Pro Re Nata

Hello.

 

Not real sure how I feel today, gentle reader. I am pretty adept at self medication, I’ve spent a lot of my life medicating the things inside of me. I am restricting it to only stuff I am prescribed, just to be safe. I can just see it now, “Oh yeah Mark is on his blog going on about how much drugs he takes…”. So, I watch my step. I asked this guy once “if a snitch snitches in the woods and no-one is there to hear it, is it still snitching?” The answer is  “yes, yes it is”. Unless you have been there, you cannot really comprehend the feeling of being locked in a cell and left to your own devices 23 hours of the day.  I am prepared to go to great lengths to ensure I never see the inside of a cell again…. in this life anyway. Statistically I am kind of already fucked. Maori, Drug user, lengthy police record and having already served two custodial sentences, I fit right into the shitty end of any given statistic about crime and punishment in New Zealand.

The police cells are the worst, they have in them a toilet (stainless steel, no lid) a concrete bench to sit or lie down on. If you are lucky you might get a book, a blanket or nicotine lozenges to keep you calm. They are either too hot or too cold. I remember trying to use my sweatshirt as a sleeping bag. “Shivered the whole night through”.  If you are lucky the guy across the hall has real smokes or a joint. “How can that help, if you are both locked up?” I hear you say. Well, it’s called “fishing”. Meals come in plastic takeaway trays. (that’s where the similarity to real food ends though, it’s usually something nasty and inedibly and aggressively microwaved to death.). Farm animals get better food than police station food.

 

Ok so, fishing. You tear up a sheet, a blanket or a garment that you can live without. You carefully tear it so that it makes a long strip, like a rope,  length of string or a fishing line, if you have the imagination for it. You find a way to pierce the tray and tie one end of the line to it and then you place whatever you want to share with the other guy or guys and you slide the tray out under the door or gently through the food slot. If you are going to use the food slot you will want to cover the tray so the stuff doesn’t fall out when you peer pulls it up and in through his hole. (he he he “his hole”) (sorry, juvenile). If you don’t have a tray you can easily just tie it up in a bundle. The other person has made a similar length of line except his just has something with a bit of weight to it, I guess like a sinker at the end of a real fishing line. The trick is to toss the heavy end across the line attached to the tray. (Exactly the way you do not cross lines if you are fishing, kite flying or working with electricity)  Once it’s tangled with the other line you simply have to pull the package inside and hope like hell that there are no cops coming down. Meanwhile the person who sent the tray over gently pulls the tray back; ready to do it again or send it to another person. I was in Tokoroa police station for a week back in 2008 and we had a whole system going which involved sending smokes, lighters, pills and pipes along the wing; between 5 or 6 men.

I digress, again… The first time they lock the door is perhaps the worst feeling you can have without being in love or having someone close die. Society has put you somewhere dark and hard and they do not want you to be part of, well, a part of anything. It can snap peoples minds and at night you hear the screaming and banging on cell doors. I know of a few stories of men stripping off, taking a big dump and smearing it all over the cell and themselves. I’ve never felt so inclined, my style is to try and stay calm and just keep my eyes on a future that isn’t in a cage. Anyone who knows me knows that if I haven’t got my nose in a book I can’t sleep,  those are long nights begging the universe for sleep. Every time I nod off the cops will bring some screaming lunatic down to the next cell or even just opening and closing doors really loudly. My personal situation was exacerbated by the fact that the police refused me medication for 4 days. I met other men who said that the police had made sure they got their meds, it seems like they decided that they were going to further punish me. I can imagine the cops going to the  Desk Sergeant with my request for medication and him (or her) saying, “No, fuck him, we aren’t gonna lift a finger”. Withdrawal from all of my medication meant that I was a crazy, messy ball of mental and they kept me in that state for another 3 days .  It is probably grounds for a complaint but, well, you don’t complain about the Cops or Screws because they have long memories and friends everywhere.

I know that it’s not supposed to be fun though; please don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to minimise my experience or cheapen the reasons I was there.  I am not trying to portray myself as some kind of hard man, prison expert either because I am not. But I do feel compelled to write about it. The tenacity, resourcefulness and cunning that people are capable of in trying situations is a testament to our species. Take “Hogans Heroes” for instance, those guys had a bunk bed that opened into a tunnel…  Dave Chappelle talks about the paradox of people being offended or hurt by his comedy and yet they were the ones who bought the tickets, you dig me, kind and mindful reader? Not that this is supposed to be comedy but the analogy fits. So, before you get all grumpy about things, potentially grumpy reader, please remember that you clicked on this.

I hope neither of us ever has to face that soul crushing despair, self doubt and fear again.

Several times a day my mind trips over itself and places me back inside that place and those feelings. I’d like to say it gets less stressful or panic inducing but I would be lying and we are trying to avoid that. The worst times are dreams.

I am struggling. I guess that’s no big surprise but it’s still a drag. I still have so much of my “to do” list to achieve but it’s not coming easily.  Some of the things are on hold for lack of funds. Welfare still refuse to help me and I am mindful to not be a burden on others so I just have to be patient. Finding a home, engaging with my family, getting my licence,  eye tests and glasses to go with them, getting my kidney issue sorted out and losing all this blubber are the things that keep me up at night (figuratively).  It all feels so huge and impossible. I clam up. The worse my anxiety, panic and ptsd get, the less I feel capable of action. Like a rabbit in headlights .

I expect the worst from people and I get to the point where I just hide from everything. Its fucked right? Heres an example: I asked my GP to refer me to a mental health provider. He did. They came around on Friday to speak to me and I have an appt with them. But it’s a “Kaupapa Maori” organisation and I do not feel very safe opening up, my experience with other Maori has been traumatic and cruel and I feel a bit pissy that my GP seems to have referred me according to my ethnicity. I just do not trust those kinds of organisations because I’ve worked in one and I know what they are like. I do not fit in and, after 25 or 30 years of it, I decided I wasn’t going to subject myself to it again. So, anxiety, panic and fear are such that they keep me from getting help with, well, anxiety, panic and fear. You see?

I do not want to be this living breathing pile of confusing and unhelpful paradoxes.

I’m still not sure if I should be posting about this stuff but I really do not have anything left to lose. Some days I can be busy and forget, in that moment I feel like myself but those moments pass rapidly and I have to face just how fucked I am. I cannot see any way out, forward, under or over and it’s a stark and cold feeling. I have, lately, been waking and not knowing who or where I am. It lasts for 10 maybe 15 seconds. Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter but the feeling is the same. I hear a dialogue in my mind. “Hey where am I?” , “who am I?” and having no answer for myself. It all gradually comes back into focus but it’s quite a strange sensation… a bit like how I imagine astronauts feel.

Thats all. I am pretending that my heart isn’t broke. It’s not always easy.

I love you, you know that.

oxM

 

p.s – I stumbled upon some photographs today that made me feel happy. I thought, dearest reader, that I’d share them with you.

here goes…