Tag Archives: cognitive therapy

No Bars

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VINCE

Ms. Maertz:

There really aren’t any rules and regs as far as when I get out. I’ll be on an intense form of probation / parole for the first six months. As long as I’m doing well (passing my UAs, going to meetings, looking for work/working/going to school, they won’t pay much attention to me. And those are all of the things I plan on doing.

The first day or two they usually let us go shopping and see family, that sort of thing. But we are expected to get looking for work right after that.

In five weeks, I’ll be able to call you. I really don’t know too much more than that, but I can’t wait to talk to you.

Things are going well for me here. It’s all manufactured stress. They like to see how we react to things. I usually do well.

I don’t have too much time to read news and articles but the Johann Hari article was really good. [“Everything we know about the drug war and addiction is wrong”]

I do like to read feedback from the blog, so keep that coming.

—

It’s been a crazy few days. Three days ago we got our red tags removed. Red tags go on our IDs and sort of make us stand out as new guys. It’s the first real hurdle. We felt pretty good about it.

Well. Last night they made us put them back on. Our squad, as a whole, is a mess. Even for new guys. Some of us (thankfully, not me) still can’t figure out left and right. Some of us (me) still can’t make our beds with 45 degree angles and no wrinkles. And some of us (I won’t profile) think it’s okay to rap and use the N word and profanity.

It is now back to being incredibly stressful, but I think we’re still on some sort of “right path.”

Two days ago while on a work crew we went way out into the woods and raked up pine needles into piles for about an hour. Even though we were working, I felt completely at peace. The sun was hitting my face, a cool breeze making the dry leaves scratch each other in a game of leap frog. The birds happily singing to us. And no fences in sight. No fences, no barbed wire, no bars anywhere here. I think of that moment when I get frustrated. I know that soon I will be able to find peace in everything I do.

And just writing all of that settled me down from today’s frustrations. I’m grateful that people actually want to read this. Thank you. And stay tuned.

A Soul Restored

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VINCE

Ms. Maertz:

You should check out a guy named Mark A. Fagerwick. He has gone through boot camp and he writes (or maybe wrote) for the Pioneer Press. Just a thought.

[ANNE: Yes, Mark Fagerwick does write for the Pioneer Press, the St. Paul newspaper. I’m sharing his article here because it sums up boot camp well.]

‘Boot camp’ prison alternative — for me, a life-changing program

As a recent graduate (survivor) of the Challenge Incarceration Program, I can tell you that this program was and is the single most physically, mentally and emotionally demanding, challenging and ultimately positive experience of my 55 years.

In 2010, I was convicted and sentenced to 48 months in prison on a DUI charge. I entered St. Cloud State Prison with an attitude of deep resentment toward a system I felt had failed me by unfairly, over-zealously, over-aggressively and harshly judging me. I also harbored and presented a stance of arrogant superiority over my fellow inmates — after all, I was a successful, college-educated marketing communications professional and a deeply spiritual family man. I had achieved amazing accomplishments and attained an outward appearance of success normally associated with right living. I was not a “criminal” deserving four years in a state penitentiary (or so I thought).

The first 24 hours of C.I.P. changed all that.

I was immediately struck with the reality that all of our creator’s children make mistakes, poor choices and self-centered decisions that adversely affect families, loved ones and civilized society as a whole. And, that there are consequences for that kind of distorted thinking and the resulting arrogant, errant choices and behaviors. I am blessed to have been afforded the opportunity to participate in and benefit from this incredible, life-changing, life-giving program.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to the staff and supporters of C.I.P. for helping to realign my priorities, restore my relationships and reintegrate me back into a civilized society where I can affect a positive change in myself and those around me through my experience and by example.

While it is an unfortunate reality that many of my peers in the program will likely re-offend and return to incarceration, the successes far outweigh the failures. And, in my opinion, one successfully saved life and reunited family is well worth the effort. We all deserve a second chance.

C.I.P. is an incredibly powerful and effective program in the much-needed reform of our criminal justice and “corrections” system. While the traditional system of incarceration and the isolation and segregation of certain criminal elements from society is necessary and has its place for many, there are also many otherwise responsible, respectful, repentant individuals who simply lost their way, made horribly poor choices and who sincerely desire another chance to prove themselves and make amends for the wrongs they have done. These individuals are irreparably damaged by extreme and unrelenting exposure to and influence of the traditional prison environment and the unremorseful, habitual and often-violent offenders confined there.

