sheet of paper and pencils (he never had them), and the first thing he said to me was, “Will you help me with my math?” Of course, I thought. “Of course I’ll help you. Sure.”

Six months later he took the pre-GED and then a month later passed the GED test. He was incredibly proud of this, and to be honest so was I. When Alex was 18 he left the juvenile unit and was transferred to another institution (as was the norm for kids turning 18). We kept in touch regularly by mail. Sometimes he asked for advice, other times our communication was about the future and what it held, but most of the time it was just random musings. He served a 15 year sentence and was released in 2012. He was married in 2016, and has reconnected with his sister and brother.

In 2010, two years before his release, his mother overdosed on heroin. Alex now works at a local drug rehabilitation center helping addicts find sobriety. We keep in contact to this day.

—Christopher

The Quality of Your Thoughts

On By In Pivotal Moments, Rehabilitation2 Comments

Early in my incarceration I came across this quote by Marcus Aurelius: “The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.” The more I thought about this statement, the more I realized how true it is. I didn’t know who Marcus Aurelius was at the time, but his words sparked my lifelong interest and desire to learn about the teachings of other great philosophers. In many respects, to learn its numerous variations is to learn about yourself and those around you.

The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts. Such an undeniable truth. Many years ago I believed that my problems in life were bigger than I could handle, and as a result they became so. For most of my teens and part of my early adult life, I dwelled on the negatives. I seldom noticed the beautiful or the good or that which gives you inspiration. I saw the clouds on mostly sunny days, saw what was missing in a half-empty glass, and found the cold on Spring afternoons. The first half of my life I was often unhappy, frustrated, and angry and didn’t understand why.

The second half of my life has been spent incarcerated. Yet, I am the happiest I have ever been. This may sound hard to believe, but I tell you it’s true. I now have a strong relationship with my family, something I was too self-centered to notice let alone deserve when I was first incarcerated. I see the future as immensely positive and exciting. I literally spend every day of my life pursuing projects that are meaningful to me and my future.

I constantly educate myself. I wanted to learn about the world’s major religions, so I studied them. I wanted to improve my memory because I was terribly absent-minded and so I did. I taught myself the mnemonic techniques that the world’s best use in competition and daily life, and now I member everything I tell myself I will remember. I wanted to understand global politics and the interplay between nations, so I observed and learned. I was curious about Russian history and politics, so I studied and learned. I love learning about people. Every day I seize the moment whenever it presents itself. I mentor guys that need direction and encouragement in their lives and I love it. It’s especially rewarding when I see positive change take root in their lives. I tell this to everyone that will listen to me: how we choose to see the world has everything to do with how we see the world. When we seek happiness and beauty, we find happiness and beauty. When we hate, hate finds us. It’s that simple. I don’t feel that my life is on hold; quite the opposite. I’m living my life every day.

Incarceration is what you make of it. I live in a world of angry men, of human beings stuck in their negative thoughts, addictions and self-pity. They complain about the staff, about the food, about the selection at commissary. They whine about recreation or lament their boredom. They choose to live in a hell that they have created in their minds. By actively looking for the negatives they successfully find them.

Like incarceration, life is what you make of it. If you choose to see the negatives in your spouse or significant other, you will find them. If you come home from a long day at work and all you choose to see are the things you dislike, then you will be mad and you will be miserable. Tell yourself you are unhappy and it becomes true. This is my experience in life. When I’m outside I see the birds and the beauty of the sky. I see sunsets with renewed awe every time.

Lao Tzu once said: “If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future.” And, Jesus once said: “The kingdom of heaven is within you.” They, just like Marcus Aurelius and every great sage throughout history, understood this simple truth about life, that life is what we choose it to be.

Years ago I made the decision to let go of anger and negativity. I forgave everyone I ever felt had hurt me. It has been liberating, and now I see the good things in life and in others. And you know what? It’s a wonderful feeling. You can achieve the same things, you only need to believe that you will. Won’t you take that first step? Come journey with me.

