A New Perspective For Solitary
By Jeremy Craft
My mind wanders to a place seemingly so far away
I seek to embrace the annoyance of those whose rage has gone beyond the boundaries of temperance and virtue
Any sound perhaps, save for the eerie void of silence
Has one ever argued that “peace and quiet” is riddled with uncertainty?
I yearn for the pleasure of interaction, no matter its subtle existence. There is a massive clump of loneliness which saddles my stricken heart in which it seems that nothing in the fertile world can aid a barren soul that is exhausted and quite reasonably now, slightly indifferent to the effect of love.
How can one so bewildered identify its authenticity? Is there even a care beyond the walls which besieges me? Why has the minute weight of the word “hello” felt so massive that I crave the cadence it brings? Desperately needing its engagement to, at the very least, become partial to the unsubstantiated fact that I am a human being.
In which, if this is so, deserving of all aspects of humanity and human decency.
These walls don’t talk, even when I speak too loudly. Some guards won’t talk even when my speech is void of equality. In fact, it’s peppered with the dotted specks of inferiority. How could “docile” not infringe upon the impossible shell of self-absorbed?
Hope forages still, deceptively, among life’s expectations, so … I reached.
It mostly manages to evade. The razor blade has yet to be so elusive. A solitary slice across the throat (or wrist), it’s what needn’t be the solution. What’s needed to feel alive?
A simple gesture of kindness from a complete stranger via a letter or message …
Being reassured that I’m not alone helps …
Am I to Blame?
By Jeremy Craft
In 2023 I was on the Coffield Unit. We were in the season of cold weather. Warmth was almost impossible to find if you didn’t have a hotpot to keep warm from cups of hot coffee or hot water.
I met Westside (everyone has nicknames in prison) while he was on suicide watch. No one is ever truly honest about why they’re suddenly on suicide watch but I never judge because we’re all going through things. We all have problems. Maybe he had a drug addiction and had an “episode” that most guys have after “too much” crystal … who knows?
I asked the usual questions that are asked when someone (who seems normal) ends up on suicide watch. Like, what do they call you? Where are you from? What tank did you fall out of? What are you doing on suicide watch? I finally felt comfortable enough to sit at the door and talk to him for a bit. Questions must be asked because a lot of guys pull “shady” moves and then go to suicide watch in order to avoid the heat that comes with it.
He told me that he just wanted to get away from where he was because of all the noise. He said he just needed a break, or a vacation, in his words.
I learned that he had children. He had a family that supported him. He also had a girl that he was just thinking about marrying once he was released.
Oh yeah, he only had six months before he was to finally be released. He had only been in prison for five years and a few months.
As we chatted off and on throughout the day, I offered him a sheet to cover up with because I knew how cold it was and I knew that suicide watch wasn’t allowed to have clothes or blankets to keep warm.
That’s the punishment for being suicidal or for admitting that you have suicidal thoughts. There was a female officer (Mrs. B) who was monitoring the suicide watch that day. She was known for being approachable and for being a down-to-earth officer who anyone could talk to.
Westside was on one row, in the cell right below me, actually. That’s also what made it easy to talk to him without getting too loud and disturbing others. It was also easy for me to throw a sheet over the rail and onto one row so that she could give it to him.
She gave him the sheet immediately once I explained to her how cruel it was to have a man sit in a cell completely naked during the winter season.
She clearly agreed.
After he received the sheet, we continued to chat. He told me about his plans once he was released. His little girl’s seventh birthday was in the same month that he was to get out. We laughed when he said that he promised to get her a Black mermaid birthday cake. He told me that she said she would share it with him but that everyone else could only eat ice cream.
I could hear the love in his voice. Talking about his life almost made me forget that I was serving a life sentence … and that I would probably never get to experience simple (but special) moments like that.
He also promised that this would be his last time in prison. I told him that’s what everyone says. He said he was serious about it though. We’ll see … (that’s what I said in response).
I finally grew bored (and more cold) from sitting by the door so I told him to cover up and try to get warm because it was bound to be a long night. He agreed. The temp continued to drop as the sun went down.
I told him to hang in there and keep his head up because the doctor would see him the following day.
