Breakthrough

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VINCE

It’s been a crazy two days. The new guys have been getting yelled at constantly, which does take some pressure off us, but we are also feeling the pressure of trying to set an example for them.

Most amusing to me is seeing what we looked like a month ago. Completely disoriented, disorganized, and disheveled. We have made enormous progress in just over five weeks. We also have a long way to go.

Today, I really blew it. I talked myself down and out of the running group. I used every excuse I could think of to make myself okay with doing only two laps (1.5 miles). Now, of course, I feel stupid. I have a lot of trouble still with motivating myself to run. I don’t like any part of it except for how I feel when I’m done. That’s the only way I can explain it.

—

I received a postcard from my Mother today from Petra, Jordan, postmarked two months ago. So that took a little while. Well, it’s been a long day. Time for dinner soon. Tuna casserole.

I’m going to apply for a lead cook job here. It doesn’t pay, but it would be great experience.

The tuna casserole was actually quite delicious.

It’s Friday night. We don’t really do too much. Study hall for 1.5 hours at some point I think.

Then comes Saturday. My least favorite day. It’s the day we’re all on call for any dirty job they come up with. Trending this week is the gigantic compost piles. Tons and tons of decomposing organic matter we get to move around over and over, and over. If you don’t know what compost smells like, think of the smell of feces, and then don’t change anything. That by itself isn’t so bad.

When we’re working we are dressed in our full khaki uniform, long-sleeves and legs, and coveralls, gloves, and a hat. It’s not even hot out yet and we’re sweating like crazy. I’m not complaining; I signed up for this. Ugh.

[ANNE: Vince called me today, the first time in over 2 months. He is allowed one phone call every other Sunday from here on out.  Except, he explained, that this month has five Sundays so it’ll be three weeks until he can call again. I’ve been trained by the DOC now, not to ask “But why?”

Vince is allowed one 13-minute phone call, and he called me. That tells me I must have done something right—right?

And to me at least, once we got talking it felt so natural, like we had just talked yesterday. I think that’s a sign of a close relationship, when you don’t need to be in constant contact to feel comfortable talking to the person on the other end of the line. It wasn’t always that way. In fact for years our conversations via text and in person (Vince didn’t have voice service on his phone) were stilted and extremely uncomfortable. I was always hinting and probing and hoping for some sign that he wanted to change, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. This is huge, I realize as I write this. Happy Day! And maybe this means that someday he can have a healthy romantic relationship too.]

Vince’s Big BM

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VINCE

The stress is getting to me finally. They really pile the work up on us.

I’m having troubles in more areas that I thought and it was brought to my attention over the past couple of days.

Thankfully, it happened on the side by a CO. He didn’t point anything out but he talked to me and when I answered his questions I realized then that I’m not perfect, I have residual anti-authority issues from being a criminal for a good portion of my life, and that I still negative-talk myself a lot. I kind of still hate myself for wasting my life away using and dealing drugs. Sometimes I want to give up. I want to leave this place because it would be easier than staying.

The CO and I talked for a good half hour. He wouldn’t let me walk away. He wouldn’t allow me to use the self-pity stance. And he almost got me to cry.

He took me aside to talk because he knows I do try. That I’m not a trouble maker. And mostly because I really needed to be heard. I was able to open up and really dig.

And we found some problems I’ve been having here, that I couldn’t see.

I’m controlling, manipulative, and a perfectionist, which is why I hurt so much inside. I’m full of shit. And I don’t want anybody to know. I use deceit to control. I will lie, cheat, steal, tell half truths, and beg to obtain and continue using drugs on the outside. And in here I’m defensive, I’m always right, to keep others off balance. Then I point out their faults. I need to quit all that now.

I hope some of that made sense. Sometimes I just write to vent. I feel better getting that out.

—

Today is the first day of our 6th week. We are no longer lowest in seniority; we got new guys today.

Today’s date seems to have some significance in my life. Nine years ago, it was still my sobriety date. Before that, I don’t remember how long ago, I had the chicken pox, and another time I was an usher in my aunt’s wedding. Today, I ran over three miles and didn’t die.

I ran three straight laps around the big track (two miles). Then I had to walk twice around the small track, but then I fell back in to the run, and completed two more laps (one and a third miles). I am so sore. But I feel great.

This last Friday I only made one lap running and then walked for the rest of our PT time. I felt like a failure. I thought about it over the weekend and decided I need to push myself harder. So I did.

