Setting the stage
On September 3rd, 2003, I was fired from the best job I’d ever had, and my computers seized and turned over to the Bexar County Sheriff’s Office. I was subsequently arrested and charged under the identity theft statute. Fortunately, the grand jury refused to indict, and I was released. Insufficient evidence, they said. This makes sense, as I never stole anyone’s identity, nor planned to do so. In July of 2006 I was arrested again, this time for “Misuse of Public Information.” On May 11th of 2007, I was sentenced to 8 years TDCJ time. I accepted stolen data, and that, despite never having done anything with it, was a 3rd degree felony.
I spent the next 22 months in the company of murderers, rapists, armed robbers, pedophiles, and worse. I also met plenty of people who probably shouldn’t have been in prison at all. I tried not to judge, though. I knew I would never see anything more than was shown to me, and that I couldn’t trust even that information. Besides, when you are in prison, you do your own time. Concerning yourself with other people doesn’t help you endure your sentence, and you can’t afford to involve yourself any more than necessary.
I was released on St. Patrick’s Day, 2009. It was cold still, even in Huntsville, Texas. I was numb. I’ve been out for nearly three months now, and I’m still numb. I’m a different man now. I’ve seen things that I’d rather not have seen. I’ve fought for my life. I’ve hurt people – something I’d never done before. I have insight into the human condition that I never knew I lacked. I’ve overcome fears, and I’ve developed new ones.
In the time between my first and second arrest, I changed my life dramaticly. I gave up a 7 year relationship with methamphetamine and heroin. I rediscovered my respect for the rule of law. I started taking a mood stabilizer and an anti-depressant. I lived secluded in the woods, on my parent’s charity. I was chaste as a monk for 2 years before my arrest, and for the 2 years of my incarceration. I devoted myself to the practice of an obscure martial art. This was a big part of a larger project- to heal myself.
When my sentence was handed down, and the bailiff cuffed me and walked me out of court, my life changed dramaticly again. I did not find it possible to be as good a man in prison as I had endeavored to become outside. Prison is all about impossible situations. You can’t conduct yourself ethically in that place. At the same time, I couldn’t abandon my ethics wholly either. If you want to make parole, you must avoid disciplinary cases while serving your time. If you wish to survive in your cage with the other animals, you must transgress from time to time. It is simply necessary. If you wish to avoid the cases that these transgressions tend to bring, you have to bribe someone. None of this synched with my worldview. Nothing I had to do in prison meshed with being the kind of man I wanted to be. Nevertheless, I did what was required of me. I made my second parole, and as a result, I’m sitting here typing these words.
In this blog, I want to talk about readjusting to the world. I want to talk about finding myself again. I’ll probably talk about justice, humans as resources, how society uses them, and how they might do a better job of that. I’ll talk about the stigma of living in America as a felon. I hope someone reads this, and that they get something from it.
