You may have read in the end of pt. 9 how my co-workers (the nappers), all went home after we got back early from the conference. They had told me in so many words that if I didn’t leave and file per diem too that I would cause problems for all of them.
Against my morals I did what they said. Two days later I found out that after I left they all went inside instead.
When I arrived for work the warden called me into the conference room. The nappers, 3 wardens and two captains were already seated. The warden preceded to question me on why I went home and filed per diem for a conference that ended early.
The smug look on the nappers faces was just too much. The warden wrote me up and took points off my next evaluation, which took away my eligibility for a two step raise.
My boss had now managed to keep me from getting raises for almost 5 years in a row. How they let a man that has been charged with sexual harassment against you remain your boss is insane.
From that day on the only time I was in our shared offices was to get coffee and paperwork in the morning, and to pack up in the evening.
I spent the rest of my hours in my classroom in the treatment dorm. I preferred being there. It gave me alot of opportunities to learn more about the people I was helping.
There came a time when I had several inmates not showing up for class. It came to me that they were high, and knew I would be able to tell. So they took absences instead. One of the men had been doing really well in Crimebill for many months.
I called him into the classroom and sat with him along with my clerk. I warned him that he couldn’t afford anymore absences and would be removed from crimebill. He looked rough. Dirty clothes, unshaven, hair not cut. I asked him what was going on.
He broke down and confessed that he had been using subxone. He said he was in debt all over the camp. That they (inmates that he owed), would hurt him. He said his family had been contacted and would put money on his books to resolve the debt.
I told him that if he would get off the suboxone he could stay. He claimed that he would and I excused him. I asked my clerk “How the hell is he getting suboxone?” My clerk said ” not from other inmates.”
Then he said “have you ever seen that big lock box in the shift office?” I shook my head, no. He said “it’s full of coffee and cigarettes. Families get called and threatened if they don’t send money they can’t do anything to protect their inmate.”
Wrapping my head around this, extortion. Now knowing something I shouldn’t know. I told my clerk “we’re not having this conversation.” I dismissed him. I can imagine he spent several days worried that he should’ve kept his mouth shut.
I spent many days worried as well. In prison if two people know something, it’s way more than two who know. A lot of times it’s a set up just to see what you will do with the information. Telling is bad, sitting on it is bad. It was a no win situation.
*
However many of you may have read part 10 of this series. I have to ask; how many of you understood the gravity of what took place?
A single brief conversation between a counselor and her inmate clerk. Discussing a class members’ relapse. Turned into a counselor asking a question she didn’t want the answer to.
Had I not asked this question out loud. Things would’ve been very different, for a while, anyways.
As a person in recovery; being reflective on what my part is in any particular problem. Well, let’s just say it’s one of the main tools in my personal toolbox. I teach this method, as well as using it in my own life.
It helps me to narrow down the field of what I can change, or what I need to accept.
Many that read part 10 will find the problem is with the inmate. That he also should not have volunteered the information that he gave.
The proverbial cat is out of the bag. There’s no going back to ignorant bliss. I could play-off the whole thing: as being a clueless, 50 something, white lady and spin the narrative into naive oblivion…
However, I am not that woman. My clerk had been working for me directly for a year. He knew I was not that woman either.
Outside of my classes this problem consumed my thoughts and concerns. Being a recovering addict enabled me to see the dark and manipulative side of things. Where this problem could go- was endless.
I had studied the criminal mind in depth thanks to practically living amongst it everyday. All the books I was constantly reading helped also, but nothing compared to conversing with the element itself.
An author named Stanton Samenow was a constant resource for me. His understanding of the need for a “Commitment to Change,” created many breakthroughs for me and my students.
Another major resource in healing the mind was a book called “The House of Healing: a prisoners guide to inner-freedom.” This book not only helped a multitude of the incarcerated, but it helped heal me as well.
No matter what resources I found, or discovered…nothing was going to help me get out of the new situation I found myself in.
Looking back at it now…I avoid the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve thinking and chalk it up to the lessons’ learned category. While I was in the middle of it though…I just kept plowing forward as a survivor does. Thinking that there is a light at the end of the crazy tunnel…or should I say rabbit hole that was before me.
There comes a time for some people that when things get too difficult they make a decision to remove themselves from the situation. Looking at some of my own personal relationships, I can see now where I stayed too long.
This was definitely one of those times. I think most people sit themselves down and have a rational conversation with themselves. That everything is pointing to the universe saying “not today.”