Tomorrow we do 40 minutes of aerobics, then we run again. Completing the run consists of six full laps. That’s 4.1 miles. That’s the “B” run. Then there’s the “A” run. A faster pace, and I think 8 laps. I don’t know the math on that one.

[ANNE: Vince has the wrong date, but yes there is a date on or around on which all of these things happened, not to mention his bar mitzvah. That was a lot of fun. There were a lot of jokes about “your big BM” and afterwards there was karaoke and he and his friend David inhaled all the helium from the balloons—lord, did that contribute to his future waywardness?]

Vince's BM Vince's BM2

That Confounded Bridge

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ANNE

My Palestinian colleague is going back to Jerusalem this weekend. When I was there with him a few months ago, I wrote about what that involves, but I didn’t mention that he was strip searched three times while I waited for him on the other side of the bridge crossing. At the end of an email exchange in which I expressed my concern about him crossing the border again, he wrote:

“Steadfastness ‘Somod’ as we say is a good peaceful weapon. When I feel disempowered, I think of others who experienced harder situations and kept strong along with my believes in justice, freedom, dignity, and integrity. I will need to find ways to express my rage, although I always believed in constructive actions that can bring change. In solidarity!”

There are parallels between his and Vince’s situations, not least of which, they’re about the same age.

I went through a long process of change when I was sent to the Palestinian Territories for work. My first reaction was, “Are you F—ing kidding? I’m Jewish!” [Since Vince is no longer at Moose Lake, surrounded by skinheads and brothers of the Nation of Islam, I can say that.)

Over a period of six months, “my thinking evolved,” as Barak Obama said about his position on gay marriage. I found some like-minded Jewish American activists who saw no problem with holding Israel to high standards. My rabbi said, “Maybe God thinks you’re the one to do this.” I don’t know about that, since I don’t believe in god and I can’t see myself as some sort of messiah—to the Palestinians! But he didn’t think I was a traitor to my people, that was a huge relief to me.

I could write volumes about this, but for this blog I’ll just say that I credit all my work in Alanon for helping me develop an open mind, a radar that tells me I’m in denial, and a willingness to try anything to feel better and get clarity. I am so glad I went on the trip. I could have easily refused to go, and missed a life-changing opportunity.

—

I moved less than a week after returning from that trip. That was two months ago, and now I will move again in three weeks. Yes, I found a condo to buy just a few weeks after I moved into my new apartment. Sometimes timing just isn’t great. But an unexpected benefit is that I won’t have to have the conversation with my landlord about Vince moving in.

In fact, when I called my landlord to find out about getting a subletter to finish out my lease, she told me the person would have to have 2.5 times income to rent, “and of course we don’t want any felons!” she laughed. She said it so lightly. She obviously isn’t related to any of the 47,000 ex offenders in Minnesota.

VINCE: [Ms. Maertz: Good news about getting the condo.  I know it’s nice to have a glass of wine or a beer in your own home.  But if you do while I’m there, I will get sent back to Moose Lake for 18 months.  So decide now if you think I should look for another residence. Love, Vince]

Rainbows and Unicorns

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VINCE

1800 hours. I’m sitting next to my bunk, facing a window that is letting in the most beautiful feeling I’ve had in a while: Sunlight.  Spring has sprung.  Soon we will be spending a large portion of our days outside.  The work they have us doing can be tough, but everything seems a little better when I’m outside.  I’m ready to….

Not sure why I didn’t finish my thought there.  Sometimes we just have to drop what we’re doing and go.

Today we moved the wood pile we created last week to a different spot for no other reason other than work as punishment.  Two hours I went back and forth with loads of wood.  I’m going to be a beast when I get out of here.

—

Ms. Maertz:

Every letter or card we send out has to be started with Mr, Mrs, Ms, etc.  Just policy.

Today I ran 3.3 miles.  I couldn’t believe it.  I’m pretty much the worst in my squad at running, but they were all cheering me on.  I am really good at marching.  You will get to see that at my graduation…assuming all goes well.  September 9th.

Today two new squads came from Moose Lake, so we’re not rookies anymore!

If you do know exactly or approximately the end date of your 6 month ban, be ready to send in another visitor form so you are approved to come to my graduation ceremony.  I keep hearing people talk about staff at Moose Lake banning people for minor issues.  I don’t get it, but I’m not there anymore.

I hope my writing is still entertaining enough for people to want to read.

Love,

Vince

—

[ANNE: I worry that, now Vince is doing well and appears to be on the road to a shiny happy life, people will get bored with the blog. Aren’t horror stories more entertaining?  Then I remind myself that Vince is a real person, not a character in a fictional narrative. I wish he would write more about his inner processes, or philosophize like I do, but he is not me.