C.I.P. promotes and facilitates an effective combination of intensely regimented discipline, essential cognitive behavioral insight, intensive chemical-dependency programming, rigorous physical training and strictly controlled physical labor, all underscored by positive exposure to an uncompromising but sincerely dedicated staff and a group of program participants who are truly seeking positive change and a better way of life. Surely there are detractors who feel that C.I.P. simply represents a time cut for criminals who “deserve” to serve penance for their crimes — and to a degree that could very well be the case for some. However, for those who take the program to heart, who utilize the tools and skills provided, and learn from their past, society will realize a true and valuable asset — a soul restored, a family reunited, a man completed.

A Roof of One’s Own

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VINCE

Ms. Maertz:  [ANNE: I don’t know why he’s suddenly started addressing me as Ms. Maertz instead of Mom.]

Over two weeks in! Things are getting better. Actually a lot better.

Now, to answer your questions.

It’s true that I have to live in a half-way house in Rochester, or with an approved relative in another city, yes.

The reason that we can’t live with another person right away is that we don’t yet have the resources to do so, and while we’re here we don’t have the ability to locate a place to go. Not to mention when we leave, we have nothing. About $400-500, a pair of jeans, and a white t-shirt. (no bed, no lamps, no furniture, etc.)

The no-booze rule is an intensive supervised release (ISR) rule. Ultimately, of course, it’s up to us to maintain sobriety, but there can be no alcohol, drugs, firearms, bombs, etc. in your house while I’m living with you.

There are a couple guys in boot camp that will be in your area when I’m out. Eventually I will be working and will be allowed to move, I believe in as little as 30 days.

Your landlord has to know, by law, that I’m a felon, and my ISR agent will contact them before I’m approved to live at an address. If you own your own place by then it won’t be an issue.

I can start looking for a job on day one. I can start work any time.

The money I get upon my release can pay for a landline. In a lot of cases, agents actually prefer us to have a cell phone because of the tracking ability. I plan on getting a phone right away anyhow for sober networking and job hunting.

Thanks for the comments keep ‘em coming. Let’s get our story out there, it’s a good one.

Everything here is designed to transform every aspect of our lives. Starting with our thinking. I can’t even explain it. It’s better than Florida. How about that?

Love you, mom. Thanks for doing all the typing. I do see a lot of typos. Are they spell checked before they get posted? Also, we do NOT get body cavity searches here, FYI. I’m doing well. I like it here. This is going to change my life.

[ANNE: Typos? The nerve! I pride myself on my accuracy. But then, I have been under a bit of stress lately, which affects my concentration.

About 10 days after I moved to the new apartment, I found a condo I really like. Keep renting, or buy? That is the question. If I ever want to have a decent life in retirement, it’d be good to buy something very modest and try to pay it off. That seems very sensible. However I have to ask myself, “Am I making a $100,000+ purchase just to avoid talking to my landlord about my ex-con son moving in with me?]

Thinking vs. Thinking

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VINCE

I just can’t find the time to accurately describe our schedule. It does change daily.

Today I worked for seven hours doing laundry for all three barracks (182 men). Then, before I even had a chance to sit, we went out for drill and ceremony, where we marched for two hours.

Now I have to do my treatment homework, so that’s it until later.

Later. I forgot to mention that the CD treatment here is called Positive Changes. It was developed for the Minnesota Department of Corrections by Hazelden. Hazelden Center for Youth and Family worked pretty well for me back in ’01, so I’m hoping this cognitive thinking approach works for me because I just don’t think the 12 step program is for me anymore. Not to say I won’t go to meetings, when I get out, I just can’t get past the God thing, and I don’t like the idea of pawning my problems off on something that isn’t real.

Way off track there. It’s almost lights out time. Tomorrow is my down day. Good night.

[ANNE: I am a big fan of cognitive therapy, and it’s not the same thing as positive thinking, so I wonder about this treatment program called Positive Changes.

Don’t get me wrong, positive thinking feels a lot better than negative. If you are able to easily choose positive over negative thinking, why wouldn’t you?

But in my 55 years of living I’ve only met two types of people who espouse positive thinking: 1) people who have never faced any serious life challenges, who tell the rest of us, “Just think positive!” and 2) people who are living in a fantasy world, whose lives would be considered by most people to be a mess but who exclaim, “Isn’t everything great!” Actually, the name for this second one is denial—it’s a defense mechanism that protects us from harsh reality until we’re strong enough to deal with it.

