Velka
Legacy Name: Velka

If I could go back a year I’d have enrolled myself in therapy. I would have gotten help, not be a convicted criminal. Prison does not remedy mental fragility, in fact it tends to disrupt it further. That’s kind of why so many people end up going straight back to prison.... I mean, other than systematic racism and the brokenness of the system as it is.

I could afford therapy. Many can’t, but I could have... or if I was desperate my daddy could have chipped in. I was afraid of the connotation of mental illness; the judgement of family and friends that I, well to do middle class white citizen, was suffering mentally. I am their only child. Grew up in beautiful house with a big yard, acreage. Had two dogs, Gertrude and Darius, beautiful Weimaraners. My parents got them to start breeding, but found raising 5 puppies too hard. So they just became family pets. We moved after my mom finished her doctorate in geology-fancy rock job. Then again because she decided to teach-mo’ money. So we moved to a city with a giant ass University my parents are forever nonplussed that I dropped out of due to “stress”. Anyone can have mental illness. Even the daughter of a geology profressor and a highly esteemed Cellist.

Now, please do not think I am linking violent behaviour to every person with mental illness. Not all people suffer in the same kinds of ways. Most people who suffer are not violent, at least not towards others. Yet... some are. I, unfortunately, was violent. To others... and I stole... from others... and I was violent to the cops... and other prisoners... I cannot use my mental state as a complete excuse for my behaviour. I knew it was wrong, and illegal, and pained others... but the empathetic part of my nature wasn’t working quite right, and I used the rush of these behaviours as a drug I suppose? I wanted to feel things, and if that meant getting away with hundreds of dollars worth of clothes, or electronics or whatever... that was good enough. It was deplorable. I don’t get to get away with these actions because of whatever I was going through mentally. That’s kind of why I got sent to the can. Without being bailed out by my parents. I kind of wasn’t a great daughter for a lot of my downward spiral. So I spent jail time before my jail time. It sucked.

After the sentence was complete. Guilty of all charges. I broke a little further, already spun well out of control I blacked out. I woke up on top of a woman who was nearly dead, covered in both of our blood. I was then promptly and firmly grabbed by guards. Unsure of further events, I was put in solitary.

And forgotten.... in solitary. I literally was in solitary for the remainder or my sentence. I do not know whether it was intentional or by misconduct that I was placed there for nine fecking months! I do have a lawyer looking into it, but prisons have ways to not have these things get looked into too deeply. But hey, she didn’t die, so no manslaughter charges, whoo. Just like... theft, aggravated assault, assault on a peace, “peace”, officer... damages to personal property over 10,000 dollars... aggravated assault with a weapon. You know, stuff that companies totally overlook when hiring you....

How do I even get started on the effect solitary had on me? I mean, I got off easy on the initial sentence. I was clearly very mentally fragile. I was sentenced accordingly due to my mental state. So I got off pretty ok, there were therapy things I could have gone to in the prison. Things to do and better food. People to talk to. Things to learn. A library. 9 months would have been ok if I was medicated and therapied. I was not. But I would have rather the full, mentally sane and evil, sentencing of my crimes in full. Like it could have been 10 years even 15, I got 9 months, for my crimes. I would have had rather complete 10 years in prison than my time in solitary. 9 months. In solitary. I would had rather get out of prison at 34 instead of my time in the shoe. 9 months. I would had rather been in the maximum security building of the prison, with murderers and gang leaders and very limited rights than my time in solitary. The shoe is one up from max. Max at least has yard time. Max at least you can get murdered in. I would have rather been murdered than be in solitary confinement for nine (9) months. There were people beside me who’ve been in the shoe for YEARS. YEARS. Solitary confinement is torture and should NOT exist, ever, not in a prison system. Nowhere. Even convicted criminals do not deserve to suffer so. The majority of convicted criminals just need help, they could be helped. Torture detriments so much good you could do for these people.

You think very dark thoughts after a while. You’ve lost track of time. There’s no stimuli. Food is bad, guards are bad, noise from other prisoners is bad. You talk gibberish to yourself. You try everything to hurt yourself, bashing your fists or head on the wall just gets you tied down for hours. Sometimes the lucky ones get to receive medical attention, or die. There was a couple of those. You find a way. You get that desperate. One lady just horded toast and made one giant toast ball and choked herself with it (guards laughed about it for days). I tried to drown myself in the toilet. Multiple times. You plug the toilet with your shirt and underwear and flush a couple times to fill up the bowl. I have scars on my forehead and skull and fists from the walls. Nine months by the way. In a concrete box, with a concrete bed and a shitty little toilet and a constant buzzing from the lights that are always on. It felt like forever and no time had passed at the same time. I had constant panic attacks that nearly killed me because there was no way a guard was going to get me to a hospital for a panic attack. So I’d pass out and be devastated I was still in the shoe. Like I was going to get up in my bed at my parents house and everything would be gone. I didn’t think I was going to get out alive. I certainly didn’t get out sane.

Then I was thrust out of my cocoon onto the damp streets free as a butterfly. Also it was my responsibility to have had someone waiting for me to pick me up on my time of release. Also I was in solitary with no way of cementing those plans. Also no one knew I was out. Also I had no way of going into town. Also the guards “didn’t care”! Also I had no money for a taxi.... also, no, you cannot use my phone, excuse me... also my clothes were too big for me. Also I had to walk into town because no one would pick me up as a hitch hiker... I was so overwhelmed I honestly don’t know how long it took me to get into town. I know I got to my parents’ home. And I know I slept on the front porch. The next week is a blank. The next week after that I was bed ridden. Next two weeks after that I went into CSU, crisis stabilization unit, to cool down. Next week after that I was on a plane and into an even more intense and independent version of CSU. I reworked my brain, got medicated. Did yoga. Went on nature hikes. Canoed. Went back home. Lovely, how do I live a normal life now? How do I get my independence back and keep my newfound mental stability?

Note, I am super not fixed or ok. I am still working on being ok. Medication and weekly therapy are helping. Helping to keep me motivated and in the right state of mind. Yet, I am still terribly not ok after my ordeal. I super totally have P.T.S.D on top of my anxiety and bipolar. It’s splendid. I have a lot more issues coming out of prison than I did going in. I’m constantly one step away from going back in because of the strict parole sentencing I received. I managed by the skin of my teeth to have a seasonal job with road construction as a person who carries around a big stop and slow sign for the traffic. Decent money, but it’s been rough going. Living with my parents is rough too. It’s hard to look at them, talk to them. I have no friends. Parole sucks. But better than solitary. One step at a time. I’ll always have difficulty on the road ahead. Recovery is long and hard, a true journey. To make it tougher I have multiple criminal convictions. One wrong move and I go back. If I didn’t have my parents or my parents’ money.... I don’t even want to know what would have happened to me. Prison feeds on people who don’t have the cushion I do. If you find anyway to help yourself, please do. Be safe. Take as many baby steps as you need for recovery. I’ll get there too one day. I’ll be ok.