It also doesn’t take me long to recall that the real test starts once Vince is released.  Right now, his food, shelter, and clothing are provided.  No bills.  No liquor stores or bars.  No music with drug references.  No women, and all the potential relationship stuff could go with them.  When he’s released, it will be with the clothes on his back and about $400, and every landlord and potential employer asking, “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”  So on second thought, I’ll try to appreciate the present, positive moments.]

Cripple Girl

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ANNE

Mother’s Day has come and gone.  Vince had told me he wouldn’t be able to make any phone calls from boot camp for two months.  That’s standard procedure.  Why?  Who knows.  Maybe they want them focused on the program and not distracted by family and friends who could be unhealthy influences?

Vince sent me a postcard telling me he’d be able to call me on May 10, and to have my phone switched on and close by because he would call as early as possible and he was really looking forward to talking to me.  May 10 happened to be Mothers’ Day.  It was clear he had no idea it was Mothers’ Day.  After all, they have no television, no radio, no internet, no newspapers.  One of his big requests recently was for me to send him the weather forecast for the week so he could sort of know if he’d be running outside or not.

I thought it was a nice coincidence that the first day he could call me would also happen to be Mothers’ Day.

But Mothers’ Day came and went and he didn’t call.  But…May 12 would be exactly two months since he entered boot camp, so maybe he would call me that day…but no.  Then I got a postcard from him saying his first phone call “should be” May 17.  I guess it’s SNAFU at the DOC.  At least I am not going straight to the worst-case-scenario assumption, like I did for years: He’s dead!  They beat him to death and are covering it up!  They’re probably burying his body in the woods right now!”  And so on.

—

His postcard went on to say, “I can’t believe how much progress I have made.  I’ve lost 25 pounds and I’m now at 11.2% body fat.  Physical training, as it turns out, is beneficial in so many ways.  It’s the first thing we do every morning and it really sets the tone for the day.”

Well duh.  I’ve been an exerciser most of my life, and I can’t imagine life without it.  This is, I think, thanks to being diagnosed with scoliosis and having to wear a full body brace, 23 hours a day, for several years starting at age 12 or 13.

During the 24th hour, I could take a bath (not a shower) and do my physical therapy.  The doctors and my mother warn me that if I didn’t do my PT I might have to have surgery to implant a metal rod alongside my spine.  In retrospect I think surgery would have been easier, socially, than wearing a brace.  It’s no fun being called “cripple girl.”

Scoliosis_Fig07_en brace

But guess what?  Doing PT every day year after year created the habit of exercise.  So that brace was good for something, because now the medical profession knows that bracing doesn’t have any lasting straightening effect on scoliosis.

When I turned 16 I told the doctors at Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children to go fuck themselves (or at least I did in my head).  I wanted a boyfriend.  I found one.  I became a mother.

Vince moans and groans about the enforced exercise, but maybe the theory is that it’ll become a habit.  A good one, for once.

Whole Lotta @#%$

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VINCE

About twenty minutes ago we had our first monthly review.  I had high hopes that the worst of our group would be called out.  They were not.

I was pretty much passed by.  Mostly because I don’t get into too much trouble.  They did say that I need to challenge myself and run more.  To do that, I’m going to run on my off day, to see if I can build my stamina.  I’ve made a lot of progress since I was locked up nine months ago, but not enough.

I lost about two pounds and lost 1% body fat since I arrived here at boot camp.  It’s a start.  I can see in the mirror that I’m becoming muscular, toned.  I must work harder.  I will work harder.

—

30 days in boot camp and I can make my bed, iron nice creases into my khakis, and run farther than I ever thought I would.  If you would have asked me two years ago if I would ever run two miles total in my lifetime, I would have said, “Hahahahahahahahaha.”  You get the picture.

The point is, that I—we—are conquering the obstacles that seemed so daunting just a month ago.  We’re even starting to get along.  We still bicker, but what else could be expected, we live in the same room, shower, @&%$, and shave together.

—

My mother brought up a man named Kermit.  She didn’t include his last name or real first name but when I said them in my head, I became angry, which rarely happens.

Yes, I got to see the Red’s [baseball team] win the 1990 World Series right in front of my eyes.  It was cool as hell.  But that was probably the only highlight of that period of my life.

I remember where I was standing, on the back porch of our green apartment building on Dayton Avenue when she told me I had a brother.

Let that simmer.

photo-2

The third of four places we moved to in one year after the Kermit debacle.

