by Damon West
When you leave the chow hall at lunch, you are given a sack lunch with two sandwiches and a few cookies. After that, everyone returns to their pods, and there is no more offender movement. The prison is usually short of staff on the holidays, so that means no recreation. Honestly, we are lucky to even be out of our cells, since policy dictates we be locked in our cells when there is not adequate staff to securely operate the prison.
Nothing changes much in prison. Routine is the name of the game in here. Boring is good.
The day room is teeming with people trying to figure out what to do to take their minds off the fact they are spending another Christmas in prison.
As a rule, I generally pride myself on my ability to be as independent and against the grain as safely possible in here. The last thing I want to do is assimilate into this world. My family helps so much with that. They visit me nearly every weekend, which is not the norm in prison. Visits are few and far between for most guys, and they tend to fall off after the first year or two. I thank God each day for having won the “parental lottery” in life. You cannot pick your parents, but if I could, I would choose the same ones.
Today is going to be a rough one for many. Many in here don’t have a chance because they have a problem with perception and proportion. Perception makes daily life difficult to discern in a place where so many liars and con artists are selling their worth, and proportion outsizes most problems and situations to the point of paralysis. Proportion on a daily level, I have found, is key to not only survival, but also spiritual growth.
Like the riddle: How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
Proportion.
Doing time is truly a one-day-at-a-time struggle. Time is something I have plenty of. The trick is to do your time and not let your time do you. It is imperative to have a plan, goals, and standards for yourself. Each day I awake with the same goal of improving from who I was the day before.
Speaking of one day at a time, I began attending 12-step recovery meetings in July. The men who want to go to the chapel and work on their recovery are allowed to do so. It’s voluntary, so there are only about fifty guys in there every Wednesday. Odd when you realize that 80 percent of the people in prison are addicts of some sort, suffering from substance abuse issues. At first, I thought the meeting would be held on the rec yard, given the sheer numbers of addicts locked up, but nope. It was only a room in the Chapel of Hope. I can’t bother myself with anyone else’s recovery, though. I can only deal with my own.
Two men from the free world, “Ray” and “Matt,” lead the meetings in here. I immediately felt a connection with these two guys, and the message of hope they brought. Because both were addicts, former criminals, and sober, they had a unique currency necessary to penetrate the facades of most men in here. A been there, done that kind of thing.
Bill Wilson, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, knew his stuff. In AA, unlike in organized religions, they offer you the ability to choose your own Higher Power, or “a God of your understanding.” This eliminates obvious religious barriers for people of multiple faiths or no faith at all. It allows them to elect their own idea of a Higher Power to help them cope with addiction, which we addicts are powerless over. If we can find a Higher Power we believe in, who can help us stay sober, then we know we are not alone in this struggle. We know we have help, spiritually, to overcome our obsessions and desires to use.
I realize I will always be an addict. This is a disease from which I will never be cured. Even though I will never get well, I can get better. Each day brings me another chance at sobriety and spiritual peace.
My days currently consist of whatever positive I can pack into however many hours I am awake. I arise around 6 a.m. Most guys sleep in until much later, often claiming they have no reason to be up. I disagree.
The way I see it, I need as many hours in the day I can find to work on myself. I have some serious issues, some serious defects of character, or I would not be living in this menagerie of miscreants, with killers, rapists, thieves, child molesters, and other criminals. I do not place myself outside the classification of being a criminal. I am a drug addict, a thief, a criminal. I’m not judging. My point is that my choices and behaviors in life have brought me into this living hell as a penance for my sins.
I have a routine, which I stick to religiously. Establishing a routine is a must. Remember, you must do your time and not let your time do you. In an effort to grow spiritually, mentally, and physically, I pack my days full of activities. At the end of the day, I am trying to exhaust not just my body, but also my mind.
My mind is the one place that is not locked up. I fight against the imprisonment of my mind more than I fight anything else. On the days I sense I’m losing the battle, I stop everything and restart my day. Empowered with this ability, each day has enormous potential.
Upon awaking, I get on my knees and say a prayer I learned in AA. “God, I offer myself to Thee, to build with me and do with me as Thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do Thy will. Take away my difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy Way of Life. May I do Thy will always.”
That prayer sets the tone for my day. I no longer pray for things I want or think I need, only that God will lead me to what He needs me to do. Many times a day, I will also say the Serenity Prayer, or ask God to help me recognize where I am needed to serve Him. For too long, I have been a selfish person, especially when I was in my addiction. Getting outside of self is truly where there is peace.
After I pray, meditation is paramount. The only time it is quiet in prison is between one and four in the morning. Then people begin awaking for laundry exchange and breakfast. It occurred to me early on that people on the outside of prison have no idea what goes on inside a prison because every time I mentioned laundry exchange, I got a funny look.
Each morning, every inmate has the option of getting up to exchange their boxer shorts, socks, and uniform (white shirt and white, elastic-waist pants, like maternity clothes). This happens around 4 a.m. I pay a guy to get me fresh uniforms, and I wash my own boxers and socks each day in the shower.
