reg's jail journals ... Sleepy Hollow Correctional Centre
Day 3 (October 30, 1998)
Morning again. I slept well and despite my circumstances I awaken feeling well and content. I had a good nights sleep. I realize from the way I feel inside that despite its faults drug treatment has worked for me. I feel that I am ready to contribute to society (again?). (who is to say whether I have made a valid contribution in the past. I believe that I have but something feels different this time. Some part of me, something good and honest, has surfaced and I greet it like a long lost friend. We are together again.
Sorry journal, but I must curtail my thoughts for now as breakfast time is quickly approaching.
OK, now I am back from breakfast. Soggy toast again. I suspect that the chefs here are not amongst the elite of the profession, not yet at the pinnacle of their careers. In life, we seek progress, not perfection. Cereal was available to us, although they were out of Special K, but I won’t let that affect my day. As one of the inmates (Doug?) said to me, “try not to let the things bother you. It only makes your time seem longer”. Good advice and I’ll take it.
At all meals, we are given silverware which must then be collected and counted after the meal by the guard. At first, this seemed silly to me. Has anyone ever really tried to tunnel their way out of this place with a spoon? Are the guards watching too many old prison movies? But the reason they do this is so that nobody can get a piece of silverware out of there and make a weapon out of it. That could lead to chaos in the unit, even death.
The latest I must overcome is money. We are not allowed to carry money, for reasons that should be obvious, as we are in a prison setting. Money is kept in an account for us and is taken out by the staff when we order needed items from the canteen, primarily tobacco. At present, I have only $10 in my account, the amount I had in my possession when I was admitted.
Had I known I would be going here perhaps I could have robbed a bank and I then I could live like a king, as it was always meant to be. But someone above must have other plans for me because here I sit with pen and paper and still only $10 in my account. Things have not improved since I first mentioned the $10. the situation has not changed. I still need more money in my account. The only way to get money in the account is to have family members personally bring it to the jail. And if and when that happens I will not be allowed any contact with that person. Also I am only allowed one phone call today (5 calls a week) so that I must sit back and apply some strategy to this situation. I must decide who I can call, who will be best able to meet my needs. So much to do, so much to think about. I think at this moment in time the best approach to this situation would be to take a nap. No first I will have a cigarette and then I nap. I must go now anyway as the guard is yelling at me to make my bed. Even in here, maximum security, we have responsibilities. Plus ca la meme chose.
At this moment, one of the other inmates, Doug, is having a minor (major?) problem. He is making up a list of people who can visit (10 family members and one friend, all of whom must be approved by the staff. More paperwork to be submitted!). Doug’s problem is that he has a new girlfriend (common law wife?) who has six children. Doug cannot remember all of their names. If she knew this, she would be insulted, perhaps hurt, perhaps angry. If he leaves any of them off the list because he cannot remember their names she would be insulted, perhaps hurt, perhaps angry. Unless he comes up with a solution I guess you could say that is fucked either way.
Let’s discuss the word “fuck”. In the world that I live in this is an acceptable word. I do not consider it offensive. It has a place in our language, in my vocabulary. This morning I was talking to the guards about how to get money into my account and, realizing and accepting there was nothing I could do at the moment to achieve a higher position of wealth amongst the population here, I said, “so basically, what you’re saying is that at this particular moment in time, I’m fucked”. She (female guard – and that another subject to be discussed at another time) looked at me, smiled, and said, “yes, well put”. And at that brief moment, I felt that we were equal, not guard and prisoner, but just two human beings whose paths crossed briefly on our journey through life. It’s funny how sometimes the smallest things said to one another can change your mood, even change the course of your day in some way which I can’t fully explain. Also humor is a wonderful tool we can use to get us through times of sadness and despair. I can’t imagine a world without humor. I would want no part of it. To me it would be better to not live at all than to live without humor (did you hear about the dyslexic atheist? He didn’t believe in dogs).
Just went down for a smoke with the guys (how does that Beatles song, A day in the life”, go? Something about ‘had a smoke’ comes to mind). Robbie O has asked if he has made it into my writing yet. I will be sure to include him as the days go by. I hear him making jokes about phenobarb, the drug that got me into this situation. Thus far, I haven’t said much on the subject and so I feel it is time I explained my situation, as I see it.
Where do I start? I’ll go down to the common area where the other guys are instead of isolating in my cell (as rooms are called in this place).
This will probably be the ‘condensed Readers Digest version’, we’ll see as we go along.
