Pregnancy Drug Test Fail

Today was a first at work for me.  Not that someone failed a drug test, but that she was pregnant.  I cannot think of anything much sadder.  It is one thing to knowingly/willingly destroy yourself with drugs and alcohol, but not an innocent fetus.

When she first arrived a coworker immediately made a comment in my ear that this defendant was going to fail her drug test.  After I met with her, her disheveled appearance was a red flag.  She was covered in white fuzz which I commented to her about.  My initial concern was she had an extreme case of lice.  She assured me it was “fuzzy” from her blanket.  My next thought was why she didn’t at least run a brush through her hair before reporting to her probation officer.

The first time we went to the toilet, she tried but couldn’t urinate.  She joked she was “gun-shy” about peeing in front of her probation officer.  I gave her some water and told her to sit in the lobby until she was ready.  About 20 minutes later we tried again.  She was very eager to see her results.  She had an absolute fail for marijuana, and a potential for benzos and meth.

She stated to me that she failed for marijuana because she hadn’t been able to eat and so she finally smoked to get an appetite a few weeks ago. Possibly the dumbest lie/excuse I have ever heard for getting high.

With a nervous smile on her face she told me it was time to clean up her act and stop using.  Sadly it wasn’t being pregnant that made her want to be clean, but the regret of failing a drug screen while on probation.

My heart is so sad for the children brought into this world in these types of scenarios.

 

The Criminals Answer to a Drug Test…Just Run

So the offender shows up for his scheduled appointment at probation.  Upon arrival he is given his urine cup for a surprise drug test.  When they look nervous, it is usually a dead give away they already know they will fail it.  Some will fess up that they have drugs in their system, and some will pray and take a chance they will get a false negative and possibly pass.  It is a good sign when they seem willing to take the test.  After going to the bathroom and still not coming out after a half hour….you start to wonder what happened to them.  Upon checking the bathroom, it is dark and empty.  This is a first, the offender took off… with his urine cup.

I am not sure this story trumps offender number two.  When he gets a surprise visit at work today, he ran out the back door while officers entered through the front.  Knowing he was going to get a violation for failing his drug test, he ran away so he could get high just one more time before getting arrested.

Enter offender number 3.  He shows up at the office and claims he will pass his drug test.  Then he fails two.  He is only 18, and facing felony charges.  His probation officer brings his mother into the room, and lays out the consequences.  Failing this test, he has risked throwing away every chance the court has given him.  This violation (if the court decides) could revoke his bond and send him away to prison for a very long time.  His mother begins to cry, eventually so does he.  The icing on the loser cake, he admits to using drugs with another offender on our probation caseload.

While working in prison I had an 18-year-old in one of my classes.  It was obvious he was a good kid, and did not belong behind bars.  He had been on probation, but just would not stop partying.  He was given more chances than most people could dream of.  Eventually the judge had no other choice, maybe prison would straighten him out.  I guess sometimes that is what it takes.  Some people have to learn in the hardest way. Some just never learn.

 

Welcome to the World of Probation B*tches

We are facing an intriguing time in the world of correctional services.  As more and more people are being incarcerated, jails and prisons seem to be bursting at the seams.  This poses a tremendous burden on the states, as well as tax payers.  The overflow of inmates creates a very chaotic and dangerous environment within the correctional facilities.  It also costs this country millions upon millions of dollars every year.

Having worked in a maximum security prison, and having seen with my very own blue eyes what a danger an outdated, underfunded, filled to capacity facility looks like… I am an advocate for alternative options that will help reduce the burden and make things safer.   Judicial alternatives are being introduced even today, and like anything it can take time to perfect the flaws of something new.

What I witnessed in prison were underpaid corrections employees, which in itself did not set the stage for strong work morale.  I worked in an overburdened southern state that shaved more and more of its budget each year.  This meant the facility was literally falling apart.  There were pennies available for repairs, and barely any for general maintenance.  It was overcrowded, underfunded, and under staffed.  As you can imagine, this is a recipe for a very dangerous place.  Too many inmates, not enough staff, and everyone is hurting from the lack of funds….anger and hostility on both sides fueling the fire of impending mayhem.

There is less supervision, more opportunity for inmate on staff violence, more weapons, more drugs, more sex, and more problems not worth mentioning…but you can imagine it.  Another hot issue, we are forcing nonviolent misdemeanor criminals to live and learn from violent sadistic felons.  These are not rehabilitation facilities that produce happier productive individuals. These are scary, treacherous places where people are raped, murdered, exploited, and on and on.  Learning to survive in prison you pick up on new dysfunctional methods of living.  You see things that will forever change you, no matter how strong you think you are.

