Tag: Rehabilitation

“I Haven’t Killed Anyone Yet.”

On By In Addictions, In This World, RehabilitationLeave a comment

I live in a world filled with men whose personal drug addictions have shaped their lives. Drug addictions are common here, and they span the entire spectrum of abuse.

Over the length of my incarceration, I’ve witnessed terrible addiction-related moments, and these events have helped shape my views and desire to prevent future generations from walking the path of incarceration.

It seems to me that alcoholism receives little attention in today’s opioid driven media reporting, yet alcohol is responsible for the majority of addiction deaths every year here in the U.S. Driving while intoxicated is the most visible outcome of alcoholism, but less visible is the toll alcoholism takes on one’s body. Thousands of people die every year from alcohol related complications.

My family is no stranger to the deadly effects of alcohol. Years ago, my step-brother Kelly was killed by a drunk driver. In Kelly’s case, the driver went to prison. His sentence: two years in minimum security. Two years for taking a child’s life. Worse, once the offender was released, he went on to repeat the same mistake.

For many years I became angry whenever meeting someone incarcerated for drinking and driving. It was worse if I’d learned they’d killed someone in the process. Being incarcerated with individuals who were convicted of similar acts was difficult to accept, and I often found myself in conflict with these individuals.

Of all the addictions and all the men I’ve talked to about their addictions, the DUI crowd is the least repentant. There’s something about alcohol that causes uncompromising denial. But what? What is it about alcohol that causes this? Is it because it’s legal? Is it because alcohol is socially acceptable? I don’t know, but I suspect that each of these points are probably part of the answer.

I had a conversation with a 28 year old fellow named Trevor who was on his sixth incarceration for DUI. Yes, his sixth. This time around he was serving 18 months. As far as Trevor was concerned, he was handed an injustice by the court. So far, Trevor has served eight years of his life in DUI sentences. We have a saying in This World to describe Trevor. We say Trevor is doing “life on the installment plan.” The only person who doesn’t realize this is the person on the plan.

What’s striking to me here is Trevor’s level of denial about his drinking problem. It’s a common theme I’ve encountered over and over again with the alcoholics. Some of the excuses I’ve heard over the years span, “I only had a couple of beers,” or, “I wasn’t drinking,” or, “I’ll be more careful next time driving,” and even, “I’m a better driver after a couple of beers.” What? However, the grandest, most insane excuse I’ve ever heard came from Trevor.

It was a warm summer evening. I was walking with him on the yard, and I had asked him about his sentence.

“How long,” I asked, “is your sentence?”

“Eighteen months,” he said.

“Wow, that seems like a long time for a DUI.”

“That’s what I told my attorney!” he said. “When he told me that the prosecutor was only offering 30 months for a plea deal I couldn’t believe it. I told him, ‘No way. You go back and tell the prosecutor no deal.’ That’s how I ended up with 18 months.”

“Wow, 30 months?” I asked. Something, I thought, didn’t sound right. 90% of the time the DUI guys get a slap on the wrist, six months at most. “That seems like a long time for your first DUI, don’t you think?”

“Hmm? No, it’s not my first. And yeah, it’s a friggin’ long time.”

“How many times have you been locked up for DUI?” I asked.

“Not many.”

“Three?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, no,” I said. “I’m just trying to understand why the prosecutor was trying to give you 30 months.”

“Man, I don’t know, because this is only my sixth time.”

“Oh,” I said, lamely. I couldn’t believe it was his sixth DUI sentence; that just blew me away. “But,” I said, “it is your sixth.”

“What?” he said indignantly. “What’s it matter if it’s my sixth or third? He still shouldn’t have given me 18 months.”

“Alright, I’m not judging you; don’t take it that way. I’m just trying to understand the courts logic, that’s all.”

“It’s not like I hurt someone,” he said.

I felt my heart pick up speed. I knew where he was going with this and I didn’t want to go down that road. Yet, my mouth kept going. It wouldn’t stop!

“Right,” I said. “But what if you did?”

“But I didn’t–”

“Right, but what if?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Well,” I said, “it sorta does.”