I must interrupt myself for a moment. Had to go down and pick up a change of clothes. I ran into Alex M. on the way but we are not allowed to socialize in the halls. He is in another unit so I may never get to speak with him. He was in Talbot House a few months ago but got drunk and got into a squabble with his girlfriend and got himself taken out to this place (he’s in medium). 2 of the guys from the unit next to ours, George and ?, have decided to? Requested to? Been allowed to? Move into our unit. I didn’t know we had this option but its ok with me. Could make things a little more interesting.
So anyway, back to myself.
I’ve been a drug addict for 20 years, since I was 12 years old (now you now my age – 32). Keeping in mind that this is the condensed version, I’m going to jump ahead to the past year or so. My addiction (disease) has progressed through the early and mid stages to the late stage where I find myself now. It has led me to losses of family, friends, employment, and material possessions, as well as to the brink of death whether by suicide or other means. And lets not forget my spiritual devastation, or my arrest on drug charges. All were factors that led to my involvement in treatment.
I was brought to the hospital (QEH) on February 2 of this year, after my parents, on a chance / random visit, found me unconscious in my bed and were unable to wake me. At the time, I would have preferred that they left me to die. Death seemed, in my twisted thinking, to be the only answer to my problems. But it was not to be. A week was spent in Ward 9 where I was taken off the drugs which led to my despair – cocaine, heroin, alcohol, valium, seconal, methadone, morphine, dilaudid, Demerol, codeine, percocet, fiorinal, xanax, secat, halidid, and all the others that don’t come to mind at the moment.
Seven miserable days spent there and then I was sent to the detox in Ch’town, where I spent 14 miserable days. I felt unable to deal with the pain and suffering I was going through and escaped from this place on two occasions, only to be taken back by police or family on both occasions (many stories to tell but remember – condensed version). Following this I was sent to Souris detox for 10 days (miserable, of course), where I was able to retain my sanity only (mostly) with the support and companionship of fellow patients, especially Anne T. who plays a large part in my story (sorry – condensed version).
Souris is my hometown, the place of my birth, where my life was shaped (?). At the time of my story in Souris my mother and father were in San Francisco visiting my brother Mike (oldest of 3), an engineer (I fill the position of black sheep within the family). My mother is a nurse at Souris Detox so I was only allowed to be there because she is on vacation, otherwise it would be a conflict of interest, unfortunately. My parents live on the same street as the detox and I was able to see the house from my room there, which also made my stay difficult. Adding to this I had recently separated from my wife and 2 children, Steven, 10, and [Valerie], 1, who was born during my stay in detox the previous year. I think we may be the textbook dysfunctional family.
With the help of my family doctor, Ambrose Kennedy, a childhood friend who has recently returned to Souris after a 20 year absence spent in Ireland. Ambrose, his brother Gerard, a very good friend of mine in my childhood, lived just down the street from us but moved (back) to Cork, Ireland when I was 8 years old.
When my parents returned from SF, I was released from Detox to stay in their home. My most prominent memory of this month spent there is the shotgun which I gazed at every night before I went to bed and every morning when I work, contemplating a way out of my misery. Severely depressed, and feeling that I just could [not?] handle life at the time I asked to be committed to some sort of treatment facility. This turned out to be Lonewater Farm in (outside of) St. John, New Brunswick. I went there on March 29 still miserable and unhappy. I had expected it to be a serious treatment facility but mostly it was just a ‘warehouse’ for winos from St. John wanting to get off the streets for a while. 3 meals a day and a roof over their heads, and, of course, a welfare check. My stay there, sick as I was, was made easier by several guys from P.E.I. who I met and befriended there: Kevin M. from Montague, Brian I. from Ch’town, and Trevor T. from Ch’Town. All of these guys are involved in my story – condensed version.
Brian and Trevor later came to stay at Talbot House with me. After 6 weeks at Lonewater, I went in to St. John on a routine trip, and went straight to a bar. I hadn’t planned this; I just felt drawn there (fate? destiny?). Of course, I had several beer which led to my expulsion from Lonewater, and my return to P.E.I. After getting kicked out of there I realized that being sober for six weeks hadn’t been that bad and I became determined to continue to explore this lifestyle choice. I should also mention that I went on a 2 day cocaine binge when I got to Souris which also helped me to come to the realization that I didn’t want that way of life anymore. This also taught me that some positive can come out of a relapse and we need not always focus on the negative, as is usually the case, especially within the justice system.
