Where did I leave off last? Oh yeah, I told the world to do its worst and it did just that, things got worse, lol. After my last journal I started doing what I could to try and get my destroyed life back and good. As you all know I really didn’t have much to work with but I was making do, my life was starting to look up. I lined up a job, I found a housing project that was willing to help me out, there was a plan to start fixing my huge debt, I was healing up, I found out that I didn’t have to go through chemotherapy (another story all together) and I was able to get a therapist for free! I was doing it, I was beating my demons, I was pulling off with no cash too boot!

Now time for it all to come crashing down… I screwed up and got in a argument because I was pushed too far and the cops were called. My nerves were frayed, I was stressed out, and depression had a firm grip on me because what I built was so fragile, if I breathed wrong, it’s destroyed. “COUGH!” Opps… I had a warrant out for my arrest and I typical me not knowing what to do, I when to the cops and told them I wanted to take care of it and be able to move on. They told me, “You are in the wrong city and we have to arrest you.” Me: “Wrong city? Were in Denver, it happened in Denver.” Policeman: “Correct, but you are in district 6, you needed to go to district 1. Now hold out your hands.” I told him my situation but he just smirked. I went to jail, where this lady on pcp was soiling herself all the way there. She was fucking nuts and I cried, (by the way you can’t, CAN’T cry in jail) this had to of been the lowest I have been ever. I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. Oh and that one phone call you are suppose to get, there is no one phone call, that cost $30. I only knew three numbers, one my family’s but I couldn’t get around the no solicitors block call. Next was my buddy Devin but his phone won’t take $30 collect calls. Last was my ex-wife, I got through to her but that made things worse….

I was fucked, fucked hard. I lost my car because I parked in the police parking lot and it got towed to impound for $200 a night. I lost the job I lined up, kicked out of therapy, lost the housing project, I was sent to collections on many things because I couldn’t take care of them. I could go on but you get the picture.

Things inside were fucking bad, I was put on suicide watch and sent me to solitary four times because I just kept breaking down uncontrollability. I told them I was just depressed and over whelmed but they still sent me there. My heart felt like it had a dull knife slowly being pushed in it. Solitary is a whole other level of hell, my cell had blood, food, and shit on the walls, it was sick and depressing. They don’t let you out of your cell at all, it’s small, they forget to feed you, people screaming scary things non-stop, and I almost lost my mind. In general population, it’s always freezing, the food isn’t really food and I became friends with drug dealers, drug addicts, gang members, attempted murders, witnessed horrible violence, deafened myself in against horrible violence, lost the skin on the bottom of my feet in a fight, learned more about illegal drugs then I ever wanted to know, had hard drugs offered to me, weed, crack, heroin, ecstasy, and never really slept more than 4 hours at a time because there is noise always. The smell of body odor is profluent because deodorant is very hard to get, wore the same underwear for the entire two weeks before I could wash it, listened to other sad, depressing life stories and if that wasn’t enough, the police were trying to medicate me non-stop with vicodin, sleeping pills, anti-depressants, as well as other uppers and downers. I never caved in and took anything, maybe I should have? They did threaten to let me see a therapist but that never happened. This place made no sense, and I the other prisoners found out about my spots!!!! No bueno….

I told them about the furry sub-culture and the few that accepted me in to their circle had my back, although I was the butt of a lot of jokes. Time went by and I drew furry art and a lot of request for people. I impressed some so much that they were going to get their request tattoo on them! My skill was money in there, thank goodness too because I this was the only thing going for me. My work got me an envelope and I wrote home but never received a letter back. After a week and a half of sending my letter and no response, I lost hope in getting out and fixing my life. The other prisoners showed me how to make a crutch for my pencil because the pencils are tiny. What I mean by crutch is basically make playing card hold your pencil so it would be the length of a normal pencil. What they really did was show me how to make a shiv. Eep!