I lay on my bunk and placed my headphones on to listen to some music on my tablet.
At shift change, Westside hung himself.
Am I to blame?
I Suck at Love
By Jeremy Craft
I totally suck at love
But we both knew that
We laughed and joked about it but
It’s something we both had
In common…because you suck at it as well
I was never good for you
And never would’ve been
But we shared a fantasy of
The impossible
As if we were meant to be
My confusion versus your delusions
Was one hell of a mixture
Your laughter, your anger, your tears
Kept my mind occupied instead of
Remaining in silence
Instead of loneliness, darkness and depression
Those demons that lurk in the back
Of my mind…only waiting to pounce
At just the right moment
I totally suck at love
How can we explain our connection
Or, the affection we confessed to have
Even without a shared touch, taste or smell
Or, a conversation held in person
In real life
Who are we to make plans
For the future
My Experience
By Jeremy Craft
You really wanna know what it’s like in solitary confinement?? I can’t speak for anyone else but I’ll definitely speak for myself because I’ve experienced quite a bit in the last 14 years…
Solitary confinement (for me) is:
Hoping and wishing to get a letter from anyone (that never actually comes.)
It’s being trapped in a cell for 23 hours a day, being treated as if I’m less than human, being fed through a food port like an animal (and if I choose to respond to the verbal abuse that I usually receive) being starved that day at meal time.
It’s suicidal thoughts daily, depression, voices in my head and visions out of the corner of my eye (that really isn’t there).
It’s stress, tears, anger and fear all at once. It’s not wanting to wake up in the mornings to the same b/s as yesterday and the day before that. There’s loud noises, banging on doors and dirty smells that seep through the vents. There’s the loud arguments and old war stories that people tell each other in order to show that they were once a somebody before they ended up as a nobody behind a steel door.
It’s screams in the middle of the night from those who’ve finally had enough.
There’s the smell of urine and feces that’s usually
I can’t forget to mention the loneliness that lurks in the back of my mind…waiting for its moment to pounce and consume me from the ground up like an uncontrollable fire.
Each day blends into the next, so weeks sometimes fly by extremely fast. Holidays also come and go. And eventually, I become sick to my stomach when I witness others ‘pretending’ to be happy and celebrating from behind a secured steel door.
As I’ve said before, I’ve been in solitary for 14 years (because in my younger days I was a train wreck, I had no guidance and I was angry at the world). and although I haven’t lost my mind like so many others have, I still feel my sanity slowly slipping away (because being in total isolation has its side effects). I try to keep my mind occupied as much as possible. It’s definitely becoming a challenge as the years continue to pass me by.
I’m pretty sure that others may have different experiences…
But this is just a few of mines.
It’s also my cry for help…
It’s Okay?!
By Jeremy Craft
It’s okay if you cry, if it hurts, if you feel like
You’re not enough.
It’s okay if you’re alone, if you feel alone, if you’ve
Always been so.
It’s okay if you don’t have the answers, have the solutions,
Or, know not what to do.
It’s okay to wanna be loved, to be afraid of love, to be
Curious about love.
Its okay if the illness is terminal, if the survival rate
Is low… And…
If you don’t know where to go.
It’s okay to be confused, to be frustrated and to always
Wonder Why?
It’s okay to laugh at Death, to laugh out loud, to laugh
At Life… to laugh.
It’s okay to wish for love, to miss out on love, to
Never know love.
It’s okay to be lost, to not know yourself, or, to not
Know anyone else.
It’s okay if you have no destination, no motivation,
No aspirations, No plans right now.
It’s okay to make mistakes, And more mistakes, And
Many more mistakes (As long as they aren’t fatal)
It’s okay to wanna give up, to walk with regrets
To always ponder what’s next.
It’s okay to lose, to win, to yell, to scream, to cry,
To Hate, to suffer, to forgive.
It’s okay, if they left, if your heart was broken.
If what you had finally ran its course.
It’s okay if you’ve never lived, never experienced life,
Never been in love, or, never really was.
It’s okay if you never got it right, still can’t get it right
Or, forever a work in progress.
You’re not perfect, we’re not perfect, they’re not perfect,
Life’s not perfect.