After several days in Souris I contacted Dr. Jones, who has dealt with me for several years in her capacity as an addictions specialist, and asked her to refer me to Talbot House. Talbot was then under the supervision of Inez T., who is now on a leave of absence to attend UNB Fredericton where she is studying for her Masters Degree in Psychology. Irene is a stern but caring lady, sort of a motherly type. She interviewed me and accepted me into the house. Several weeks later she told me that she was unsure whether to accept me or not (she has a background in corrections and I have long been involved in criminal behavior. She was dubious of my sincerity and motivation as I had pending legal issues). She told me that what swayed her in my favor was that she saw a part of me, a small part inside my soul, that wanted something more out of life and she thought that part needed to be nourished and nurtured and allowed to grow. This, I believe, is the essence of my spirituality.
Now, the legal issues. I had been charged with possession of cocaine (20 grams) with intent to traffic in May of the previous year, 1997. I’ll admit that motivation to be involved with this activity was greed in the past but by this point it had become an addiction problem. I had a massive appetite for drugs, fueled by addiction, which could only be fed by the sale of drugs. (let’s say $200 - $1000+ per day spent on drugs. I was barely human, going through life like a zombie.) Throughout this period (’92-’98) I also owned and operated a small business, Days of Wine and Beer, selling brewing supplies. I was able to operate this quite well until brought to my knees by drugs.
I’m going to skip a lot of background issues here and go straight to court. The prosecutor felt that what I had been involved in was serious enough to warrant 3-5 years incarceration. My lawyer, John Davis, was able to convince him to ask for 2 years less a day, the maximum that can be served in Provincial Jail, anything above that moves up to the Federal system. My lawyer informed me that there had recently been an amendment to the Criminal Code allowing sentences less than 2 years to be conditional, which means served in the community with certain conditions. He didn’t seem too confident that such a sentence would be imposed on myself as my crime was serious, especially by P.E.I. standards. However, I approached Dr. Jones and asked her to write a letter to the court stating her medical opinion and the need for treatment. I also asked Inez T. at Talbot, and my councilor there, Freddy A., to write a letter describing what progress I had made up to that point. Both of these letters were presented to the court. After a considerable amount of time, which seemed like an eternity to me, the judge returned from his deliberation and ruled in favor of a conditional sentence. I can’t express in words the feeling I had at that moment, but I’m glad that my wife and parents were there to share it with me.
So I returned to Talbot House and life went on pretty much as it had during the past few weeks. Several months passed and I made much progress with my illness. One of the conditions of my sentence was that I attend a treatment program at Homewood Health Centre in Guelph, Ont. This was arranged to begin on Sept. 2.
I arrived at Homewood with high expectations but I was only there for a short while before things went wrong for me. My roommate was a heroin addict, from Vancouver, only 19 years old (Steve). He and I got along great. He reminded me much of myself when I was younger, not taking life too seriously and perhaps too smart for his own good.
After a few days there, he came back from a walk downtown stoned on heroin. None of the staff or other patients knew, but I did. This went on daily for about a week before he was called in for a random urine test. The next morning, I came back from my morning session and he was gone. He took off for Vancouver without telling anyone. All the while he was using I was really confused. Negative feelings and thoughts of deviant behavior which I thought had left me over the past few months were again brought to the surface. When I tried to talk about these feelings and behavior in group I was made to feel that the way I thought was wrong. When Steve was using I talked to him and asked him to confess to his group. He said he would but kept putting it off and then he was gone. When I told the nurse that I knew he was using she made me feel like I was bad and wrong for not turning him in. Meanwhile other patients were going home for the weekend and coming back drunk or stoned. These people were not kicked out. Their reasons for using were being dealt with in group. They were not punished. This created great confusion in my mind because it was totally different from what I saw in treatment in P.E.I. but again when I brought up the subject of relapse I was told that I shouldn’t even be talking about such a thing. I just couldn’t understand how to get along, what they wanted from me and this eventually led to an early discharge from the program. I was also continually being questioned and analyzed about my motivation, as I was technically there under the courts direction. This to me was a hurdle I could not overcome.
I returned to Talbot House but found that I had lost the sense of trust that I once had in the staff due to the way I was treated in Homewood. Another patient in Talbot, who I had become close friends with, was found to be using was quickly put out of the house before I even knew what happened. I tried to talk about my feelings on this in group but again I was made to feel that there was something wrong with my thinking. Relapse is a major part of addiction but it seems like the subject is taboo in treatment centres (and I feel this has something to do with their low success rate).