“How so?” he said. “You tell me how so”–his hand went out, stabbing at me an inch from my chest–“because what I do on my free time has nothing to do with anyone else. I’m not hurting anyone!”

I looked at the stabbing finger. I felt my teeth grind together.

I said: “Okay, I see your point. I get it. But, when we drink we aren’t at our sharpest, and–”

“Speak for yourself.”

“–driving is the poorest decision that–”

“I’ve been drinking since I was 12 and no one is going to tell me what I can and cannot do! Not the court, not this place, and certainly not you!” he said, finger stabbing inches from my face now.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” I said. “But, what would you do if you had an accident and you hurt someone? Just think about it for a second.”

“I haven’t killed anyone yet!” he shouted at me.

I bit my tongue and tasted blood.

“I haven’t killed anyone yet!” he said again.

“You’re right,” I said. “You haven’t. But someday you might and it will be too late. You’ve got a problem, Trevor, and you need help.” I then turned and somehow walked away.

Prior to the conversation, Trevor had told me he already had to blow into a breathalyzer to start his car. It was a result of a previous DUI. Prior to that, he said he had been mandated to attend AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) twice a week at the local community center, and prior to that he told me he had ‘totaled’ most of the cars he’d ever owned while drinking and driving.

Trevor spent the remaining months of his sentence attending AA in the evenings. I thought that perhaps our conversation had spurred him to seek help. When I ran into him again, I asked him what made him want to attend Alcoholics Anonymous. Was it because of our conversation?

His answer? He had decided to attend AA so he could receive the good time credit toward early release. Plus, he had said, they always had coffee.

My experience with Trevor wasn’t unique. Most of the DUI guys I’ve talked to reacted similarly, though not nearly as aggressively as Trevor. Denial, denial, denial sums up most of these conversations and is representative of the type of thinking that’s involved with this crowd.

I’ve thought about the long current structure of addiction services within the institutional environment and wondered, What could be done better? I’ve concluded that the institutions simply aren’t the best equipped to help addicts. Yes, we have programs here designed to address addictions, but oftentimes participation is voluntary. A big fault that I see with these programs is that they all offer attendees a way to reduce their sentence by automatically adding “good days” every month toward early release. There is little accountability aside from program administrators requiring participants to attend classes and periodically participate during class sessions. As a result, most offenders view programming as a means to an end.

I would change this structure to remove automatic good days, and I’d introduce a standardized form that program administrators complete, detailing an individual’s class participation and understanding of session materials. These forms would be filed into the offender’s institutional file and made available to the court and the to offender’s attorney upon request. Early release consideration is then decided by the courts based on the detailed progress as revealed in program reporting. Change ‘automatic’ good days to ‘automatic pending court approval.’ This way program administrators are able to provide valuable input based on their observations, offer a meaningful way for the courts to hold an individual accountable, and to make informed decisions. This also gives offenders more incentive to take rehabilitative programming seriously, and when they do, there is a much higher chance of introspection and thus genuine change. Without introspection, there can be no rehabilitation.

AA is an excellent program, and time has borne that out. It’s sister program, NA (Narcotics Anonymous), is also an excellent program with a long and successful track record, and we have both programs here. What sets these programs apart from others is that offenders can begin attendance while incarcerated and continue once released, by attending any one of the AA and NA gatherings that take place everyday in this country. I think the solution to handling individuals with addictions is to immerse them in comprehensive addiction counseling, intensive inpatient (or outpatient) programs, and to marry this with oversight programs that hold an individual accountable to his recovery and sobriety.

Placing Trevor in prison over and over again serves no deterrent. It’s a terrible waste of public resources, and it serves no other purpose than to satisfy public thirst for punishment. Barring incidents where an individual is physically harmed due to the negligence of those gripped by addiction, incarceration should be the last resort.

For less than the amount it costs to incarcerate Trevor for six months, Trevor could spend three to four months in intensive community corrections based inpatient or outpatient drug rehabilitation programming. Not only would Trevor have a greater chance of realization and change, the courts would maintain meaningful oversight and accountability for an extended period of time. In addition, Trevor would be able to participate in community based projects that give back to the community while simultaneously attending rehabilitative counseling. Both efforts help to bring the individual to an inflection point, where one considers the consequences of his actions.