I went to Alanon meetings and worked that program for years. I got a lot out of it. I wish Vince could switch the word “god” to “the group” or some other support outside himself that is a support to his sobriety.

Back to the question of thinking, positive or otherwise. In Alanon there are a lot of slogans like One Day at a Time and Live and Let Live. There was one that was simply the word Think. For years I had no idea what that one meant. Think!? That’s all I did! I worried, obsessed, and mentally gnawed on all my family’s problems.

Then one day, maybe soon after I lost my belief in God, I realized it just meant what it said—Think, you idiot! Use the mind that God—or evolution—gave you. Thinking is different from obsessing or worrying. I found it helpful to reason things out with another person who was outside of the situation. It may sound simple, but in alcoholic families we are dealing with people who are not rational but manipulative, indirect, and sneaky. Alcoholics are often brilliant and charismatic, but they’re also liars. People affected by them tend to be martyrs.

And you wonder why I want to move to another country?]

The Send Off

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VINCE

There are so many bad choices I’ve made in my life. But I am ready to break free of my old habits. Nine days until I commit myself to positive change, 189 days til freedom.

—

My second to last court appearance in June last year was a contested omnibus hearing where I finally decided to just make a deal. I was sick of my life and ready to go to prison. It happened a little faster than I thought it would, as I’ve written before.

I left the courtroom knowing that I had eight days left of freedom. Instead of using that time productively I went about my usual routine. Little did I know there was a plan in the works to leave me broke and broken.

Three days before my sentencing, I was robbed at knife point by three people that I thought I knew. They cornered me in a room and told me to empty my pockets, waving around a very short and wide knife.

You may not think of that as too much of a threat. But a person wielding a one-inch knife is ready to use it more quickly than a six-inch knife because it wouldn’t likely produce a fatal wound.

So I emptied my pockets and the one with the knife sucker punched me in the eye. As I turned around he punched me again, in the same spot. That really hurt.

They all called me some names and then left. Their goal was to steal my truck and leave me stranded but fortunately the ignition was broken, and they could not figure out my homemade tweaker [meth user] ignition featuring a light switch for toggle and a doorbell button for the starter switch.

I got up. In a daze I walked to the bathroom. I had a huge black eye. My nose was bleeding and my ego was shot.

They took about $1,000 combined money and drugs from me. It was all I had. But even that didn’t stop me. Nothing ever really did. I knew then that I needed to be locked up, in prison or chained to a radiator, it didn’t matter. I knew I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. My name is Vince and I’m an addict.

—

ANNE

I received a postcard from Vince. Between it and him writing, “I’m an addict,” I felt hope for him for the first time in 10 years.

Hola,

One week away! I’m looking forward to a new life. Again.

Thank you so much for all your support, and hard work. It must be tough at times. I love you very much and I’m happy we have become so close.

Love,

Vince

But was it real? There’s an old joke:

Q: How do you tell when an alcoholic is lying?

A: His lips are moving.

Vince writes about how many days til boot camp…how many days til he’s free…then he can start to change his life. I’m a firm believer that you can change your life now, regardless of whether your circumstances. That work can only be done inside your head, using cognitive behavior therapy, meditation, and other techniques. If you don’t know how to do it, as I didn’t for many years, you’re stuck. Physical fitness and self discipline are great, but I really hope this boot camp thing helps Vince figure out how to rewire his “stinking thinking”, as they call it in AA.

Moose Lake and the Dozen Dwarfs

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ANNE

I visited Vince at Moose Lake. It was “not too bad,” as we say in Minnesota to mean, “it was awful.”

IMG_2827

The guard who accompanied me through the clanging locked doors was friendly; too much so. After all, I had seen Orange is the New Black by now and I wondered if he would go home and think about me. That’s a nice way of putting it.

The waiting room was “decorated” in grey and teal, with paintings depicting bucks that would be a hunter’s wet dream, Bald Eagles, and a log cabin in the woods with an American flag flying in its front yard.

Could it be even grimmer than St. Cloud? Yes, because it was built as the State Hospital for the Insane in 1936, during the Great Depression, so austerity was the guiding principle in its design.

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I was directed by a CO sitting on a dais to greet Vince on the “hug rug”, which was pretty much what it sounds like—a two-by-four foot rug where inmates and visitors were allowed their brief hug in front of a CO.