After laundry exchange comes breakfast. The food in prison leaves a lot to be desired, but, again, this is a punishment. For the most part, breakfast consists of any combination of pancakes, grits, and oatmeal. I do not participate in this ritual, choosing to sleep a few extra hours and eat a cup of oatmeal later in my cell.
I’m one of the lucky ones who has money on his books to buy food from the commissary.
By 6 a.m., laundry and breakfast are usually finished, most of the inmates have gone back to their bunks to sleep, and the prison is relatively quiet. This is my time when I meditate to clear my head and listen to what God has to say. Once done with prayer and meditation, I fix a cup of coffee and my bowl of oatmeal.
After my breakfast, I use the bathroom, like clockwork. The simple task of going to the toilet, which I took for granted all my life prior to incarceration, requires preparation and planning because this is all being done in a very small cell, which you share with another man. I have to put up a sheet hung over a piece of string which runs the width of the cell to obscure the view of having to look at another guy while taking a crap. Although it is difficult to mask the unavoidable smell of such an exercise, it is helpful to flush the toilet as you go. “Drop one, drown one,” as they say. It really does help. Besides, it is a “respect thing” to keep the toilet as clean as possible. We do all sorts of things with our toilets in prison. Laundry and cleaning of cooking ware are both done in the toilet. Gross, I know, but what are you gonna do?
As a cellmate, it is incumbent upon me to find common ground with the person I am sharing this space with. We both agree to certain concessions; life is about compromises. I have seen cellmates who get along well, and I have witnessed cellmates who fight ea
ch other every night when it is rack-up time.
My cellmate and I agree to the fact I am going to be up and moving around early. In exchange for this, the cell is his most of the day. The last thing I want to do is be trapped in my cell all day long like a dog in a kennel. But, hey, every man has his own way of doing time.
This early morning bathroom run is quite important because it allows me to leave my cell in the morning without worrying about finding a clean toilet to use the rest of the day. When they roll the cell doors for that first “in-and-out” of the day, I take everything I will need until nighttime. Coming back to my cell is not an option because there is no guarantee when the doors will be opened again. I stay out all day long.
After the bathroom portion of my ritual is complete, I wait for the doors to roll and begin my day in the zoo that is the prison day room. Taking care to bring out everything I will need for the day (shower bag with shower supplies, shower shoes, change of clothes, my rosary, a book to read, writing materials, some mackerel and peanuts to eat, and my fan), I leave my cell and make my way from the third floor down to the bottom floor, where the day room is located.
A prison day room is like a giant sociological petri dish. The place is absolutely insane. Any number of things are simultaneously happening there at any given time. It is wise to learn how to read crowds, body language, and understand affiliations before you spend any time in a prison day room. Too many times I have seen guys unknowingly, and even knowingly, step into enormous piles of crap. Most of these self-inflicted wounds could have been avoided with a little situational awareness. This is known as “getting into a wreck.”
My position in the day room has improved since my arrival nearly two years ago. Back then, I had not earned the right to sit at any of the tables or benches. White guys have the fewest seats, and I didn’t exactly fall in line with the norms of prison mentality by sticking with my own race. I was not exactly the most welcomed guy in the day room. No matter. I did it my way, with God’s help. I survived, and now I sit wherever I want, assuming the other guys at the table want me there. Currently, I sit with three Hispanic guys. I like them. They speak rapid-fire Spanish, so I learn a foreign language daily. My Spanish leaves a lot to be desired, but they appreciate the fact I want to learn.
To save your place at a seat, you must “mark” it with something of yours. I use a book and my writing materials. Nobody touches them for the most part because touching another man’s property without permission is a guaranteed way to get into a wreck. Fights usually are the preferred method for dealing with such offenses of etiquette. People think prison is probably a place where you want to lock everything away because everyone in there is a thief. This simply is not true. When you first arrive, people may try to take your things because they want to see what you are made of—to see if you are extortable or weak.
In reality, after it is established that you will defend yourself, you can leave your things out in the open in prison. Theft is rare. A thief in a communal setting such as this poses a potentially serious crisis. Wars are started over this sort of thing. Once the thief is ferreted out, he is usually dealt with in a brutal manner. In a society where violence is the primary language, theft is an effective way to get yourself hurt or killed.
After securing my spot at the table, I begin my workout routine. If the rec yard is open I go to rec. If not, I jog in the day room. I prefer going outside, but security trumps my desires. If there are not enough guards on shift or if it is too foggy outside, the yard is closed.
Are you detecting a theme here? Prison is often short of staff. We stay racked up way more than I’m comfortable with. Again, it is a punishment, and therefore my comfort is of no concern. Still, it would be nice to have more mobility, get off the pod more and get away from the characters who surround me.
I make do with what life gives me. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.”