As a nation, we have a responsibility to meaningfully assist those gripped by addictions. It’s a win/win for everyone, and it’s the way to guide addicts back toward the path of recovery.

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

Cry Baby, Santa, and the Easter Bunny

On By In Holidays, Rehabilitation3 Comments

Someone once asked me what the holidays are like here. I chuckled to myself before answering. That’s actually a very good question. Well, I thought, there’s many ways I could answer this question and none of them are short and sweet. So I simply said, “If you only knew.” I was part serious and part kidding. Nothing here is normal during the holidays!

This is originally part of an entry from my journal from 2017. Before I wrote for all of you, I used to write just for myself. It’s a form of self-therapy and my way of staying focused. After some consideration, I’ve decided to share it with you in this post. So, let’s get on with it I say.

The holidays are the hardest time of the year for anyone incarcerated. Guys get depressed and irritable. They mope. They drift. This time of the year magnifies the truth of your situation; that you cannot be with the ones that you love because of your actions. For most guys, the holidays are the exclamation point behind this fact. Mercifully, the holidays become less painful as time progresses, especially if you’ve been pulling a long sentence. It has nothing to do with caring less, but everything to do with learning how to cope. You learn how to control your emotions and how to distract yourself enough from always thinking of home. You also learn how to deal with those around you better.

As I write, it’s Thanksgiving 2017. The holidays have arrived again. I always throw myself a celebration, usually centered around making something to eat. Inmates call it making a ‘break’ (which, to thoroughly confuse all of you, in This World can be meant as a verb as in “He’s breaking,” or a noun, as in “I made a break,” or even an adjective, as in “Let’s break.”). This year was no different. I made burritos and ate enough food to feed a small village, me and a couple of guys, and I’ll do it again on Christmas and New Year’s. It’s how I celebrate the holidays and it’s how I stay grounded.

It wasn’t always like this for me though. Several years passed before I stopped feeling sorry for myself during the holidays. This time of the year used to be very depressing and I loathed it. But once I took responsibility for my situation, and began viewing life through a new lens, the holidays became happy for me again. Yeah, I’ve had my bad moments over the holidays. There’s tension amongst the inmate population and it is easy to run into someone who is irritated or pissed off. As an example, using the phones during the holidays can be downright harrowing. At my institution there are six phones in every cell block, all of them situated in a tiny room that’s shaped like a gas chamber. This is better than some institutions in the country, but still crappy because there are only six phones for hundreds of inmates.

Six…phones.

On Thanksgiving, everyone wants to call home. You’re lucky to get a hold of a phone let alone one when you need to. As a result emotions run high for some guys. It’s common to hear arguments. Yet, Thanksgiving pales in comparison to one other holiday: Christmas.

Christmas is the worst! Not only does everyone use the telephone, but there’s always guys who are visibly irritated. Throw in that one idiot who is always on the phone yelling at his wife or girlfriend and you have a powder keg awaiting ignition.

Then you have those that are simply grumpy because they hate themselves and they hate life. You may not notice them at first but they’re around. I always keep an eye out for these types. These are the men that go from zero to Cry Baby in the blink of an eye over the stupidest things.

“Hey, you grabbed the phone I wanted!”

“You’re talking too loud!”

“You’re redialing!”

Wah-wah.

I can’t begin to tell you how annoying it is to hear someone cry because you’ve redialed. First off, the phone system here sucks. It’s like this at institutions the country over. Calls constantly get dropped for no apparent reason; the phone you’re on decides to work intermittently; the sound cuts you in and out; you can’t hear your caller, and the list goes on. Every offender in the country can attest to this. Redialing has become almost a recognized finger sport it’s so bad.

There will never come a time where I will forfeit talking to my family just because someone doesn’t like it. Not going to happen. Sometimes this becomes confrontational. Early in my incarceration I literally fought, had to hit Cry Baby with the very receiver my father was on over something like this. All the while I could hear my father wondering what was happening on my end. I could hear him calling my name!