—

In that same apartment, I remember getting a dog.  He was a sheltie, and I named him Flash.  He was…special.  Maybe flat out retarded.  And one time oh god it hurts me still to think about it, he ate an entire box of giant chocolate bars I had to sell for a school fundraiser, foil wrappers and all.

I know I don’t remember the correct sequence of events, but I know this: he @&%$ everywhere. He @&%$ outside, he @&%$ on himself.  He @&%$ on the piles of @&%$ that he had @&%$ on himself.  That was just outside.

Hoping he was done, we brought him inside so he wouldn’t freeze to death.  We shut him in the bathroom for the night, and when we opened the door in the morning, I will let my dear Mother take over from here because I am not allowed to use profanity in my writing.  Holy flippiin crap.  Nobody will ever see what we saw that morning.

[ANNE: I don’t care to elaborate on Vince’s dog story above. I am not a dog person, but I thought every boy ought to have one, right? Especially after what I had put Vince through with Kermit. I was wrong.

Vince says he rarely gets angry. Elsewhere in this blog, he writes about “anger coming off me like steam.” I wonder if he’s dulled his anger for years with chemicals, is just now experiencing it unfiltered, and doesn’t even recognize that?]

Still Prison

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VINCE:

10:45 pm

Another day done.  Tomorrow morning we run.  I still haven’t been able to go more than two laps, but that’s two more than I could have done 9 months ago.  I will give it my best shot tomorrow to go three laps, which is two miles.

The “A” run is a distant goal.  They run 7 laps, just under five miles, and they go fast.  Under eight minutes per mile.  I think I’ll be able to join them in two months.  We shall see.

5:53 am

Due to either weather or lack of staff there will be no running this morning.  This happens roughly half of our running days.  So we only get to do half of our aerobic workout which is why I’m writing now, sitting doing nothing.

—

On Friday we were allowed to go to the library for the first time since our arrival.  Only for ten minutes, we all (16 guys) scanned through maybe 500 titles, mostly religious.  I found two works of fiction to my liking: one I’ve read already during my incarceration. “Prey” by Michael Crichton, and “Lord of the Flies” by William Golding, something I’ve read but don’t remember where or when.  I think maybe grade school.

So today (Sunday) during my down day, I spent a few relaxing hours in the barracks with my ear plugs in reading.  It was quite nice.  I needed it.

I also played a few games of cribbage, all of which I lost, with one of my friends that will be in St. Paul when I get out.  Then I caught up on ironing, polishing my boots and buckle, treatment work, and writing.

—

Today was rough.  Tomorrow will be rougher.

I finally broke my personal record for running.  I’m still struggling with it, but today I ran 2.1 miles.  That’s half of what is expected, but more than some people can do.

Also today we used the same little green scrubber pads we use for our belt buckles to scrub the baseboards in the gym.  Back breaking labor, I think it could be referred to as.  It wasn’t really that bad.

I’ve been here over a month now.  Man has it flown by.  Tomorrow is our first review.  We’re going to be yelled at, we’re going to be scolded.  And they won’t really say nice things.  But, hey, this is still prison.  And I still have a lot to work on.  153 days until the real test.

I really miss talking to my mother.  I think we were getting closer than we ever have been, quite frankly I think as a result of this blog.  I’ve wasted so many years away from my family.  I hope I can become as close to them as I should already have been.

Stylin’

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VINCE

Two weeks short of 14 years since I entered Hazelden Center for Youth and Family.  I have a lot of fond memories of that place, partially because I actually have clear memories of it.  There are many similarities between then and now, and here and there, and a few substantial differences.

The toughest part here at boot camp has been being surrounded by people at all times.  At no point in the day do we have any privacy.  If I take a shit, there are people in front of me, brushing their teeth, sometimes staring back through the mirror, sometimes trying to engage in conversation.

We have two-minute showers in the morning after PT. Sixty guys, all naked, clothing everywhere, people arguing, some using the toilets with people changing a foot away.  Sinks all at once being used for teeth (inside and outside of the mouth), shaving, hand washing.  On occasion timing is off and somebody will spit out blood and toothpaste onto a razor.  It’s chaos.

I have been here only three weeks, and time is flying by, and I’m getting a lot out of it, but I can’t wait to take a real shower.  Use real hygiene products.  Poop behind a door.

Imagine being wherever you work.  Now, imagine every other co-worker on a toilet, or naked and trying to talk to you.  It’s really something else.  Way more eye contact than necessary.

