Letters from Prison #8

Letters from Prison


Hey P-,

Well, it seems that I am slowly dying in here. I feel like there is nothing for me on the outside. I got a visit from M- & S- today. It is good to see that they are back together and they will probably tell you that I’m doing alright but the show I put on in front of them only made me break down and cry when I got back to my cell. I fear that I am losing control of my sanity. The Screws locked everyone back in their cells early today because one bloke went off his head when he found out his girlfriend had been caught bringing drugs in. The Squad showed up and they put him back into the main yard. Why did they lock us up? It wasn’t our fault his stupidity got him tipped! I am sick of this place. I want out! I know how a caged animal feels, being locked up, not being able to run free, not being able to decide where it wants to be at any given moment.

I am getting old quickly. I am stressing all the time. I have put on excessive weight. The weight of the world sitting on my shoulders with no-one to help carry the burden. I am realising that, when I do get out, I have nowhere to go. I haven’t had any word from my kids. My dream, the other night, was me driving. I ran over K-! How can I go on during the day when even my nights torture me like this? I miss J- & K- so much. It is heart-wrenching not knowing if they are alright or, if they are thinking of me. I am miserable. Every day I am getting angrier with other inmates. The tiniest thing aggravates me. I’m not working so I’m just walking around all day or, sitting in my cell either watching TV or thinking about the outside. There is nothing in here to do. I’ve stopped reading books because of the television. Even, like now, the idiot box distracts my attention away from the things I want to do. I am trying to write and my cellmate just turned on the TV.

I feel so fucked-up in my mind. I have been reading the bible (in short bursts) to try and give me some solace. Nothing is working. I don’t mean to bring you on a downer but writing down has eased my mind a little. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t get out of my cell. I can’t read because the light is always turned off (I am writing under the light of the TV). I need someone to tell my troubles to and you’re it for the time being. All my greatest efforts to keep myself happy-go-lucky just make me more miserable & anxious when I do feel bad. Maybe it’s because so many blokes in here have someone outside they can go home to, such as a wife & kids or a girlfriend, & I don’t have that commitment with anyone. I am so lonely & it makes the nights drags to the point that I’m pacing the cell (which is only 4 metres long), or laying on my bunk staring at the ceiling, for hours. And, this shit about only getting rations, each day, on coffee, sugar & milk, is sending me around the twist. You know how much I love my coffee. I’m not getting enough! I’ve developed a shake. Maybe I’ve got Parkinson’s Disease. My hands shake uncontrollably sometimes & my neck has a tic making my head turn to the left on its own.

Anyway, on a different note, the people I have started to consider friends (as far as friends go in here) are all leaving this month. J-L- leaves on Tuesday. A-F- leaves on Thursday. D-Z- (my cellmate) leaves in less than two weeks. J-S- has less than ten days before his parole. There are more people coming in each day and they are all young (between 18 & 23) and I don’t want to associate with them. They seem to have this ‘I’m tough’ gaol attitude, bridging up whenever I pass them in the hall. I will probably get into another fight before I get out. D- reckons they are just trying to make themselves feel like ‘You can’t hurt me. I’m in gaol. I’m a tough cunt’. You’ve seen me! M- & S- have seen me! Have I adopted some attitude? I suppose some need to in here to live without fear. But what sort of life is that?

OK. I feel a bit better & maybe I’ve released some tension. It will be good to get out. Thanks for being there for me. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t. I’ll seen you soon.


PS Write me a fucking letter, you bastard!

Just because I’m paranoid schizophrenic doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there to get both of me!!!

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