Enter: parole and probation.  These two alternatives have existed a very long time to help reduce prison population numbers and thus reduce the burden on budgets, staff, and facilities.  As well as potentially preventing the mixture of junior criminals into mixing with serious graduate degree holders in serious crime.  That is, if the individual can abide by the rules in place granting their conditional freedom.   A big issue with parole and probation; the tax payers are still flipping the bill for the criminal’s supervision…because it is state government that supervises them.

Enter: private probation services.  A fairly new concept, originally adopted as best as I can tell in Florida in the 1970s.  There are both profit and nonprofit private probation agencies.   The major benefit of private probation, the criminal is finally flipping the bill. That’s right!  They are responsible to pay a fee that covers the cost of their own supervision.

There are currently about twelve states that are participating in private probation.  Georgia being the leader and model for the future of said practice.  Private probation has garnered a lot of heat by human rights groups that it is unconstitutional, targets lower socioeconomic status communities, etc.  That is usually all you read about.  There is some truth to that, in SOME cases.  It is not the standard practice, and there is certainly a much bigger picture the media does not paint.   Sadly, printing the benefits of private probation does not sell news.  Controversy sells news and so that is what we see over and over again. One sided, blown up, out of proportion, sensational tales about injustice, corruption, and greed.  Where have I seen that before?  Oh yes…in every major existing institution.  In recent years’ worth noting we have the Catholic Church, Wall Street, the tobacco industry, politicians…Hollywood.  It is everywhere.  So do we all believe there are only bad practices taking place in all of these things?  I certainly don’t.  I like church, I like money, I like smoking, I like government, and I like entertainment.  I do not believe they are only producing negativity, they have some good too.   Everything has a yin and a yang people…opposing, contrary forces that are interconnected.

So what is my goal here?  Get to the point already, right!?   It is simply this.  I want an honest and objective account, of an insider’s experience into the world of private probation.  Who are the people it affects… what are their stories?  What is really going on here?

 

Prison Cartwheels

I began getting very nervous.  My stomach started to do flips inside me.

Samuel my lifer assistant kept asking me what was up.  I told him I always get like this on the first day of a new class.  Maybe it is lucky it wasn’t until I had 6 months under my belt that they assigned me a class with half of the inmates being sex predators.  By now I have become much more thick skinned…perhaps I was ready and didn’t know it.  God’s plan never ceases to leave me amazed in its perfection, timing included.

Slowly they began to trickle in.  God was taking it easy on me.  Not overwhelming with them all arriving at once like they usually do.  I was kind and gentle.  My nerves began to calm down.  The first inmate to arrive was the one I had been fearing the most.  He has the most violent history with a bonus of charges that include aggravated stalking.

They were calm and even-tempered. They waited quietly and patiently for the rest of the students to arrive.  I passed out puzzles and brain teasers to keep them occupied until we could get started.  Number 1 on the agenda is always introduction followed by the RULES.  Samuel had even suggested I dip out briefly so he could give them the most important rule man to men.  No bathroom, no touching their junk, no messing with me.  Period.  I could say it, but being told to them by a respected fellow inmate serving 3 life sentences for a triple homicide seemed much more effective.

The class ran beautifully.  It was nothing short of pure magic. I felt like doing cartwheels across the prison yard when it was all over.

It’s always fascinating to see how the inmates will react to me.  They are so used to being yelled at all day and treated like animals, when someone patient and kind addresses them they are always caught off guard. Some become suspicious, others relieved.  It takes many of them time to adjust and learn to trust me, while still more take to it like a long-lost relative resurfacing to offer them love and support.

We had real talk today.  I didn’t hesitate to start asking them how long they have been incarcerated, if they have been locked up before, and what their plans are for release. There are 2 students who are old enough to be my grandfather, and one of them is mentally handicapped…he has been in prison for 25 years.  I cannot describe how much that hurts to witness.

Part of my challenge is to always keep up a strong exterior. These are grown men in prison.  There is no time for a sad teacher.  They need a strong leader who will encourage them and strengthen them.  Guide them and confront their erroneous thinking.  There is no room for my fears.

 

27 Years

“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.” -Nelson Mandela

I always print out news articles for each class, to start our talking points of the day about current events. It usually sparks phenomenal discussions that I could never develop on my own.

Today, I discussed the passing of Mr. Mandela.  (Some of the inmates hadn’t even known he had died).

I thought it was very relevant and important to share his quote about freeing himself from the mental and emotional prison that would potentially follow him upon his release, if he didn’t let go of the 27 years of pain he garnered while rotting away in prison. I followed by highlighting how he was not only able to embrace goodness, but he went on to change the world because of it.  After prison.  I want these men to know that anything is possible for them, if they can let go and let God.

 

Only God Knows

Everyday as I drive to work…I pray and listen to sermon. EVERY DAY.  It prepares me for the work HE needs to do through me, and also guides me in movement as to what we are working towards each day.