Then, when it was over, I went back to my conversation. It may sound crazy, but I tell you this is common during the holidays. Everyone expects something to happen, that’s how bad it is. You get used to it though.

What about other guys?

Many times I’ve been the one on the phone as the man next to me fought someone over the exact same thing. This always makes talking on the phone an adventure. There’s little space in the phone room as it is. When a fight erupts, those of us on the phones engage in a type of dance, moving and weaving around the two men fighting. Every time this happens I find myself thinking that hopefully they finish soon—there’s only 15 minutes per call.

Of course, the holidays are what you make of them. Guys around here can be a joking lot, and contrary to popular thought, there is a lot of laughter that goes on.

It seems like every Christmas someone dresses up as Santa Claus, or the festiveness of the holiday sparks someone to decorate the area. During years past, my institution has even held holiday decoration contests where we are encouraged to participate in decorating the housing unit. When I was at the higher security levels, this consisted of decorating your cell door or perhaps a community area in the cell block. It is awkward to be sure, as hardened cons resolutely refuse to participate, and you are guaranteed to hear about it if you participate.

However, in minimum security it’s different. The old school inmates here are men who have earned their way down, and most of them have long since shed that type of mentality. Holiday decorating consists of decorating all the communal areas as most facilities at this level do not have cells but open dorm bunk style plans. Frankly, it’s quite a sight to behold. Convicts tattooed from head to foot, rapists, thieves, and drug addicts all together in a shared common purpose: to celebrate the holiday season. The other 51 weeks of the year half of these men wouldn’t dare talk to the other half! Let alone cut out a construction paper snowflake. I smile thinking about it.

One more story before I go. Last year at Christmas, I went outside to walk in the freshly falling snow. Most guys stay off the yard when the weather is like that, but for me it’s a moment of peace and beauty in a dark and violent world. When I returned from my walk, I had barely thawed when I noticed that there was candy on my bunk. Out of fear of perpetuating a stereotype (‘never accept the candy on your pillow!), I was immediately suspicious. Who in the world would do such a thing? I wondered. At the moment where I had convinced myself that I had to get to the bottom of such a lewd joke, I turned and noticed that ALL the bunks had candy on them! What in tarnation, I thought, is going on?

“Hey, Christopher!” someone shouted from across the way. It was my friend Miami (and yes, he’s from Miami).

“What?” I said, but didn’t look.

“Ho-ho-ho!” he replied.

I looked and to my chagrin, there was Miami, his laundry net bag in hand full of candy as he went bunk to bunk passing out the bounty. He had made a Santa beard out of what, Lord only knows, and he had a red stocking cap with a poofy white ball on top that he had obviously knitted himself. “Ho-ho-ho,” he bellowed as he faded into the far distance. I stood there marveling. Just when you think you’ve seen everything you realize you haven’t.

There’s something about the holidays that brings out the better sides of guys. It isn’t always negative. One Easter some of the old schoolers created a sign informing everyone of an Easter egg hunt on the yard. They then posted it onto the cork message board in the units and what do you know? Dozens of guys showed up on the yard ready to hunt eggs! It was hilarious. I sat alone off to the side at one of the benches, drinking from a cup of coffee as I marveled at the scene. At first I was surprised at how gullible grown men can be, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that gullibility had little to do with it. Deep down, we all remember what it’s like to be a kid. The thought of an Easter egg hunt and the subconscious desire to mentally flee from This World was enough. Nevermind that it’s ludicrous that an Easter egg could ever find its way into a prison yard!

I know I started this post talking about how the holidays are stressful for some guys, but most men are able to make light of it all. If you can’t smile and laugh during the holidays, what’s the point?

—Christopher

Wrongful Convictions

On By ChristopherIn Rehabilitation1 Comment

One of the first juveniles I met during my incarceration was a 14 year old. Yes, 14 years old. At the time, he was the youngest person ever to be convicted as an adult in the United States.

