Prisoner #56

Chapter 9

"So, after my confrontation with my wife and son, realizing I lost everything, the pain burning through me, I raced back to Jack's. I closed myself in my room and shot up so much heroin I almost overdosed. The only reason I didn't die that night is because Jack found me lying on the floor, comatose, barely breathing. He rushed me to the ER and paid for my medical bills. When I was released, however, he was pissed at me. He told me to never take that much again. Me going to the hospital was too much of a risk to our business together. He told me to be careful.

I may have listened at first, but I eventually threw caution to the wind. I lost it all. I no longer cared anymore. I started getting risky, taking more heroin, almost getting caught in my deals. Jack could no longer handle me and finally kicked me out of his house. I ended up living on the streets and dealing drugs to stay alive.

Well, it all caught up with me, Shiloh. I almost overdosed again one night, but someone found me on the street. I was saved a second time. Yet, without Jack to back me up, I was alone. I was caught. The police found my drugs. That night, after getting treatment in the hospital, I was thrown in jail.

Well, you kind of know this part about me already. I went to jail, escaped, and went back to taking drugs. Now instead of just being a drug addict and a dealer, I added being an escapee to my criminal record. Working at the bank gave me the skills to help me break out each time.

The police had me on their radar then and with each escape, they knew where to find me. They knew what remaining connections I had. Yet, with each escape, with each blunder I made to maintain a grasp on my drug addicted life, I burned every bridge that I had. Eventually, no one wanted to deal with or be around me. I was a risk.

When I escaped prison for the very last time and was caught again, the authorities threw me in Dallas Correctional. I was one step below maximum security and that would have been the next place for me had I escaped here. I remember when I first got here, I was frantic to get out. I tried everything, I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find a way. I couldn't get back to my drugs. I began panicking, as I knew what was coming.

The withdrawals. The withdrawals. Oh, holy hell, they were awful. I remember being in my cell at night, shaking, sweating, screaming for my heroin. I wanted it so bad that I was burning inside. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die.

I disrupted the other prisoners. They wanted nothing to do with me. The guards were mean to me, especially Steve, our favorite Chevelle. He would beat me and tell me to shut the fuck up, and that I would never see my drugs again. That made me cry. I had panic attacks. I couldn't live on the outside, and I couldn't live on the inside either. I was a horrible mess and knowing I would never feel the high heroin gave me almost destroyed me. I would have to take on all of the pain that I had tried to bury and go it alone.

Well, a few months into my sentence, I was parked alone in the recreation yard. I was kind of like you in a way, years ago. No one wanted to be around me. I was the crazy druggie that no one wanted to be associated with. I remember just looking down at my tires, sighing. The withdrawals were not as intense, but I still didn't feel right. I was now only left with myself, that was all I had. No distractions. It was just me. The me I had been avoiding could no longer be avoided, I had to face it. Now that my mind was clearer, I thought of everything I did. The mistakes I made. Who I was. Through this, I thought, I'm still a gay man. Now being in prison surrounded by men, especially watching them in the shower bay, didn't help in the slightest. I couldn't deny it or run from it anymore. That was me and there was nothing I could do to change it.

As I was parked alone, I felt someone pull up next to me.

It was a guard. When I saw him, I immediately tensed up.