The journal of Ralph Fuller
October 13th, 2007
This last month has been quite hectic: The job that I've had for over a year
has been taken from me because they need it for level 1 inmates; The prison
has been on 3 lock downs concerning the Whites & Mexicans; I have not been
able to receive my Canteen; The medical system here will not give me the
medications I need for my Carpel Tunnel Syndrome; I have not been able to
use the phone to contact anyone; My mother had knee replacement surgery and
had some problems; My cell has been ransacked twice because of the lock
downs: many of my personal items have been removed from my cell; I have
started a new job as a Teacher's aide for the vocational automotive electric
class. There is nothing in the shop area. We are starting the class from
scratch.
January 13, 2008
I was talking on the phone to my aunt the other day and casually mentioned
that on the upper yard someone had murdered their cellie. It was then that I
realized how this did not shock me. Have I become so used to all of this
violence? It scared me to think that I thought of it as nothing. this was
someone's life. Over the 21+ years I've been incarcerated I have seen too
many things. I try to block these things out of my head.
It got me to thinking how much I have changed since my incarceration. I
have become institutionalized. It seriously scares me to think of being on
the outside of these institutions.I am used to doing what I'm told to do.
When did this happen? How can I break myself out of this rutt that I've made
out of my life? I've learned not to open up to anyone and keep my feelings
within. I used to miss being able to be close with someone. Now I no longer
even desire it. I believe this is sad that I have given up my last will to
live life, but only survive. Is that what life is all about, only survival?
I truly hope not.
February 19th, 2008
Each day I wait for the officer to pass out the mail. The long weekends are
the worst. I usually receive something- an ad junk mail- as some people call
it. When I get one of these things, I feel special. Someone knows I am
alive. I can actually see my name printed on something and these people want
me to respond to their advertisement. I actually matter to someone.
It is not often that I actually receive a letter from someone. Most people
have stopped writing many years ago. When I actually do receive a letter
from someone it is cherished. I immediately write them back. I dissect each
and every word - sometimes a bit too much.
Alas, another day has come and gone in which I have not received
a single piece of mail. When this happens, I become so visibly depressed
because of it. Why do I allow myself to feel worthless when there is no mail
for me? It really is stupid when I actually think about it. At times it
takes me a while to find the root of my depression. When I do find the cause
of "no mail" I actually have to have a conversation with myself to snap out
of it.
It's so easy to feel you have been forgotten when you are in
these places. However, I know it is not only I who is effected by my
incarceration. I know it is very difficult for my loved ones to think of me
in prison. It took me years to realize that my loved ones feel my
incarceration as well.
|