BackHOPE
E-mail By Calbraith J. MacLeod Bio/Address
A few years ago, I returned to Vermont's Correctional system from the federal penitentiary some Vermont Administrators I'd frightened had cent me to. On my return, or shortly before, I made the decision to do all I could to change my lifestyle. I was at a turning point and I knew it. I could either go on living the life of a criminal and addict and die a lonely, early death in some institution; or I could do whatever it took to become a respectable character in the human drama and make myself into someone of some value to the world.
Not that I hadn't tried to change my life before. I had. Every time I had gotten into trouble. However, this time was different; ay decision was not based on any immediate threat by law enforcement or prison personnel. I imply decided I had put myself through enough hell.
Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you view It) I had, — I've mentioned, already tried numerous times to get myself clean from alcohol and drugs and to stop acting in violent, illegal ways. I just could not change myself through my own methods. My own thinking just kept leading me back to my original lifestyle. I had learned I was not as bright as I had once thought. I could not do anything, "if only I put my mind to it." If I was to change my lifestyle, I knew the plan to do so was going to have to come from outside of myself. I was going to have to listen to someone else's ideas and do what they did or told me to do. I was not in love with this realization, but I knew it was true and I was ready to try whatever it took to extract myself from the living hell I'd been trapped in for thirty years.
So, I sought help from the therapists at the Vermont prison I returned to. I thought I would b« welcomed with excitement. "Finally", they would say, here is a convict who is truly ready to listen and learn. Unfortunately, the therapists were convinced I was a hopeless case, and they told me as much. I was shocked. I was angry. I was ready to give up all hope and prove to the world just how violent I could really be. I ended all efforts to control my behaviors, threatening people and doing whatever destructive thing that came to mind. Suddenly, all the anxiety, depression, self-hate and anger that had first led me to seek a change resurfaced. Then, the thought, "I'm sure they've been wrong before", entered my mind. I decided to seek help elsewhere.
Fortunately, in the Vermont prisons there is an elsewhere to seek help from. Every week dozens of volunteers come into the prisons. They lead religious meetings, alcohol and drug meetings, art classes, and even Tai Chi classes. When I asked them for help in changing my life, their response was overwhelming. They were shocked to hear of the therapist's presumptions. "Who told you such a mean thing", they asked me. "How do they expect anyone to change while they are being told it isn't possible?" The volunteers told me never to say or even to think of myself as a "hopeless case" again. I didn't, and whether fir not the therapists agree, I have changed my lifestyle following the methods my friends, the volunteers, directed me towards. I've not used drugs or alcohol in eight years, I have moral direction now, and no longer am I lead astray by my emotions, greed, or selfishness. In fact, I am even becoming less selfish every day as I grow into my new style of living—trying to give instead of trying to get.
The volunteers met my search for help with an invitation to try to change. Instead of pessimism, they met me with optimism. The volunteers greeted me with unconditional acceptance. Instead of hatred, I was greeted by love. Until I met the volunteers who come into the prison, I did not know anyone who cared about another person without being related to them or in line to satisfy some ego agenda through caring. Until I met the volunteers I'd not witnessed integrity, sincerity, or compassion. Because of the people who sacrifice their time to enter the prison and do volunteer work, I have models of human behavior worthy of following. When I am visited by a desire to perform some questionable act, I ask myself if one of my volunteers would act that way or do such a thing. And during the hundreds of times I have been offered drugs and alcohol at this facility, I easily turn down the offer by repeating the words one volunteer taught me—No thanks, I'm allergic to drugs and alcohol. And so I am.
Above all the volunteers delivered me hope. Hope, I've heard, is believing change is possible in spite of evidence against it. If we are led to believe change isn't possible, we won't invest in that movement. It is only when hope is instilled that we can expect the evidence to change.
In the Dhammapada it says, "All that we are is the result of what we have thought; It is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts." If I keep telling myself I can change my life, I will continue to improve it, and continue to seek viable methods to change into a more responsible-being. Thanks to the volunteers, I have hope and I know I will not ever have to go on living the life of an addict and criminal. When I do die, an in institution or not. It will not be an early death nor a lonely one, for I will be embraced by the love of my friends, the volunteers.