His story is one of inexplicable tragedy. He came from a poor home where his father was a drug addict and his mother abusive. He has siblings, and spent the duration of his short childhood caring for them and trying to survive. For all intents and purposes his parents were parents in legal title only. He may as well have been living with strangers in a foreign land.

I’m not going to tell you the name of this offender, but I will tell you what I call him: Mouse. Mouse is a small fellow (thus the nickname I coined), and has never been much more than 150 pounds over the decades I’ve known him. He’s quiet, yet inquisitive. He’s smart, yet never talks down to anyone. If you didn’t know him it would be easy to overlook him in a crowd.

Mouse is serving a life sentence for the deaths of two elderly people. His sentence is extreme in its duration and his punishment is the worst I’ve ever seen save for the death penalty. Worse, he isn’t guilty of the crimes he’s serving time for. The murders were committed by friends (other juveniles) he was with on that fateful day; his only act of indiscretion was being in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time. It was, in my opinion, just another cruel twist of fate life has dished at him since the day he was born.

In the ensuing outrage, Mouse and his friends were charged with homicide. However, sometimes there are injustices in sentencing. Innocent people go to jail and the guilty sometimes go free. Within this spectrum of erroneous sentencing, some go to jail for short periods of time, others for a lifetime. Mouse, unfortunately, is on the far end of that spectrum where his punishment of 40 years-to-life makes even hardened convicts feel for him. The last I heard, a non-profit group that works to exonerate the innocent was working on his case. I wish him luck. Unfortunately, in the United States, once you are behind bars it’s nearly impossible to reverse your circumstances even if innocent. This is especially true if you are poor.

Over the years I’ve wondered how many guys around me are in fact innocent. The number is small, to be sure, less than 1% I’d estimate based on my experience. Sometimes though, I wonder if I am wrong. In addition to Mouse, I knew two other individuals who were innocent, serving long sentences for crimes they did not commit. One was exonerated through DNA testing and released to heavy media fanfare, and the other was exonerated when facts came to light that the prosecution hid evidence of his innocence.

This type of prosecutorial misconduct isn’t isolated. I know and have known dozens of offenders who experienced similar actions to varying degrees. When I ponder why a prosecutor would go to such unethical lengths, I cannot help but conclude that it boils down to obtaining the conviction. Intentionally overcharge the defendant as a strategy to get counsel to consider plea bargains, and vigorously fight for each charge when this strategy fails. It’s a common practice throughout the United States, and is done to increase the probability of a conviction.

So this begs another question: How many people are incarcerated who were convicted of crimes that they committed, and a lesser crime that they did not commit due to such practices? In this realm I know about 200 individuals convicted in this manner.

For example, an offender I know is guilty of aggravated robbery, but was also convicted of grand theft for items stolen from the crime scene, yet he was not guilty of this. The conviction of grand theft may seem minor in comparison to the aggravated robbery charge, and one may say, “So what? What difference does it make?”

In the years after his conviction, information surfaced that the prosecution knew he was innocent and had withheld evidence from his counsel. But since he has already exhausted his appeals, he has few avenues to pursue. So in the end this offender is serving 10 years for the aggravated robbery and 2 years for the grand theft. It doesn’t sound like much, does it? Put yourself if those shoes and consider this for a moment. You will serve 10 years of your life for a crime you committed (the aggravated robbery charge), and then 2 years for a crime you didn’t commit. Doesn’t sound so insignificant now, does it? This happens frequently.

This can happen to you, too. No? You don’t need to commit robbery to be on the receiving end. The scale of prosecutorial misconduct slides in proportion to the most severe charge you face. A common example would be someone convicted of a DUI, and then being convicted of lesser traffic violations that they did not commit. Prosecutorial misconduct is prevalent enough that some media networks have made millions airing shows like 48 Hours or custom documentaries that sometimes highlight the issue.

If you are poor, you face a tougher road in proving your innocence in these situations. Public defenders assigned to your case carry heavy caseloads and little time to fight ‘minor grievances.’ Most of the time public defenders advise their clients to ‘pick their battles’ or ‘mention it on appeal,’ which is another way of saying, “You are poor and we don’t have the resources to fight this for you. If you had a paid attorney, this issue simply boils down to billing hours.”

