Let’s talk about suicide, shall we? Let’s talk about our reasons for not wanting to go on any longer, shall we? On any given day, I have to find a reason to get up, to find a reason to want to make it, through this day, To find a reason to make it to tomorrow. On any regular day, it's a challenge. On a day like today, after being locked down for months, with little to no privileges, It’s almost impossible. The things that I’ve seen, the challenges that are before me, the things that I know that are to come, the defeat that I’ve suffered, they all weigh upon my soul. Each moment before me, that weight grows, and I’m reminded of a story. It was of a soldier in the Vietnam War. He was returning to base after a long time out with the rest of his platoon. He was walking point, and the guy behind him noticed how slow he was walking, how it was a struggle to pick up each foot. It was as if the weight was simply too much. As he continued to watch, a butterfly landed on his backpack. The moment the way to the butterfly rested fully on the backpack, the soldier fell to the ground, as if the weight was simply too much. This is the way that I feel every day, Waiting for the weight of the butterfly to knock me to the ground. It’s not about being depressed per say, it's about having so many burdens thrust upon my shoulders that the weight becomes unbearable.
My recent burden is self imposed. For almost 20 years I’ve watched the CDCR violate our rights over and over again with absolutely no consequences. They treat us worse than animals, they disrespect our loved ones when they come to see us, and they do it all knowing that they can, knowing they can get away with it, because we’re nothing more than inmates to them, not even worth the of the decency given to an animal. This, by the way, Is literal not figurative. Many of these prisons have something called a dog program, where we take dogs and train them to do various tasks for their owners. Some dogs are trained to be seeing eye dogs, some dogs are trained to be assistance for the physically disabled, And some dogs are trained to provide comfort for those suffering from PTSD. The training we’re taught to give is based on positive reinforcement, where we reward the dogs for doing things they're supposed to, for doing things we teach them, not negative reinforcement or we punish them for doing things wrong. We train the dogs this way because it works. Positive reinforcement will always work better than negative reinforcement, and yet, even though CDCR teaches this to us to utilize on the dogs were training, They turn around and use negative reinforcement on us every opportunity they have. So as you can see, these dogs truly are treated better than we are. It’s not just a positive reinforcement versus negative reinforcement, is the fact that these animals are loved and cared for by anybody and everybody who comes into contact with them. Their handlers are selected with the utmost care, the dogs get out of their cell even during lockdowns, dogs are taken out on a regular basis for grooming, veterinarian appointments, they are given plenty of food and exercise, cold water when it's hot, all the things that were not given. So you see, when I say the animals are treated better than us, I mean it truly.
So there I was, close to getting out. I’d served close to 20 years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, for a crime that never happened. With only months to go, COVID 19 made its way into the prison system. I seen it coming from a mile away. I yelled, I screamed, I wrote letters, I found 602’s, I did everything in my power to prepare my facility for what was to come. Nobody listened. When people finally took notice it was too late. When the first case was diagnosed, it was too late. The damage was already done, the infection was rampant, and yet the prison still refused to listen. It was then that I decided to take matters into my own hands, that I decided to borrow a friend’s cell phone and use it to make a difference. It was the easiest decision I ever made.
The first thing I did was create a Twitter account. I struggled long and hard to come up with the name, but at the end of the day I found one: @F0Q_CDCR. It said exactly what I wanted to say: FUCK CDCR! I wasn’t trying to be a smart ass, I was trying to prove a point, the point being that this place was so corrupt it was not worthy of even the smallest amount of respect. Honestly, I think I proved my point.
Once I had my Twitter account, I had learned how to use social media. This was where my difficulties began. I hadn’t been online in 20 years, all the technology had changed, and social media was almost nonexistent when I was out. I was terrified that I would do or say the wrong thing, terrified that my mistake would harm my peers. There were so many things I had to tell the world, so many things that were going on behind bars, I simply didn’t know where to start. If I told the average person what really happened in here, they would never believe me. I also had to worry that I might inadvertently say something to reveal my location, it might be something as simple as an event that happened in the prison, an event that didn’t happen anywhere else, or it might be taken a picture of my dinner and posting online, which would in turn reveal my location. And then people started asking me who I was, where I was incarcerated, and other questions that, intentional or not, would reveal my location if I answered. I tried to explain my situation, tried to explain my dilemma, trying to explain the importance of maintaining my secrecy to protect their loved ones as well as myself. Most got it, but some didn’t. I also had to contend with CDCR. By now they’d learn it there was somebody online disclosing their secrets, airing their dirty laundry, trying to expose all of the dirt they’d done for years. They began to write incessantly, seeking clues about who I was, where I was incarcerated, anything that might disclose either. When I didn’t answer their questions, they resorted to other tactics. I was offered bribes, immunity, I even had money promised for information. I turned all of these offers down and so much more, because it wasn’t about me. It was about doing the right thing. Each day I grew more and more terrified, not about getting caught, because I had made up my mind from day one the any punishment would be worth it. No, my fear was failure. If I failed, it meant the very real possibility that others would be hurt, possibly even killed because of CDCR incompetence. And then the loved ones on the outside learned of my existence, learned of my skills, and learn to my willingness to help. Every day I was besieged with requests to help, And I did it all willingly, happily. I was finally making a difference, I was finally helping out, I was finally giving back, I was making indirect amends, and for the first time in my life I thought my life had meaning. Unfortunately, I thought the burdens continue to grow. Each person that came to me had a story that was both unique and tragic and a repeat of the one I’d heard before. I wanted to help them all each and everyone, but I’m not a lawyer, I don’t have the experience that a lawyer has, I’m just a guy in prison with a little bit of knowledge, a guy in prison trying to use that knowledge to make a difference. What if I gave the wrong advice? What if that one piece of information they failed to give me made a difference in how they should proceed? All I could do was my best, and that’s what I did. I pray it was good enough, but the burdens continued to mount.
Let me be clear, I’m not frustrated the people needed help, I’m frustrated because they deserve more than I could give, I’m frustrated at the harm I see caused by the justice system, I’m frustrated because nobody else seems to see the damage that I do, and I can’t fix it. With that said, this has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. These are some good people out there whose only crime was falling in love with somebody in prison, or somebody who went to prison. The pain and the suffering did these people endure are almost as bad at that inflicted on the people in prison. The pain and suffering inflicted on their children are even worse.
Going back to what started this topic, suicide, I, like everybody else, deal with depression on a daily basis, but the lockdowns, the uncertainty, the loss of the inability to earn time off of our sentences, visitation, the inability to earn time off of our sentences, all work together to increase that depression exponentially. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to kill myself, people rarely want to kill themselves, I just want to convey the pressure that I’m under, I want you to understand because my pressure is nothing compared to theirs. I get out in a matter of weeks, many of them have no such hope. And now, without the support of their loved ones, The depression they felt has increased exponentially. So tonight, after you finish reading my post, take a moment to write a letter to your loved one, and if you don't have a loved one in prison, find a website advertising people in prison who need somebody to write and write to them. That letter that you sent tonight, may just ease some of the burdens that we feel, and it only takes a little easy to get us from today to tomorrow. If I, somebody who’s about to be released from prison in a matter of weeks, feels this much depression, and imagine the depression those who are left behind are feeling.