Today is group (our squad consists of 16 guys.  We’re in everything together, including CD treatment.)  I shared my first written assignment.  We were asked to write a 1-2 page paper on our worst 24 hours.  I put it all out in a 4-page story of my arson conviction back in (I think) 2000.  I may or may not share that story on the blog.  Some things should be left for the book.  Right?

A side note: The last song I heard before I came here from Moose Lake was Style, by Taylor Swift.  The bass line and chilling, beautiful voice have been in my head ever since.  I do not actually know the words though, so my mind just replicates the tone of her voice in its own cadence.  That’s all I can really say about that situation.  Thank you for reading our blog.

Arbeit Macht Frei

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VINCE

11 am: So far today we’ve run…eaten breakfast, raked up pine needles in the woods, wheel-barrowed pine needles to the gigantic compost piles, back and forth. Back and forth. Folded the first 2/3 of our laundry, went to lunch, marched back and forth from the chow hall to the barracks in the rain, and then I sat down to write this. Well, right after standing at POA for 20 minutes for head count. In 35 minutes, we go to CD treatment until 4:30. Then dinner, then Thinking for a Change (henceforth TFAC) from 6:30-8:00. And then we spend the rest of our night polishing our belt buckles and boots. Oh, I have to find time to iron my clothes, which I will do now….

5:20 pm: I still haven’t had a chance to iron.

—

I never ironed yesterday.

Today I spent my first eight hours doing the laundry for all 180 offenders. Standing on my feet all day is harder than most of the other work they have us do.

Well, except for today. We had to move compost from one spot to another. Two and a half hours going back and forth with wheel barrows full of what smelled like feces.

After that, six of us went to the administration building to clean for another hour. Then we ate.

When we came back from chow, our bunk areas had been torn apart. If they find anything wrong they tear it all apart. I had to remake my bed, fold all of my clothing, re-organize. If it sounds like I’m frustrated today, I am. Breathe.

—

It’s our 25th day.  Sunday my off day.  We still get up at 5:20 am we still have to get dressed and ready.  Ready to sit in our chairs for two long hours.  It’s the most boring day of the week.

By comparison, yesterday was one of our two work crew days.  I personally kept moving pretty much all day.  Part of boot camp is on Department of Natural Resources land.  In trade, I’m sure for payment of rent, we clear the land of brush, sticks, logs, and garbage.  Yesterday was a wood hauling day.

I wheel-barrowed roughly 75 pounds of tools 3/4 miles to the site where we then gathered dead trees from the woods and cut them down to 16 inch logs.  We loaded up all of the 50 wheel barrows, and began the trip back.  The last 300 years was all sand.  It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  We were all exhausted.  But there was more work to be done.

We took a break to eat lunch and get our hair cut.  Then suited back up to go chop all the wood we brought back.  Funny thing, the splitting mauls are all dull by design.  Rather than a sharp edge, they are filed down at the very tip so we swing, I’d guess, three times more than should be necessary.  Ugh.

I’ll say this, I’m already in the best shape of my life.  And it goes up from here.  I’m tired, sore, humbled.  And I feel great.

 

Down Day

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VINCE

Sunday, 6:01 am. This is the hardest day of the week for me because it’s our down day. We don’t do any morning exercises, and there’s no mandatory physical training, no school, treatment, or work crew. So we just sit next to our bunks from 5:20 am until 7:20 am. No breakfast, no coffee. I’m writing to combat my fatigue.

I’ve been working on some mini-meditations we learned in our Thinking for a Change class in which I channel positive thoughts into my subconscious mind. I tell it I have energy, I’m wide awake, and so on. It seems to work. But it doesn’t last long.

—

One of the problems that has carried over to each facility I’ve been in is the unreliability of our canteen orders.

Last week I ordered five postcards and five envelopes. I got two of each. I was charged for all of them, and also for two paisr of socks, which I didn’t order or receive. I will get credit but not in time to order this week. So I’m stuck with what I have for two weeks.

I spent a couple hours playing cards and walking the track with one of my friends that I met in Moose Lake. He is going to St. Paul when he gets out, two months before me. Anyhow, I’m already starting to build my network in here for out there.

—

I remember the first time I went to treatment for the right reasons, and stayed sober nearly five years, I didn’t know what to do when the using thoughts started drifting through my head.

Relapse starts well before the actual using. Here, I can look back on all of my actions and feelings and put that together with the tools I’m getting here to not just be sober for a while, but live sober forever.

I’ve collected enough evidence on the outside to make me sure that I’m not the guy that can just have “a couple of beers” or just a couple lines. I use until I physically can’t anymore. I do not stop.