-Christopher

They’re Your Friends and Neighbors

On By In Addictions, Rehabilitation2 Comments

I was watching the news earlier and couldn’t help but notice that there were reports of 3 heroin overdoses and 2 drug related deaths. Not for the week or for the month, but for today. Ohio is ground zero for the heroin epidemic, and not a day passes without news of another heroin overdose and death. The life-saving drug Narcan is a household name amongst heroin addicts, and even institutional staff keep it at the ready. Street drugs are abundant here and heroin appears to be today’s drug addicts drug of choice.

Behind these walls it is a revolving door of offenders with drug convictions and related charges. Most of them are pulling short sentences of 6 months to a couple of years at best, and most of them will return to prison for the same things. There is a saying for this here; it is called “life on the installment plan.” This crowd can be divided into two groups. The first consists of small-time drug users convicted of crimes such as conveyance or possession. The second group consists of offenders serving time for theft crimes. It is this second group that sought to maintain their habits by stealing from others, such as family and friends, employers, local businesses—anywhere and everywhere. Once incarcerated, they steal from the institution and they steal and lie to their peers.

It goes without saying that I interact with this crowd with eyes wide open. I’ve talked to hundreds of men about their drug addictions and I’ve asked all the hard questions. Most guys are willing to talk about their addictions, and conversations are matter-of-fact like. These men know they have a terrible problem, and they talk about their drug of choice as ‘one of those things’ or ‘what’s a guy to do?’ This is true for every type of addict I’ve ever met except for one: the DUI crowd (the alcoholics). The denial exhibited from this crowd warrants a post of its own and I will discuss this group later.

When an addict is high he feels on top of the world. Some of my addict friends are quite pleasant to be around when they are high. They’re functional, alert, happy, helpful, hardworking, and a dozen other adjectives. It’s when the addict is in-between highs where everything goes to hell-in-a-hand-basket. They’re literally physically sick, some to the point of vomiting. They’re in constant mental and physical pain, and in many respects resemble someone exposed to a biological agent. They lose rational thought, and at some point, the desire to get high and flee the pain overtakes all reason.

The first overdose death I witnessed happened 21 years ago in a cell block. The individual shot heroin in a dosage similar to what he used on the street. Unfortunately, he failed to take into consideration his lowered tolerance as a result of his year of sobriety. His friends, having realized that he overdosed, placed him back into his cell to avoid punishment rather than seek help. The custody staff found him 4 hours later during the next count.

I watched as staff dragged his motionless body from the cell and made no effort to revive him. They then went on to make jokes, walking over and around his body as they awaited EMS. It was literally an ongoing procession of staff who’d come to see their first dead inmate. It’s a scene that will forever remain seared in my memory, both for its loss and the lack of empathy. I couldn’t help but think that this man’s wife would be devastated and his children traumatized to lose their father at such an early age.

The second overdose I ever witnessed happened in my living area. Thankfully times have changed, and the custody staff and medical staff here took an active role in saving him. I’ve sometimes wondered why so many years ago staff were so unconcerned. They did, after all, know exactly what had happened to the man, for the other inmates had told them. Of course, I was at a higher security level back then and the atmosphere was very different for staff and inmates. I have a lot to say about this as it relates directly to rehabilitation, but alas, that’s another post.

I become aware at least once a week of someone here overdosing, but to lesser degrees than the examples I recounted. Oftentimes you hear them throwing up in the bathroom or in the showers as they attempt to hide their condition from staff. Other times you see them laying on their bunks, pale white and sickly looking as they try to get past the moment.

There is a quantifiable loss to society and to important community resources when society chooses to incarcerate these offenders. Unless drug offenders are diverted to intensive inpatient or outpatient drug treatment programs, tax dollars will continue to be wasted. The revolving door of incarceration will continue to spin onward like one of those widget finger toys. As you have noticed by now I have much to say about rehabilitation and my posts frequently center around this topic. Rehabilitation is an unpopular word with the public, but it is the only way to break the cycle of crime.

-Christopher