Waiting and Waiting and Waiting

On an ideal day at Rappahannock Regional Jail in Bravo One, I spent from 5- 7 hours out of my cell. That time was spent in a day room with the other 25 ladies on my floor or out on  a very small cement slab where just a bit of fresh air could be found.

The day room consisted of a few cafeteria tables, 2 televisions with a few awful plastic chairs, a microwave, 4 showers and most importantly, 8 payphones.

There was alot that needed to get done when one was out of the cell; especially since you could be sure when the next time you'd be out of your cage. Rotations could be skipped for any number of reasons and you never knew before hand that a "lockdown" was going to happen. A lockdown meant no shower, no microwave, no interaction with others and hardest of all, no phone.

You see, the payphone became my only regular connection with my family, with my monsters. Visits were only once a week via video and only one monster could come at a time so I only saw them(if you can call it that)once every 3 weeks. So, daily phone calls were all I had to stay connected to them and to my husband. It was also the only way my husband could know that I was Okay and that was important for him because of all the health issues I was
having. I'm sure you can imagine how difficult this inconsistency was.

Lockdowns usually happened for a rotation(one (1.5hr)). Or maybe one shift but usually we got to the phones at least once a day, to check in, reassure yourself and your family that you were hanging on. But every so often they went on longer.

The worst and longest lockdown I ever went through was 54 hours. For 54 hours there was no shower, no microwave and NO PHONES. For 54 hours straight I sat in a 10 x 6 cement and cinder block cell with no window to see out of and a steel door with the smallest window out to the day room. A 10 x 6 cell with a second person, bunk beds, a toliet and a sink for 54 hours straight. During this lockdown even meals were served through our doors so we really didn't come out.

As you can imagine, this was not a good time. The first day was doable but as the second day started and ended and we were stilled locked down, it got really tough. By day two my mind was all over the place, worry, fear, concern, and that was just about the monsters. I knew my husband was going insane and had probably called the jail by day 2. I wasn't sleeping, not eating and just crying. I tried as many different things as I could think of to pass the time. I read, I exercised, I wrote letters, I cleaned, I read my scriptures but by the time day 2 came to an end I was done, I had nothing left, I was physically sick with worry and tired on top of it. It seemed like this would never end.

On the morning of the 3rd day of lockdown there was finally a break, we finally got out of our cells. Twenty-five women that needed to share 4 showers and 8 phones! There were lots of quick showers and fast phone calls to ensure everyone got a turn. Once I got my turn on the phone I called my husband and upon hearing his voice I started to cry. I cannot remember ever being that happy to hear his voice. I asked about my monsters and him, I'm not sure I really heard any thing he told me because the sound of his voice was like heaven. I didn't want to hang up but I did to give the next person a turn.

What I remember most about this lockdown was how much tougher things can get even when you think you've hit the toughest point it can get tougher. I remember the ache in my chest and the unsettledness stomach because I missed my monsters so much. I also remember that I made it through. I made it through and I am stronger.

Finding the positive, a silver lining in my experience and time at RRJ is not easy but to heal and move on I need a positive. I need to know that my time there did something for me or someone else. So many days the negative trumps the positive and I have nightmares or I'm angry I was there but I'm trying, I'm trying to find positives.

Moving On

Part of being me includes my bipolar, PTSD(new from jail) and anxiety. There is probably more but that's enough to share for now. Bipolar, mental illness in general, can make jail a real challenge. There is not adequate medical care, whether it's because of money or an unwillingness to see the mentally ill in front of them struggling.

About six months before I went to jail I had a psychotic episode and was sent to a psychiatric hospital for about a week. At the time of my episode I was off all of my bipolar meds, because I was feeling fine and didn't need them anymore, as nearly all people diagnosed bipolar will tell you at some point in their lives. By the way, it's not true. You cannot stop bipolar meds without the very high risk of having an episode and usually they get bigger and better every time. Anyway, I thankfully got to the hospital before I hurt myself or anyone else. Once under the care of the right doctors and nurses I got my meds restarted and made a short term plan. My plan was to go to an outpatient program from 9-3, 5 days a week for 4-6 weeks. I was NOT looking forward to this plan at all but in order to come home and get better my team and my husband said I had to do it.

I left the hospital on a Friday and was starting IOP on Monday. I had the whole weekend to settle. Only I didn't, I went to my mother's, took the scissors from her kitchen, hid in her bathroom and cut off all my hair. They found me sitting in the shower with my clothes on and water running with scissors in my hands, my hair cut off, just crying. It was not a good day.

Monday came and I had made it, so had my family, and off I went to IOP. My mother drove me and picked me up so that it wasn't easy for me to leave early. We did this M-F for a month and a half. After being there 6 weeks and being medicated and having therapy, I was ready to move on, or so the team said. I had a psychiatrist for my meds and two therapist that I saw 3 times a week.

Slowly I began to function and feel safe in my life, in my home and in myself. I continued therapy every week, eventually dropping to only one therapist. And I saw my psychiatrist every few weeks. My meds were working! My therapy was working!

During this time of course I was going to court for my case which stressful but again I wasn't going to jail, said everyone!

The week before my sentencing I saw both my psychiatrist and my therapist. Both of them scheduled me to come in the day after sentencing because they were sure I would be free. You all know how that ended. But did you know that I never saw another therapist for 10.5 months? Did you know that I saw a psychiatrist on a video chat twice in 10.5 months? Do you know that I didn't get half the meds I was prescribed for 10.5 months?

In jail, mental illness is not seen as serious or something that needs to be treat. If it's not a physical almeint no one cares. I had three anxiety attacks so bad in there that I had to go to the clinic, you know what they said...Drink Water and Lay Down. Yeah, helpfully to someone mentally ill who is being denied meds.

What I'd like to see is people understanding mental illness. Accepting mental illness in their friends and family and letting your voices be heard so people can be treated fairly and humanely. I don't want people with mental illness stripped and thrown into a cement cell. They should be treat with the same respect and dignity as someone with cancer or a heart condition.

That was not where I intended this to go today but it did. Please take a minute or two to think about the mentally ill people in your life and how you treat them and make sure they are respected and treated fairly always.