Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Mail May Make You Cry

Written on February 17, 2011...

   Today I woke up feeling like crap. I was completely stiff and my back was killing me. This stiffness wasn't like the other times I worked out hard; it was different. So, for the first time since I've been able to go to Rec, I chose to stay in my cell. I took my shower before everyone else even went to Rec, then came back and went to sleep. When I woke up the Sgt. was calling chow while unlocking the cells, so I'm guessing he wasn't paying attention to the time. My hair was a disaster from going to sleep with it wet, but I couldn't care less in here really. After chow we came back and did count. I sat staring out my window, daydreaming, for more than an hour before they called people out for Library passes. I forgot to turn my request in over the weekend, so I didn't go. I laid down for a bit just thinking, and the next thing I knew it was 3:30pm and the Sgt. was passing out mail.

   I received two letters today. One from the Appellate Court telling me that my lawyer didn't file my appeal in time and they would not be taking my case. Now this really pisses me off because the initial appeal was filed due to misrepresentation by my attorney. Now he conveniently files my appeal too late. I'll have to speak with another attorney about this before I just admit defeat.

   On a more positive note, I received my first letter from my father directly. I have received letters from my mother relaying messages or telling me how everyone is. This is the first solely from my Dad. He and I have our differences and disagreements, and I have been wanting to put them behind us. I want to address the issues, solve our problems, and have the relationship I've always wanted with my Dad. I love him to death, but always fear losing him before putting these problems behind us. So, while I am here, I will begin to address the issues with him via letters. The real work will come after I am released. I love my Dad unconditionally and want to have a positive relationship with him. I hope this is the beginning to that. His letter, I admit, made me cry. As many have from my Mom since coming to jail and prison. I am learning about how my actions have directly affected everyone around me, as they are learning about why I am the way that I am, or have done the things that I've done. My Dad hit the nail on the head when he said, “There was something that I heard on TV: that a young adult said that his father only gave him attention when he did something wrong; that's why he did things wrong. I don't know if that was part of the reason for why you did the things that you did, but it's food for thought.” I have thought this, exactly the way he said it, for many years. But I refused to ever say it as it sounded like a cop-out, an excuse, or as if I was redirecting the blame. I am who I am by personal choices I made throughout my life. Maybe the lack of attention was initially why I did some of the things I did, but I still did them, fully aware of the consequences. I will probably wait until later to actually write him back, after I've read his letter a handful more times. I've already read it four times. It means a lot to me.

   For the rest of the night I sat around reading another book and ate some noodles with jalapeño cheese. My cellmate and I cut the lights off about 10:00pm and called it a night.

Until tomorrow...

~J. Doe

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