Vince knew it had been an old mental hospital. I explained how Ronald Reagan had emptied out all the mental hospitals in the 80s, under the cover of “helping people live in the community rather than institutions.” Community turned out to mean mentally ill people huddled under bridges and in homeless shelters, because the community programs were so underfunded. I told him how Ronald Reagan had slashed benefits for the widows and orphans of veterans, including me, and how I still held a grudge toward the old bastard who conservatives seemed to hold up as a saint.

“Reagan must have forgotten a few mentally ill guys here, mom. There’s this guy who must have an IQ under 70 who sucks his thumb and tries to hide it by covering it with his sleeve.”

And a guy in the cell next to his had breast implants. His cellie, his lover, had been transferred and Vince could hear him whimpering at night.

He talked about how Moose Lake was the repository for sex offenders, who he referred to as men who are “that way.” He glanced around each time he said this; apparently bad mouthing sex offenders was an offense in itself. Vince claimed there were no statistics posted online for Moose Lake because 75% of the offenders there were chomos. I will cover that in my next post.

Vince leaned forward and looked around the room to see if anyone was listening. “Mom, when you get home, do some research and find out why there are so many dwarfs in here.

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah. There’re at least a dozen. And one midget.”

He moved on to the next topic, how the inmates here had so little privacy that they defecated in the showers, and how he and his two buddies were playing a game of who would find a hair in their food at each meal, because there was always hair in the food.

He asked me to research something about “two-thirds, first offense” legislation, but since neither of us was allowed to have a pen or paper, I can’t recall what it was now. Some great advocate I am!

“The AA group is just a bunch of old timers telling war stories, so my buddies and I started our own group. We’re all above-average intelligence.” I walked him through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and he seemed to pay close attention.

We talked about his health. “They took me off Mirapex to save money, and put me on a new drug, so I was kicking all night with my Restless Legs—you know how it is.” Indeed I do. “They finally told me they’d had me on a child’s dose.”

Sunny Day, Everything’s A-OK

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ANNE

I visited Vince again, for his birthday. This time a friend went with me and we made a day trip out of it. Stefanie brought a couple big bags full of toys and books that her granddaughters had outgrown, and handed them out to the kids in the prison waiting room, which I thought was touching and brilliant. The kids couldn’t bring toys into the visiting area, but they could play with them until they had to walk through the metal detector and the sea of bars.

Vince and I had a good visit, again, then Stefanie and I drove around, got turned around and lost a couple times, and discovered a nature preserve where we went for a long walk. It was a beautiful warmish day. I had brought a couple beers in the trunk and we hung out in a field and each drank one, and I smoked a cigar.

Below is a screen shot from the Minnesota Department of Corrections from their manual for families of incarcerated people. I just happened to find it about six months after Vince was locked up. I am listed as his next of kin / emergency contact or whatever in the DOC system. How hard would it have been for someone to send me a form email with a link to this?

kid

Some of the information would have been really useful, like knowing there’s an email system where I can send messages to Vince for 10 cents. Other tips, not so helpful, like the one about buying a cell phone with the prison area code so calls are cheaper. A friend of mine, whose son was also imprisoned, did this and then they transferred him without notice to another state and she was stuck with a second cell phone and call time she would never use.

I’m a highly resourceful person with unlimited internet and phone access. I have time to figure things out. But what about the mom who is now raising three kids by herself and working full time? No more second income or child support once the man is inside. Maybe no health insurance, car, etc. Certainly no help from a partner, if the guy was any kind of decent partner before he was arrested. I read the whole manual, finding some encouragement in the fact that the DOC seems to get how significant imprisonment is to a family.

It’s not just about locking up a bad guy, as they are so fond of saying in the media. It’s about all the people affected by it. If you’re interested, here is the Tip Sheet for Parents, the Tip Sheet for Incarcerated Parents, and believe it or not, the Sesame Street Handbook for Children Ages 3-8.

It would be funny if it didn’t involve real children. As a child who was lied to about the whereabouts and cause of my dad’s death, I appreciated the tip that encourages parents to talk openly about how the other parent is in prison, and to take the children to visit. This is because children will fill in any blanks with their imaginations, and what they imagine will be worse than the reality. I wouldn’t go that far—the reality is pretty awful and our society wants it that way because it’s punishment—but I am a big believer in being honest with children.

Now the section on Dating an Offender, that’s hilarious. Unintentionally so, but still. I know, I know; if I was dating an offender it wouldn’t be funny.

