The Thrill is Gone
E-Mail by Calbraith MacLeod Bio/Address
Being incarcerated is an enjoyable experience in many ways. Other than the loss of sexual partners and the inability to access as much alcohol and drugs as I wanted, I had not felt deprived during my early years of incarceration. In fact, prison had offered a welcome relief from the frustrations and insecurities of living paycheck to paycheck while not incarcerated. Unfortunately, the pressure-removing aspect of prison was one of the major reasons I continued to return to prison--while faced with the knowledge that my paycheck was always owed out before I received it, unable to secure satisfaction, and feeling like I was on a treadmill going no where, the thought would inevitably enter my mind that I had been better off in prison.
Of course at these moments I had forgotten about the unfavorable features of incarceration. Like an alcoholic who swiftly forgets the intensity of the headache he had the morning of the day he sets out to get drunk, I quickly lost all memory of the frustration, favoritism, and
bigotry experienced as a prisoner. I swiftly forgot the feeling of powerlessness involved in being strip searched, drug tested, or in having my personal property searched or
confiscated or destroyed by a correctional officer who'd brought his personal problems to work. I forgot about the noise--the televisions, radios, loud voices in the hall and dayroom, and slamming steel doors. I forgot about the anxiety of needing to be alert, prepared to defend my honor or physical being. I forgot all these things within minutes of being released from prison, and within two months, I drove by the prison and gave not a thought to the people inside. Very soon it became difficult to even believe there were hundreds of men locked up in the building with the fences around it.
What I remembered about prison after my release included the feeling of having been a part of something larger than myself, and I had never felt a part of the outside world. I remembered the security in never needy to make a meaningful decision, the freedom of not needing to pay any bills or negotiate any contracts. I remembered the volunteers, therapists, and teachers who had cared about me, felt sorry for me, bolstered my self-esteem, and guided me. In disregard of all its negative qualities,
boredom, filth and pain, I viewed prison, within moments of release, as being a warm, nurturing environment.
When first physically freed and "on the street" the world appeared
wondrous. Unfortunately, I swiftly lost all appreciation of the many wonders I enjoyed. My focus turned to getting more of everything and towards the frustration that came with never ever being able to acquire as much of what I wanted as fast as I wanted it. I simmered perpetually in a stew of self-pity, complaining that as hard as I worked I should have more, and I disparaged those who I perceived as having more material things and more leisure than I. "Life's not fair," I
cried.
Unsatisfied with life as it was I once again tried to satisfy my
overwhelming desires for pleasures, power, and "fairness" through illegal means. The eventual result of behaving in such destructive ways ended me back in prison.
Now, after many years in prison, I can only view life outside prison as being a wonderful experience. I can not with any force recall the frustration and anxiety that life outside prison had delivered to me. I can think only of how wonderful it would be to
vacuum the dirt out of my automobile's carpets on a warm spring day. I can think only of how fine it would be to feel the warmth of a summer lake, to visit relatives in their homes, to be waiting for my clothes to dry at the
Laundromat, to be waiting in a long line at a supermarket.
Nevertheless, even as I think of these events, it saddens me to know that my wonder regarding them would last only a
week or two, Then the thrill would be gone, replaced by apathy or impatience. Perhaps thoughts that prison had not been such a bad place would soon invade my mind.
What is this forgetfulness about, and where does the wonder go? It does not seem like a friendly universe in which the memory of the unfavorable results of one's behaviors are allowed to fade. Nor is it a helpful plan that permits us to become unappreciative of the events we participate in every day while free.
It would be easy for some to think the conditions of prison are not severe enough to "teach us a lesson''. Unfortunately, no matter how difficult prison may be, all memories of
its unpleasantries fade soon after one's release. Harsh conditions are good only to satisfy the bloodlust of those supporting them.
Nevertheless, I want to be able to remember the pain of incarceration. I asked a fellow inmate why it was that the consequences of prison were not enough to keep us from
re-offending, like touching a hot stove keeps us from touching it again.. He suggested it may be because incarceration is not a physically painful experience. "We should be physically tortured not just mentally tortured," he suggested, "Then we would remember and stay out of trouble!"
"Not so!" shouted a second man. "The trouble with that suggestion is that we don't always get in trouble. I wouldn't be afraid to
touch a stove that burned me only once in a while."
So is inefficient law enforcement partly at blame for my recidivism?