Yet, I continue to have the nagging sense it is time to move on.  I cannot really explain it or put my finger on it.  Sometimes, at the worst times, I have intrusive thoughts about something violent happening against me there. It confuses me and terrifies me. I pray, tighten up, and keep working through my fear. I don’t know if it is HE above me, or the one below us steering this feeling. So, I am still there.

This morning, I shared this feeling with my assistant, an inmate serving 3 life sentences.  For murder. I have never met anyone like him, and I trust him with my life.

He was concerned by this feeling I have and wanted to help dig deeper.  He also encouraged me to follow the path God lays out for me.  I am grateful for his thoughtful and honest listening and counsel. He followed it with that if I am here for the next class we are fixing to teach as this one shall graduate soon…it will be due to God’s grace and plan. Nothing less and nothing more.Even in my darkest moments there, this job brings me the truest true peace and joy.

 

Killer

He’s a crack head.  I know it.  He doesn’t work very hard to hide it. Ever.

On Friday he came up behind me.  I am always weary when the inmates are behind me, as I should be.  He shouted, “Hey teacher!”…I quickly turned around.  Then I jumped and screamed, all in one motion.  He had a lizard in my face.

His pet.  It had been in class with us all day….they are so good at hiding things I hadn’t even realized it.

His name is Killer.  He will hold still on anything he is set on.  The inmates love to pet him…you would think he was a dog.  The inmates go crazy looking for bugs to feed him with. This is odd for me. A trained lizard that is better behaved then my own doggies.

 

Avoiding Prison Rape

I want to share  a tale the inmates described to me during Art Class yesterday. It is the basic instructions to protect yourself from rape in prison.

Instructions are as follows:

1: Get yourself a pencil….if you can procure 2, even better.

2: Sharpen, sharpen, sharpen.

3. When you lay down at night, hold a pencil secretly in your hand and lean back against your closed fist resting it behind your head, pencil tip facing out.

4. When attacked, jam the pencil with all your strength into the attackers eyeball (or eyeballs if you have 2 pencils). 

5. Twist intensely.

6. Break pencil(s) so that a portion of it remains in the eye(s).

This accomplishes 2 things.  The first, it kills the mood.  The second, it sends a message to everyone.  Don’t fuck with me.

 

Truth or Consequences

Today was the kind of day where I walked out of class, and my heart couldn’t contain the rays of sunshine that laser beamed out of it back into the world…and the voice in my heart reminded me that God has me exactly where HE needs me…making sure HIS work is being done.

Let me rewind to Monday morning, when I once again began a new class of inmates to teach my community re-entry course.  For the next 2 months, we will all slowly get to know each other, and by the end of it all, it will be hard to say goodbye.

However in the beginning, it is scary…for all of us. New inmates, new histories to learn, new body language to observe and comprehend. New people to gain respect and trust with. A new dynamic to survive.  Just as much for them as for me.

I have 2 young inmates that sit in the back of this brand new class.  They are hardened and criminalized dramatically despite their youth. They stare at me, they seem angry, one even began a verbal confrontation with me 15 minutes into our first class 4 days ago. In front of the ENTIRE class. Great.

And how did I handle this test of his masculinity against my authority? With flying colors.  I stayed cool, calm, and collected and reminded him if he didn’t want to take class with me in a civilized environment, he had another option. To my impressed surprise not only did he listen, but he sustained no hostility the rest of the day.  He engaged and participated well. He gained respect from me for that.

Yet, I also noticed this young inmate was receding into his clothes that first day.  My training alerted me to the possibility he was masturbating. I did not want to jump to conclusions.  I could have hit my panic button and had security rush in and take him away to confinement,  He would have been one less headache to deal with.  But that is not my style.  I am here to help as many men as I can, and in order to do that I must remain a fact gatherer.  I want to be very sure of my decisions that affect my students, as long as I am not in jeopardy.

I consulted with security about my suspicions.  They listened, and with their typical enthusiastic support of me, agreed to let me handle the situation as I saw fit. My instinct told me to observe this kid slightly longer to make a full assessment of what was taking place. I am sooooooooooo grateful I followed my instinct.

Today this young man approached me after class.  With his shyness he approached me while staring at his feet.  He thanked me for caring so much about them, for being there.  He talked about how much he has suffered in his young life, and how no one has ever been there to take care of him, to support him, to teach him anything.  All of his older brothers are incarcerated.  As the youngest, he doesn’t have anywhere to go when he is released in 3 months. He is terrified.

He then begins to discuss his extreme anxiety.  He has suffered from it ever since he was a kid and child protective services began placing him in foster care (11 different placements to be exact).  Part of his behavioral response when he feels anxious, is to cradle himself.