Jogging in the day room is different than jogging outside. It is easier to mentally escape outside because it impacts more of your senses. No matter, I have my rosary in hand, and that is all I need. It takes me twelve minutes to say a rosary. I usually jog for five or six rosaries.
These runs are a high for me. The release of positive endorphins is like getting high. Moreover, these runs allow me to avoid any unnecessary time spent speaking with the lunatics in here. Quality conversation is in short supply. No one can talk to a guy running and, on the move, unless they too are running and on the move. Which very few men do. Makes for some serious solace.
After I run, it is time to work out. Forget your preconceived ideas about inmates pushing stacks of weights on some enormous outdoor weight room. Free weights do not exist. Not in Texas, anyway.
So, if you don’t have free weights, what do you have? A lousy universal machine in which the cables are often frayed or snapped off. In reality, your weights system is your own body.
Body weight training works for the military, so I have operated under the assumption it will work for me. Push-ups, pull ups, squats, dips, lunges. Depending on the muscle group I am working each day, there are ample exercises to keep me busy and fit. I do thousands of reps each week. I’ve got the time, right?
I want to get shredded while I am in here. My frame has always been athletic, and extra weight does not feel right on me. When I arrived to prison, I was about 230 pounds, a far cry from the 175 I weighed when I played football. The extra 55 pounds were all fat. My time in county jail, where, after four years on meth, I ate everything in sight, along with being depressed and immobile, was the perfect storm for a negative body transformation. It was awful being that fat and out of shape. Moreover, it made it even more difficult to fight and, eventually, compete on the basketball court.
Once the morning run and workout are completed, it is close to chow time. Lunch in prison begins around 10 a.m., way too early for the second meal of the day. As I said, the food in prison is awful.
Most lunches and dinners in prison are served with beans. They’re a staple, and they’re cheap. Somewhere along the way, the prison system determined noodles also fit into the “staple and cheap” category. Usually, some sort of faux meat substance is added into the dish, followed by canned fruit and bread. Again, prison is a punishment. My expectations are managed accordingly.
After chow, it is time to either go to recreation or do another round of working out in the pod if there is no outside rec being offered, which is often the case, or if there is nothing going on at the chapel. I enjoy the trips to the chapel because there are other positive people there. Not that there are no positive people on the pods. Rather, the people at the chapel have gone the extra step to get involved in some sort of spiritual group away from the pods.
Are all the people at the chapel positive and virtuous? Hell, no. You will see a bunch of fakers down there; people who act like they have beliefs in a religion but live like they are heathens. I have seen guys who can recite the Bible, chapter and verse, but live the most un-Christian lives. Likewise, I have seen guys recite the Quran, but live lives outside the acceptance of Islam. There’s a guy in here who can quote a medical book about brain surgery, but this joker is no neurosurgeon. Just because you’re in a garage doesn’t mean you’re a car.
The chapel is the crossroads of the entire prison. It is where everyone meets up to do all kinds of business. It is the only place that all the inmates can get to at the same time. All the gangs hold their meetings there, in the guise of a service. For example, the Aryan gangs and other white groups attend the pagan services. This gives them a chance to meet up once a week and exchange information, give orders, and put out hits and smash-on-sights (SOS). I’m not sure what the minutes of a gang meeting look like, but I can imagine that as seriously as they take themselves, it must be pretty important. They are, after all, running an organization, with leadership positions and soldiers.
Another example is the Hispanic gan
gs. They use the Catholic services as their meet-up place. You can see them every Saturday at mass, breaking off into their particular groups and having marathon whisper sessions in Spanish throughout the entire mass. It is extremely disrespectful to the priest and the other volunteers who come for the service, but I mind my own business and don’t even glance their way during the disturbance. See without seeing and hear without hearing.
Some people think the Muslims in prison are a gang. My experience with these guys has been nothing but positive. The cellmates I’ve had who were Muslim were always very clean (the cell is their prayer area; their prayer time is called Salat) and respectful. Their religion and mine are both monotheistic. I often prayed to my Christian God simultaneously while they prayed to Allah. You can’t have enough prayer, in my opinion. Also, it is putting positive energy out into the universe. A win-win.
The Muslims in prison are very clannish, however. They tend to hang out with each other and keep the profits of their criminal activities within their group. From time to time, you will see a Muslim who has pushed out the competitors with muscle from other Muslims, running the cigarettes and dope business. Threats of violence tend to thwart even the best business plans.
The Muslims run the most disciplined service at the chapel. You can see the “ushers”—other inmates who are given the authority to allow people to speak or to go to the bathroom—working the room. They have a disciplinary council, Ashura, which deals with Muslims who are known to be violating their religious precepts. This is a selective idea at best when delivering punishment, because drugs and alcohol are banned by their faith. Those infractions are often overlooked. Homosexuality, however, is not. This is punishable by expulsion, and they will ostracize people. Keep in mind, the state of Texas is required to allow every inmate to practice their faith. While not even the state can revoke someone’s faith, the Muslims do it.