Wish I'd been arrested after my first offense and not only after the severity and number of my
offenses (and consequences) had multiplied. Of course the real responsibility rests with me. Somehow, regardless of the natural tendency to forget the discomfort, it will be my responsibility to routinely remind myself of the things I disliked about my prison experience. Perhaps a useful task to add to our current rehabilitation programs would be to ask every inmate to write a list of all the things he or she dislikes about the prison environment. (Not the things one misses from the street, but the things one dislikes about the prison environment.) Then we can take these lists with us when we are released as reminders, and, hopefully, aids to keep the "prison wasn't so bad" thoughts out of our minds.
Here is a short list of what one will experience in prison:
The water in your unit shower will come out scalding hot or ice cold. You will not be able to adjust the temperature and you will not be able to adjust the flow which will remain a fine mist barely able to rinse the soap off your body.
You will need to go through a long process of pre-approval to be allowed to receive books and personal property. Only certain items are allowed into the facility, and it will take a month to finally get in what you set out to acquire.
You will use cheap plastic razors to shave with and they will cut up your face and neck no matter how carefully you use them.
The administration will make up a schedule of when you are allowed to do things, but the guards will follow the schedule and allow you to participate in the activities only when they find it convenient.
You will sleep on a hard, thin mattress and your pillow, if you get one will be as supportive as a folded pair of jeans.
You will not smoke in your room without watching out your window to be sure the guard does not catch you smoking in the building.
You will buy only the scant selection of food items on the canteen list, and you will pay super high prices for these items.
The rehabilitation programs will, for the most part, be run by people with enormous egos and estimations of themselves far exceeding their actual experience, intelligence, training, or education. You will be forced to pretend you find the therapists helpful and competent in order to "complete" the programs and be given a slim chance of a paroled release.
A guard will order you once every couple of months to give a urine sample for a drug test and he will stare at your penis while you urinate.
You will be forced to live with many people you find annoying and despicable.
The administration will make up rules about what privileges you will earn if you perform in a certain way, then you will frequently not be allowed that which you earned, and the administration will not view it as necessary to offer you an apology or an excuse.
You will need to conduct an increasing amount of your legal proceedings over the telephone instead of in the court room.
You will need to arrange to have some small privacy while using the toilet in your room.
Your family and friends will visit you only in a crowded, noisy room and only during certain times of the week.
You will be treated like a child by the guards. You will need to ask for everything you want and you will need to ask if you can go anyplace in the facility.
Staff members will try to tell you what is right and wrong even while you know many of them are criminals who have not been caught or who have been protected from prosecution by the system they are employed by.
You will be paid a pittance for your labor, just enough money to purchase coffee and a few cigarettes.
The second issue that's very important to one's efforts to remain free of trouble and out of prison is the question of how we convicted people can maintain an appreciation for the many joys available to us while living
free in society.
Upon release from any substantial stay in prison, I experienced an initial wonder at all things of society and nature. Perhaps only someone returning from a war or someone who has climbed to the top of Mount Washington on a clear day can understand this experience or awe. Upon release from prison everything seemed new and
wondrous and life felt full of promise. Then, the feeling faded slowly away.
I wish the initial wonder of liberty from prison would last. Unfortunately it does not appear as something one can maintain even by the most urgent effort. The wonder is mostly the result of
curiosity and curiosity only lasts as long as there is some new situation or thing or place to be explored, and even the act of exploration can become mundane.
Traditionally, I had always tried to combat this onset of the mundane by working long hours or watching television. Neither of these activities, however, were able to combat the mundane for long, and they quickly became frustrating pursuits. I could never get enough things or pleasures to satisfy me, and I could not always stay drunk or high or entertained.
While we can not walk around in a state of continual wonder or
curiosity, and we can not gain a sustained state of satisfaction through collecting things or experiencing pleasures or avoiding reality, we can prevent our lives from becoming mundane. The key to avoiding a feeling of the mundane is to start being of service to others. It is the exact opposite of our
unfulfilling past way of living-we begin living to give instead of to get. Incidentally, in the process of giving, we end up receiving a fulfilled feeling regarding our lives, and therein lies the wonder.
Being of service is something a person can begin practicing while in prison. We can help represent the needs of the general prison population, we can listen to people, we can support activities that will help others improve their own lives, we can tell others about our own experiences and about what we found helpful, and we can be a friend to those without friends. The interesting thing about service work is the more service one performs the more things one begins to notice need to be
done. The more one begins to automatically do that which needs doing without even noticing that he or she is doing service
work, the more it just becomes what one does.
When we orient our lives toward service work in prison, it should be easy to find ways to be of service on the street. There exist many and varied volunteer organizations in society that are always looking for more people to help them help others.
While not a cure-all, remaining aware of the things we disliked about prison and orienting our lives towards being of service go a long way towards assuring we will stay out of trouble, harm no one else, and remain free to enjoy nature and the society or our fellows.
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