by Brian A. Wilkins
This day corresponds with Wednesday, August 20.
Here we go again. Its about 7 a.m. and the doors have not opened. Must be another lockdown day, which means no clean towels or clean socks. I guess after 30 days of this, I should be used to that though. There’s just no telling what could be happening in my body right now. Drinking water from the same source as a toilet and the fact there’s no telling what could be in some of this food I’ve been forced to eat out of sheer starvation all likely equals deteriorating health. My stomach hurts everyday and I think I’m going to need a root canal for a tooth making it difficult for me to chew on one side of my mouth.
“STRIP DOWN TO YOUR BOXERS!! STRIP DOWN TO YOUR BOXERS, NOW!” a female D.O. yelled up and down the tier. I wonder if they do this stuff just to strip away any remnants of dignity people may have left in here. If this is how they treat people who have been convicted of nothing, I really feel bad for those in prisons. “Boxers off!” an SRT guy said as he entered the cell. I stood there naked, with Juan a couple inches away from me naked as well, while the SRT guy broke all the pencils the pisa guy made for me and threw all of Juan’s left-over food on the ground. After the proverbial “lift your sack, spread your cheeks, bend over” routine, I was ordered to put the boxers back on and head outside; where again, about 80 near-naked dudes sat in a small area, burning up from the heat. Sadly, several guys were joking and laughing…but these were the people who knew they were headed to prison for decades. This was part of their lives…a life I wanted no part of.
All I have to write with at the moment is a tiny piece of lead I found on the floor; since the SRT guy broke all my pencils. I had planned on calling the public defender’s office again today to see if the judge got my letters/motions and whether or not an attorney has been assigned to me. Or maybe I’ll get a letter from the prosecutors office with a plea bargain that will get me out of here. Even though I keep hearing from guys in here to stick it out and don’t sign anything; because that’s what they want me to do. But hell, I can’t just sit here indefinitely, as a slave to a demented system of human manipulation. The clothes I’m wearing smell so bad…the towel I’m going to have to dry off with if/when I do ever get a chance to take a shower smells even worse. This cellmate smells bad; the toilet smells like piss; I’m going to go nuts in here. This is my 30th day in here…there has to be a set timetable so I know when I’ll never have to wake up in here again. The time has come.