Dating an Offender

“If you are dating someone in prison, it may be difficult to really get to know the inmate. You may be the offender’s only connection to the outside world. The offender may lean on you more so than if you were dating on the outside. Therefore, your letters, visits, and telephone communications become very important to the offender. The offender may also depend heavily on you to send gifts, money or to do things you don’t really want or can’t afford to do. Try not to let the offender put pressure on you. Don’t focus only on the needs of the offender and don’t feel pressured into taking care of only his or her needs. Be sure to find time for yourself and keep a proper focus on your own needs and feelings. When you communicate with each other, try to talk about your past and your goals and hopes for the future. A more balanced relationship will help you decide if you want to maintain it after the offender is released.”

Happy New Life

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ANNE

I am tempted to rebut each of Vince’s “clarifications” in his last post. But one of my favorite self-help slogans is: “How important is it?”

I’m glad to leave 2014 behind and hopeful that 2015 will better, or at least not worse.

I spent Christmas Eve in an emergency room with my poor sister, who has stage four colon cancer. She was feeling pressure in her chest. Apparently chemo can cause blood clots. They administered nitro by pill and patch, did an EKG to rule out a heart attack, and killed her pain with Dilaudid, which is seven times stronger than morphine.

Her worst fear is that she will die alone in the hospital. I stayed until they admitted her and she fell asleep, about seven hours later.

—

Three years ago, I hit bottom. I had lived with depression for as long as I could remember, but then….  I had to have a tooth pulled—boy, will that make you feel old! Then during a Christmas Day blizzard my car was towed and I spent four hours waiting in line outside at the impound lot to pay $300 to get it back. I then drove to Fountain to visit Vince. The trailer he shared with Seth was full of guns, beer cans, and smoke. I figured what the heck, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, so after he assured me that none of the guns was loaded, we posed for photos that became my holiday cards to my friends in the UK, where they had a good laugh over us gun-crazy Americans.

Vince (7)Vince (11)

Due to the blizzard I spent the night in Seth’s 5-year-old daughter’s bedroom; she was at her mom’s. Here’s a tip for parents who smoke: Keeping your kid’s door closed doesn’t keep smoke out. I couldn’t open the window and after tossing and turning until 5am I slipped out and drove home. On the way I started itching. Great—now I had bedbugs!

—

I contemplated suicide. I leaned my forehead against the screen of my 20th floor window. I had turned 50 the year before. Thinking about being depressed every day for another 30-40 years wasn’t real appealing.

—

Here are the things I had tried to manage depression and anxiety:

Meditation

Medication

Prayer (including begging, pleading, and bargaining)

Acting normal

Abstaining from drinking

Cutting down on coffee

Self-help books

Alanon

Exercise

Getting outside every day

Appreciating beauty, be it fine art, nature, music, babies, or kittens

Gratitude lists

Avoiding negative people / avoiding unnaturally happy people

Running away to other countries

Denial

Journaling

Telling myself, “At least I’m not a refugee / amputee / blind / fill-in-the-blank.”

Psychotherapy

Retail therapy

Sleeping, drinking, and movie binges

Reaching out to friends, even when that was the last thing I wanted to do

—

I thought that jumping out of my window would be exhilarating, until I hit the ground. I had some leftover pain killers from the dentist, and my prescription for Restless Legs. I googled an overdose of the two and learned that they wouldn’t kill me, but that I would likely need a liver transplant. I decided to keep living.

—

That spring, I visited Vince again and this time, made a reservation at a B&B.  On the free-book-shelf there, I picked up a tattered copy of, “Feeling Good: the New Mood Therapy”, by David Burns, MD. I read it and did what it told me to do, and I stopped being depressed. For good.

The book was about Cognitive Therapy. I had been instructed to use it at least twice in the past, but I’d been too stressed out to do it. Basically, you write down your negative thoughts and then argue with them rationally until you’ve de-fanged them. Writing it down is important; if you try to do it in your head you’ll end up down a rabbit hole.

So was a lifetime of depression cured overnight by one book? No. I think it was all the other things I had tried over the years—the good things, anyway—and then I added this on top of them and together they all added up to a breakthrough.

I still feel sad sometimes–there’s plenty to feel sad about–but I’m not depressed and I’m committed to living.

Sorry for the long post but, if you’re struggling, I want to encourage you to keep an open mind, keep plugging away, and keep trying new things.

PS: I didn’t have bedbugs after all.  I think I was just itchy from the smoke and dry air.  Living with addiction can turn you into a drama addict.