Thoughts of using and cravings built up inside of me and I couldn’t release them because I felt that I couldn’t openly and honestly with the staff (there was one staff member, Jim G., who I was getting to know, whom I felt might be able to talk to but I was unsure I would make him uncomfortable by talking about this subject. I didn’t want to be pushed away again).
Eventually on Fri. Oct 23 something inside me snapped and I took a phenobarb pill (this is what they use in detox to subdue cravings). I did not take it to get high. If I wanted to get high I would have taken cocaine or morphine, both of which are easily available on the street. I just wanted these fucking negative feelings to go away. I don’t know if they’ll ever go away but I don’t want them anymore. I just want to think like a normal person, whatever that is. I hope someday I’ll find out.
On Wednesday morning we were supposed to have our group meeting at 8:30 am. The staff came in and told us they had something urgent to deal with. Shortly afterward an RCMP car pulled up in front of the house and two officers walked into the office. I was then called in. Wayne C. waved a piece of paper in my face and said, “I have the results of your urine test. You tested positive for barbiturates and are discharged from the house”. Then I was handcuffed and taken away and now I sit writing my story, hoping everything will work out some day.
I just had a meeting with staff psychiatrist? Social worker? Earlier today, I passed some letters to be mailed. All of my mail has to be screened by the staff. It seems they had some concerns about ‘questionable content’ in one of my letters. I wrote to Wayne C. at Talbot and made a comment that ‘soon all will be under my control, will proceed with plans for world domination’, written in the context that I was here as a secret agent. It’s an inside joke between Wayne and I but when the staff read it they questioned my sanity. I find this quite amusing. Fortunately, I was able to convince them that I am, indeed sane and now everything will be ok. I now realize that I will have to sprinkle a few jokes throughout my ramblings to keep the guards amused, as all outgoing mail will be screened. Is it true that cannibals don’t eat clowns because they taste funny?
Lunch today was another obstacle for me. They had fish and I don’t eat fish (curiously, my father is a fisherman). So apparently, I have to fill out a request to talk to the nurse who will then talk to the cook who will then, hopefully, cook something not containing fish or any fish by-products for me (more fucking paperwork). Chain of command thing, I suppose. Fortunately, I was able to trade my fish for some of the other inmates jello (effective functioning of the barter system). There are also crackers available to all, no paperwork required.
We were allowed outside for an hour this afternoon. I had envisioned us all spread out across the grounds on our hands and knees picking magic mushrooms. But the reality was different. We were in a 30’ x 30’ caged area smoking cigarettes just like we do inside, only it’s colder out there. I may choose to pass on this activity tomorrow.
If you shoot a mime should you use a silencer? (that was just thrown in to keep the guards amused) from now on I will try to use the symbol G [with a circle around it] to denote a joke for the guards.
… encountering mental block … must smoke …
I just spoke with my mother and Ambrose, the doctor, on the phone (about placing the call – I asked the guard to make the call for me, as we don’t have access to the phones. The call had to be routed through the main switchboard (even the simplest things are made complicated here). After waiting 15 minutes I said to the guys, “watch this, as soon as I light this cigarette the phone will ring (Murphys Law)” as soon as I lit my cigarette the phone rang and everyone burst out in laughter).
Anyway it seems to me that I am the only one who has any confidence that I will get through this ordeal unscathed. Despite this, I will hold on to my positive thoughts and hope for the best. God grant me to accept the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference. G [Guard joke] do you think a world without bears would be unbearable?
I just noticed a piece of paper on the desk which the guys have been writing their different interpretations of what the letters RCMP stand for: real classless major pricks, rectal checking maggot pharmers, regular cocksucking mother phuckers, royal clap-infested mother-fucking pigs, returning cockbreath mindless pukes, real clueless mindless potatoheads, rough cunts molesting pigs. Interesting how we keep ourselves amused in Sleepy Hollow – Minimum Security.
Tonight I tried to talk to the nurse, Sherri, about my diet but she wouldn’t discuss it. She says I must talk to the head nurse on Monday, 3 days from now. How will I ever grow up and be big and strong if I can’t eat the food here. A man can’t live on crackers alone (one of the guys shared his crackers with me, obviously sympathetic to my plight). So tonight I go to bed hungry, hoping there will be something good to eat tomorrow. Sometimes it’s just no fun being in jail.
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