A Letter to the Man Who Will Replace Me on My Prison Bunk
Pacific News Service, Commentary, Jessie Cuevas, Posted: Aug 03, 2004
Editor's Note: Prison life can break you down unless you find some kind of inner peace, says one ex-inmate, who found that writing helped him keep his sanity.
To Whom It May Concern,
A few weeks ago I completed my second term in the California Department of Corrections, and now I'm writing to you, the man who will replace me on the bunk where I just spent the past 15 months.
You will have to learn how to reach very deeply into yourself in order to get past the noise. The constant racket brought me closest to the breaking point. The blaring television, the arguments on the card/domino tables, the cackling loudspeaker overhead, the flushing toilets, the never-ending weeping, raps, screams, and whispers, and the meaningless conversation full of lies. I would keep the headphones of my walkman on at all times, even if it wasn't playing, in hopes that I wouldn't get dragged into yet another war story or dope deal.
You will notice that there is a lot of talk about establishing a "program" in prison, a pattern to your activities. Setting a certain time when you wake up, when you shower, when you work out and when you go back to sleep. This is a vital part of doing "your" time, because the rest of your program -- when you eat, work, or go to the yard -- will be set by the facility.
Some prisoners will tell you that it's the inmate's duty to disobey and subvert the rules of the institution at every opportunity. But once you start breaking the rules a chain reaction will occur: write-up's will be handed out; extra-duty will be given (scrubbing toilets or walls); there will be a loss of privileges such as going to the canteen, receiving packages and visits from relatives, and eventually loss of good-time credits. From there you might take a trip to "the hole" (solitary confinement), receive an increase in your points and catch a transfer to a higher security-level yard. At the end of the day, you will only get more time added to your sentence.
In prison, you are no longer an artist, an electrician, a student, or even a father, son, or brother. You will be reduced to either black, white, Mexican, or "other" (Asian, Middle Eastern, etc.) You will be asked to align yourself with one of these groups. You will have to decide which group you are willing to fight with, without any questions asked. The color lines are drawn long and deep inside of prison, and racism is alive and well. You can avoid a good majority of this pettiness by simply keeping to yourself and staying out of the mix.
Don't buy into this weird "woe is me" ethic. Those who do tend to become pessimistic and self-centered. They start to lose touch with the outside world and become a vortex of negative energy. They walk around mumbling, "I hate this place," "my family won't accept my (collect) phone calls," "the guards are out to get me," "my girl's about to leave me for someone else," "the food here is garbage," etc. Don't become this type of guy. No one wants to know how much more your life sucks than his. Everyone is in prison to do his time, just like you. And no matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse.
Except for the random collect phone call, return letter, or occasional visit, prison is a very selfish place. Some prisoners fall so deeply into the trap of "doin' time" that they just give up. I remember being told by a young guy on my first term that he "lived in here (prison) and did time on the streets." I'll never forget the look of utmost sincerity on his face when he said those words.
A lot of people let themselves get caught up in activities that take their minds off the time, like playing cards or dominos, or watching TV for hours on end. I did my best on this term to avoid participating in those activities. I devoted my time to composing extended entries for my journal or writing long return letters to the people I was corresponding with. I also went out of my way to attain the job of librarian on the yard, so I would have easy access to all the reading material I could get my hands on.
Writing became my card or domino game. Books became my church and TV and my telephone. Writing helped me shut off all the outside madness and noise and drift away to places that I never thought I could get to within myself. For the first time in my life I was able to find some inner peace.
There were times that I wanted to give up and crawl onto my rack and let the heavy weight of depression and loneliness take me into the darkness of a constant state of sleep. But I didn't. I held on. I got up every day and faced that mocking blankness of the page in front of me, and fought it off with my cheap disposable pen.
I wish you luck.
Cuevas (JCuevas72@aol.com) is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer currently working on a memoir.
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