$ucks in Adventures From Prison

Things are rough right now. Once again I’ve been reminded of the importance of money – and I hate it. In my life I’ve been lucky. My mother has always worked hard to support our family’s needs. We struggled, but by the time I reached my mid-twenties we had reached a point where we were all comfortable. Then I went to prison and things collapsed once more. I know that the two aren’t 100% related, but I do shoulder some blame. As much as she denies it, I know a good chunk of my Mom’s troubles are related to me. It sucks, knowing that, especially, trapped here with no way to help. That, plus a good dose of concern for my own comfort have kind of sucked the desire to write about my life right out of me. Lately, my days are spent at work and my nights in my bunk reading. I’ve been trying hard not to think, which is far more difficult than you’d imagine. I’m not depressed, I just really don’t want to be here…or me. I can’t help but think sometimes of the way things were. I had finally figured out how to be happy with what I had when it was all taken from me. Now, with no fault of my Mom, it feels like it’s happening again. I’ve finally figured out how to survive and be comfortable in prison. I finally had a routine and budget that worked and then poof – it’s gone. It just sucks. Now I feel like I’m starting all over again, only this time I don’t have half the padding I used to and it’s scary. I recently wrote an old friend of mine about this and in doing so clarified why this life is so hard: “Being forced to work 40 hours a week while knowing that your pay isn’t enough to live on, knowing that no matter how hard you work nothing could possibly change for the better, can break a man’s spirit as fast as a whip. Having support from home pads the blows. You can pretend it was your hard work that provides the comforts of the commissary and that helps. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go through 9 more years of working for nothing without changing into someone who is bitter at the system and at those who have it better than me. It’s a test of my own character and it scares me.” I don’t blame my Mom for this, or anyone but myself. I know Mom is dealing with many of the same issues without the stress of prison being the cause, and I know she gives me what she can. I just wish she didn’t have to. It’s something that few people ever think about, but the need for money inside prison is just as great as it is outside. The Federal Bureau of Prisons does have a partnership with Unicor which provides jobs that earn up to $200 a month, but there is a waiting list to get them and their hiring process is not without bias. Those with government imposed fines get first priority, followed by those with child support. Everyone else gets to wait. If, like my institution, the Unicor facility requires inmates to use a computer – those with computer knowledge or who used even e-mail in the commission of a crime are completely forbidden from applying. Leaving those, like myself, to earn on average $25 a month. On top of that we are also excluded from using e-mail to communicate with family which means we are forced to pay for phone calls at 30 cents a minute or to use the postal service which is slow and is 49 cents a letter, just to stay in touch. It’s grossly unfair, but certainly within the rights of Unicor and the prisons to do so. A man who wants to stand independent on his own two feet just can’t do it – not without breaking rules and risking fairly severe punishment if caught. Sadly, that is the route most men go. I don’t blame them. With money from home you don’t have to be a part of any of this. I was lucky, able to work without feeling bitter for only making 20 cents an hour, because I knew I’d be able to live comfortably no matter what. With that taken away, I’m beginning to see why so many men are beaten down and angry at the world. Without that padding from home, prison has become much colder and filled with sharp and dangerous edges. You lose the security of hearing a loved one’s voice when you most need it, you lose the ability to replace torn and tattered clothing, hell, and you lose the luxury of buying Advil to nurse a headache. It’s a situation most college educated people don’t have to face, and one I find myself woefully unprepared for. It makes me really wonder which is more important, education or street smarts. If civilization collapsed a bum has a much greater chance of surviving than a computer programmer. The educated pretend these types of situations don’t apply to them, but sometimes pretending doesn’t stop reality from bitch-slapping you. I’m lucky. My friends are much worldlier than I and are willing to hold my geeky ass above water until I learn to swim. But believe me it isn’t easy and isn’t something I’d wish upon my worst enemy. Be grateful for what you have out there in the real world – it always could be worse. Keep reading, I have a feeling things are going to get interesting!