I on the other-hand, have an internal monologue that says, This too shall pass and I will perservere. Part of me stayed for the right reasons, the rest of me stayed because I had dropped out of school to care for my father; and therefore hadn't finished my bachelor's degree. It was highly unlikely that I would find another counseling position without going back to school.
This perserverance had sometimes left me in the worst sort of predicaments. Other times its been a test of endurance that rewarded me with inner strength.
One of the things that I teach is: Fear is an emotion. However, danger is very real. This new problem was definitely dangerous. Keeping my wits about me and not succumbing to the fear would be the tricky part.
There is an intelligence quotient: IQ, and there is an emotional intelligence: EI. Having both in ample quantities is a necessary element while working in a maximum security prison.
It’s not just having common sense, as much as it is understanding emotions: yours and others. Why people feel the way they do…and the often corresponding behaviors that come with those emotions.
There is one other resource that I discovered , actually stumbled on… was the universal language of certain facial expressions. Dr. Paul Eckman originated the theory. Many have gone on to broaden it’s horizon through the study of micro-expressions vs macro-expressions.
I say that I stumbled on it; because it was already in my personal repertoire of observation skills. Learning it though gave me a whole new understanding of why I am able to read people. Specifically people practicing deception.
It was an extraordinary tool to my advantage in working with inmates and addicts. Unfortunately though, it was a curse in my personal life. Mostly with people that I deemed as not a threat, or people that I cared about.
This skill was about to be put into overdrive.
*
Things had reached the point where no matter how good I was at my job, I was a problem for certain staff and the nappers.
I wanted to make a difference, its why I chose to work in prisons. The group of people mentioned above saw my success as a threat. A threat to their status quo of no news is good news. As if they had gotten a job they wouldn’t normally have. Anything that stood out would get them noticed. Cost them their cushy position of nap taking on the clock. Force them to do something.
I spent more and more time in administrative offices answering to lies told about me, and less time enjoying raises that my co-workers came by naturally.
I finally had enough and went over the prison’s head to administration in Montgomery. I developed a rapport with the head of drug treatment there. He and I were definitely on the same page. He emailed me that my boss should never had been allowed to continue being my boss after the sexual harassment charge.
He chose to move me to the re-entry program. I was crushed to be removed from what I thought I should be doing. He assured me that it was a good move for me. He said it would give me more time to do a thing that, in his estimation was a better fit. He wanted me to write a new program for the state of Alabama.
An evidenced-based program that could be used in all of the state’s prisons and would work for all education levels.
I was super excited to take this on and went about it everyday. Between my new classes I poured everything I knew onto a flash drive. I didnt appear to have a boss anymore. There was the head of re-entry that was supposedly supervising me. However, we never spoke.
Weekly I would hear from Montgomery. Just a check-in type email asking how it was going. I always had good news about how the new program was coming along. It was very encouraging.
Then I had a series of events outside of work that shook me. The first event that happened took place when I arrived home one day. I had a great dane named Coal. Everyday when I got home I would take him to the backyard and put him on a run. Then go back inside and get out of my work clothes, have a snack, and then take Coal for a walk.
While I was fixing my snack Coal started barking in such a way that I knew something was not right in the backyard. I looked out the back window and Coal was lunging at something and had pulled the wrought-iron post that held his run line over.
I ran out back and when I got to Coal he was frantic and aggressive. I looked in the direction he was lunging and there was a large man standing there.
I calmed Coal down and got him into a sit. The man said “Hi Ms. C.” Before I could even look up fear flooded me. No one but inmates called me Ms. C. My eyes met his and I recognized him as an inmate who had taken my class a couple of years prior.
I said “What are you doing here!” He said “I live here,” and pointed at a trailer that was behind my next-door neighbors house. ” I was just admiring your dog.” He claimed.
“How long have you been living there?” I asked. “A few weeks,” he stated. “Welcome to the neighborhood” I said.
I got Coal off the run line and took him inside. My mind was screaming W.T.F. I called my sponsor and just dumped on her. I recalled that his name was Demetrius and he had been in prison for voluntary manslaughter. Code for killing someone while driving under the influence, in most cases.
We discussed whether he was really admiring the dog, or was he trying to gain access to my home, or look in a window. I knew that I was going to have to report this at work. I had no expectation that I would have a sympathetic audience. Stay tuned for more of this series.