He tells me he is sorry.  He doesn’t want me to be afraid, he would never want to do anything to make me feel uncomfortable or  disrespected.  He has been in trouble so many times at the prison because he is often accused of masturbatory behavior by female officers. It has forced him to recognize that his unconscious behavior of comforting himself during panic attacks is misconstrued to observers as inappropriate touching of himself.  He gets it now.  He doesn’t mean it.  It is a habit that started when he was 4 years old.  He draws into himself, cradles, and rocks.  As a long time sufferer and survivor of anxiety, I can understand this young man’s pain.

I am so proud of him for coming to me.  For being a man…that no one ever modeled for him how to be…to admit something, and to apologize. For being honest with someone he hardly knows, which in prison takes a heck of a lot of courage.

I could hear the harps of heaven ringing in my ears as he spoke.  We were both being lifted into the love and grace of God, with our moment of peace and understanding.

I could have let the devil’s fear control me, and cast this man from my class into confinement.  I wouldn’t have had to deal with this. But when the Holy Spirit lead me to hold steadfast, I listened…and he listened to the Spirit that lead him to testify his truth to me.

And now, here we are. This man that needs God to guide him and love him…and his teacher who is working as the Lord’s vessel to deliver just that. God’s beauty and perfection is undeniable.

Amen.

 

I Love Secrets…My Family Has Lots of Them

I have a deep secret to share. In the past I may even have used the word “dark” to describe it.  But not today. Not ever again.  Holding onto shame over my weakness won’t do me any good.  I chose to be open about my flaws so that I can overcome them.  Just like those before me that were open about theirs…served me. So I will serve.

Before I share what it is, let me tell you what I endure as a result of it. Every fucking day.

Depression, racing thoughts, self medicating tendencies, extreme memory loss, shame, guilt, hopelessness, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, irritability, chronic pain without a known cause, suicidal ideation, difficulty sleeping, anger, confusion, sensitivity, delusions, a tendency to isolate myself, and on and on we go. Where it stops, who the hell knows. Oh, and medication.  Every day. For the rest of my days.

Do not misunderstand.  I am no victim.  I overcome this crap, every day of my life.  I FIGHT for my joy. For my peace. And I fight hard! I will not let the darkness take control of me. Although sometimes I feel like it will. Sometimes I think it has.

Every day I fight to smile.  And if I don’t, it is because the demon on my back is fighting me harder than usual.

Have you guessed what it is yet?

When I meet new people, I feel like a fraud.  How can I explain what I am? They don’t really know who I am, and what I wrestle every day.  Like when I don’t return a phone call, and someone is offended, I wish I could explain.  I might say, “My head was pounding as I was fighting depressive mood swings with all of my strength. It zapped me of all my ability to deal with anything but my next breath. How are you?”…or something along those lines.

I have always been afraid of labels. C-R-A-Z-Y is my least favorite.  My biggest fear is if someone knows this truth about me…I will be stamped with the C word and abandoned.  Left in the dust.

I often joke with my friends that I am crazy.  They always laugh.  Inside of me I am screaming, “It’s true!”.  I just wish they knew and it was over with.  They could hug me, love me, and accept me.  Check please.

When I first met my husband, this terrible secret hung over me like a terminal diagnosis.  I was terrified he would leave me.  I finally broke down and told him. Ready and expecting to never hear from him again. I concluded by telling him I was damaged goods, and it was best for him to move along.  I am no good to anybody.  I didn’t want him to have to endure my living hell with me.  Nor did I expect him to want too. Why would anyone?

His response to my confession startled, shocked, and moved me speechless.  He saw something beautiful in my heart, there was no way he was using any excuse to dismiss me from his life.  He told me WE would deal with this TOGETHER.  My salty tears kept me from speaking.  His love began to crack the pain that covered my heart, and had for so many years… as I had struggled in a personal prison of agony. He has been the blessing that really opened me to living my LIFE. To feeling, seeing, and overcoming.  He holds my hand through every peak and every valley.  He deals with my mood swings, my rage, my depression.  That is no easy task.  He is….my love, my strength, my HEART.

He sees me on my worst days, and still loves me.  Sometimes I wonder if he is the CRAZY one….He is amazing.

I think working in prison makes sense now.  In my worst days I could have easily been sick enough to make a mistake that cost me my freedom. I am sure I actually have made many.  But GOD has a plan for me, for all of us.  It is easier to support my students in love, when I know what it feels like to expect no one to love you.  For no one to try and understand you and help you become well…or at least better. I know what it feels like to think you are broken, defective, and worthless.

Only GOD knows what is in a man’s heart.

Have you guessed yet? Do you know? I am sure you are scratching your brain.

I NEVER talk about this.  I allude. Sometimes I drop hints, secretly hoping someone will guess and publicly declare their acceptance and love for me anyway.  Maybe even love me more in spite of it.  I know my Mama does. Thank goodness for her.

I am what I am because my Lord made me this way.  I am no accident.  I am Depressed.