-Christopher

How We Choose to See the World

On By In Pivotal Moments1 Comment

Today when I awoke I looked across the dorm at the rows and rows of other bunks. Some men lay asleep while others were starting their day, and I said to myself life is good. It really is. While I don’t want to be here, I know that so many other people elsewhere have it far worse than I. My journey 24 years ago from the higher security levels down to minimum security where I am now has long since shown me this. 

Of course, I saw the world and those around me very differently when I began my sentence. My priorities were the opposite of what they are now. The things that meant anything to me then mean nothing to me now. Life is about family and your impact on those around you. This is one of the most important lessons I’ve learned in life. Without family, you are without foundation, and when you negatively impact those around you darkness is the outcome.

There have been moments here over the years that surprised me in such a way as to challenge my thinking and views. All of them had one thing in common: they caused a sudden shift in my thinking and how I viewed my place in the world.

During my first year of incarceration I witnessed countless violent and terrible acts as I was at a much higher security level. There the mentality of offenders is hardened and violence is common. Being new in This World, my main priority back then was simply survival. So I stuck to myself and stayed out of other people’s business at all costs. I had my own problems, I thought.

How you handle yourself in your critical early days of incarceration dictates how you are perceived and treated by others for the entirety of your sentence to come. If you flee from confrontation, you seal your fate and the rest of your time will be a living hell. If you face your aggressors, no matter how many and how unlikely you would prevail, you pass the test. Those watching will conclude that you are more trouble than your are worth, while still others will gain a respect for you. It is trial by fire.

In This World it’s not about friendships. It is about alliances and unspoken agreements that ensure your safety and ability to survive your time whole and intact. But what about those individuals that fail at this or cannot defend themselves no matter how hard they try? What then? I used to think to myself, ‘hmph, not my problem.’

The first moment that shook my beliefs and made me question my purpose in life came toward the end of my first year. There was a young fellow who lived in the cell beside me and was serving a short sentence for a sex crime. It was this last detail that was the source of all his problems, as every predator and thug in the unit made it their business to torment him. One day I found him on the floor of his cell bloodied, naked, and unconscious. I looked around, fearful that someone had noticed that I had stumbled upon their crime. No one was present, so I departed the area and left him there thinking ‘not my problem.’

On another occasion I watched as several inmates dragged him from his cell, beat and then stripped him naked, before tying his hands together with his shoelaces and dumping him in a corner. There he lay, curled in the fetal position for a long time before a guard came upon him. I remember thinking, ‘whatever, he should have stuck up for himself.’

Then one day I was alone in the unit’s laundry room. As I was loading my laundry to wash, I heard a sound from the far end of the room where the dryers were lined. I stood still and listened. It came again, the sound of…crying. I went to investigate and when I came upon the last two dryers, huddled inbetween the gap of each was my neighbor. When he looked up, his face was streamed with tears and I could tell he had been there for a while as his shirt was very wet.

I say, “Hey.”

He muttered, “Hey,” as he looked down again.

It wasn’t so much the fact that he was there hiding and crying that shook me, but what he had in his hand: a razor. He told me that he was committing suicide and that I should go. It was then that I noticed he had in fact sliced his wrists, but superficially. He had been working up the courage to finish when I came upon him.

A terrible feeling of sadness cascaded over me, and I was immediately ashamed of myself for thinking the way I had about him. I understood in that moment that we are all together in this world no matter where we are from or what our demons are. This man was serving time for his mistakes, and now he was about to break his family’s heart, and give into the darkness of the world. I convinced him to give me the razor on promise I wouldn’t tell anyone about what had happened, and so he did. I asked him to go to medical help and request that he be moved to protective custody. He listened quietly to what I said and became silent.

“Okay,” he finally said. I then helped him wrap his wrists with one of my t-shirts, and before I left him I said: “Listen, things will get better. You’ll be okay.”

Later that day he was put into protective custody. Shortly after, he was transferred to a different institution. Four years later he went home. Until today, I’ve never told anyone about this.

That incident made me question my purpose in life. Until that moment I didn’t care about anyone around me, and all I cared about was myself. I was so centered on feeling sorry for myself that the needs and problems of others never registered. I can’t help but wonder what would have been the outcome if I hadn’t found him. From that day onward I promised myself I would help others as much as I help myself, that no matter how bad I thought I had it someone else was always worse off.