But the way you feel, the way you heal, the way you hurt,
The way you continue on…
It only proves what I’ve been saying all along.
You’ll be okay, I’ll be okay, they’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.
Because in the end
It’s really gone be okay
When I Went Away
By Jeremy Craft
18 years of age
I finally went away
Leaving our world for another.
Leaving you behind.
My best friend, my soulmate.
My first mistake at love.
My rock, my shelter
My broken little dove.
My soft place, my medicine.
The one who showed me how
To be brave and courageous
If only for myself.
Tear stained pages
Double worded lines.
Confessions upon confessions.
Struggling but also trying.
You were always the smartest,
The bravest and the prettiest.
You made me happy to be me.
Although your humour was always the lamest.
Many years went by.
10 years on the fly.
15 years before you even reached out
And actually told me ‘Hi’
4 babies from your flesh
All I can say is Wow!
Who would’ve thought that life
Would turn out like this
Me loving you still
After so many years.
A heavy dose of nostalgia
Hearing the laughter and tears
In your voice for the first time
18 years old, i finally went away
Leaving my promises to you behind.
Leaving you to pick up the pieces
To a broken past
On your own.
You Turned Out Quite Fine
By Jeremy Craft
I can’t really explain what life was like for me before prison… because I’ve always been a prisoner. Seven years in TYC at the age of 18 i was sentenced to prison with a three-year bid. I saw a lot… I did a lot… I experienced a lot.
But I learned nothing. I accomplished nothing. I was released out to the world with no plan, no education, no direction, any idea of what I was getting myself into.
I’d been incarcerated sine I was 11 years old (for unlawfully carrying a gun). I went to prison for assault. When I think back to my childhood, I realise that I was running. I was running from the sexual, physical, mental and emotional abuse. I was running from the abandonment. I was running from a place that I was forced to call home where I felt no love.
From anyone.
Released to the world at 21 years old, my life became a train wreck. No job skills, no plans for the future, no communication skills. I only carried an addiction that continues to control my world today.
Drugs…Perversion…
Months after being free, I found myself in a toxic relationship because I was toxic. I had no relationship experience. I knew no other way to connect with people. All I knew was chaos and violence. I still had a problem with authority figures. I still had a problem with being told what to do. I was still an immature child trapped in a man’s body.
In this relationship things happened. Promised were made. Promises were broken. There was so much pent up anger; so many tears; mental and emotional abuse; infidelity; lies.
That same year (2008) my life changed. Poor decisions and ignored advice. I thought I had things figured out. I thought I was in control. I didn’t know the power of addiction. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t really in control. I was lost.
Fast forward to Today..
I’m 37 years old and I’ve witnessed a lot in here. I’ve experienced a lot. I’ve learned a lot.
I decided to become a writer in 2023 when a friend of mine committed suicide when I was on Coffield Unit. He was on suicide watch, so he was basically in a bare cell, butt naked and being watched by an officer. The officer was pretty cool, so she allowed me to send him a sheet to cover up with, to keep warm because this was during the wintertime.
He was in a cell below me so I was able to chat with him, to keep him company because every now and then people just need someone to talk to. I discovered that he was going home in 6 months.
During shift change he hung himself. No one saw that shit coming..
This specific incident changed my entire thought process. Out of all the beat downs I’ve experienced by officers (and witnessed by officers on other inmates), this situation hit me the hardest. I was always a bitter person. I didn’t care about nothing or no one. I would spend the rest of my days in prison (in solitary confinement) so I had no reason to care. Officers were my enemies. Other inmates never mattered and couldn’t be trusted.
When my friend hung himself, I realised at that moment that all we have is each other. In here, we’re all going through things, we all have our own personal problems. We’re all struggling from something. And sometimes, having someone to talk to can make a difference in another person’s life. Sharing personal stories helps as well.
I’ve been in solitary confinement since 2010 (14 years to be exact). I struggle with stress and depression daily because my mother battles stage 4 colon cancer….and I remain in a cell..with a life sentence.
Writing has Become my Escape. It’s my Outlet. I promised (after my friend died) that I would give my all the best way that I could and I would be willing to learn and grow in the progress.
So, here I am and here I go.
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