Weeks when by without knowing what was going on outside, what was the situation with my legal issue, my depression wasn’t letting up either, I was losing weight like crazy, honestly had suicide on my mind and now I had a shiv, finally they took me to court. I was so distraught I really couldn’t make any decision clearly as what to do legally and things when baaaaadly. As they were taking back to general pop, I had some sort of mental break down and I tried, I really, really tried to hold it together too. It was like I was possessed, I lost control myself, I fell to my knees shaking and screaming, balling like my heart wanted to come out of my mouth. I was hot and cold, and my nerves felt like they were exposed. Now curled up on the ground I lost my vision, started to shake violently and drool. I could hear all the cops freaking out standing over me not knowing what to do, and then I passed out.

I don’t know how much time passed but I was dreaming, this didn’t happen much because mostly I had nightmares but now I was dreaming! I dreamed that I was back with my ex-wife and we were having a beautiful picnic, sitting in the sun, eating tacos. After we ate I held her and we talked about our dreams and I was happy, we were happy. Then I woke up, I was back in solitary and like a ton of bricks my depression crushed me. I began to cry because I was in hell. The guards saw my art so to cheer me up they gave me my pencils and my crutch…. After a few days and not killing myself they put me back into general pop. As I walked in everyone was running around screaming and freaking out! The guard was freaking out too! Some sick guy was so mentally ill he was eating his own feces! The madness just never stops. Medics came and so did a lot of cops to handle the situation. Trying not to cry or let my now extreme depression take me again I kept myself active. This was hard because I was emotionally exasted all the time and had no energy, I hardly slept because of nightmares and noise. I still had trouble eating, and was bruised up from previous fight, playing handball, basketball and running in the yard. I was taring up the bottom of my feet and I was in pretty bad pain but I had to keep myself distracted because if I didn’t I might have a psychotic break or kill myself. I read books about the holocaust, people being kidnapped in Australia and then being turned to slaves, failed marriages and murder. The weird thing about reading these stories was these stories were true and people lived through much worse. I drew strength from those stories. More time painfully passed and I became mad fit, meek, better at art request, and everyone was starting to like me, they even started called me cheetah.

One day after 5 hours of playing in the yard I waited for the shower to free up so I could work on more art. I was sweating and stunk like a skunk, so I chilled at the tables yapping with my crew about the blood in my shoes, how bad I smelled, and how I felt I was going to pass out. When the guard yelled for me telling me that I have to get my things, I’m leaving again. My blood ran cold, “fuck! I’m going back to solitary again!” (I still cried a lot) Tearing up I gathered my things but I didn’t cry and everyone was telling me to be strong, dapping me (closest thing to a hug you can do in there) and telling me other words of encouragement. I gave away all the things I earned because I couldn’t keep them where I was going. After what seemed like a longest good bye I was sent out in to the sally port (the room between general pop and the hall) by myself. What the hell was going on??? As usual I was never told what was happening but I figured it out when they brought me to the entrance and told me to put my cloths on sign the bond papers. I was getting out!!! Once that was done I was driven to an office for legal stuff.

The letter I wrote home was received two days after I sent it and my family wrote back right away. I didn’t receive their letter because the police have to read every letter coming in and that takes up to three weeks. My family also tried many times to see me but the police kept screwing up the appointments my family would make. When they finally could see me the video conference cams that you are allowed to see inmates on, would be broken. My family is hurting financially and that’s why it took so long to get the money and they put in everything they had to get me out. I feel bad because that was all their Christmas money as well. They waited for me for 7 hours to get out but it didn’t matter because processing took 9 hours to file me out and on top of that, the police told them the wrong building to wait for me. When I finally did get out I broke down emotionally and with no money or phone I walked over to my ex-therapist’s office across the city to start all over again.

I’ve been out for a week or so now, I’m pretty traumatized, scared, and meek, but I’m pushing through my issues, my depression and slowly getting things going again. I'm very thankful for the people that love me too. I’ll recover from this and I’ll make my life great again. I’m not dead so I'm going keep trying! Never give up, right? K world, what next?

Merry Christmas everyone.