Not Relatable
Most people don’t have the ridiculous problems I do. I’m currently planning to take a little trip to Nebraska for a couple weeks to do hard time. Granted, it will be at a rural county jail — we’re not talking San Quentin here — so the accommodations are, in the words of my attorney, “not unbearable.” They allow you reading and writing materials, and if I have those two things, I think I can basically survive anything. As long as my mind is occupied, I will survive.
I’ve vacillated about which is worse: having a cell to myself, or being stuck with other people. They can’t guarantee that a cell will be available for me to be by myself, but choosing that is my first instinct. I am afraid of not getting any sleep if I’m with degenerates who snore or yell or otherwise disturb my precious, precious sleep. If I don’t sleep my symptoms get really bad. It’s not a pretty scene.
On the other hand, I was thrown into solitary when I did time in Berkeley, and I pretty quickly yearned for human interaction. You also can’t watch TV if you’re by yourself. I don’t care about TV when I’m at home, but I might be bored enough to consider it quality entertainment in jail. You just never know.
Ideally, they’ll let me be by myself and then let me be with others if it doesn’t work out. I can’t imagine the jail is horribly overpopulated being that it’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. Definitely not looking forward to the food, but that’s to be expected with any jail stay. I most appreciated the green oranges I got when I was locked up in Napa County.
Who knows how nice all the officers/bailiffs/whatever the fuck they’re called will be. The most important thing is how nice the judge will be. He/she could sentence me to up to 60 days, but in cases like this my attorney typically sees 7–12 days. Then I have a two day credit for my stay from being in jail there the first time. I’m hoping the judge has mercy on me and sentences on the lighter side. I’m a good kid who has had some struggles, and I hope they can see that in me.
When my mom called the jail before, the officer she spoke with was almost apologetic about the whole ordeal. He knew I was getting fucked. That’s why I’m sort of suspecting that everyone will be pretty nice the whole way through my stay. They know I shouldn’t really be there. It was an unjust charge to begin with. People who are high do not call the police for help.
So here I am, being fully unrelatable to anyone except maybe fellow bipolars who also have hella legal troubles due to their manias. I accept this. This is just my reality. Soon enough though, it will be behind me. That’s what I’m looking forward to most. Doing the time and then being able to walk away from it and leave it in my past. True, the DUI will continue to haunt me for another seven years or some ridiculous shit like that, at which point you can be damn sure I’m getting it expunged from my record. Sometimes, though, places require that you disclose all crimes, including ones that have been expunged. Seems unfair. You paid your debt to society — nobody needs to know about it for life.
I think the hardest thing will be not having cigarettes. I’ve never gone cold turkey before and I’ve smoked for 10 years. I’m assuming jail isn’t as nice as the mental hospital, who I was pleasantly surprised to learn provides “nicotine cessation therapy,” a.k.a. nicotine patches. Awful. You can be sure I will be stashing about four packs to smoke once I get out.
I will survive, though. I could be facing a lot worse. I just hope that I continue this recent trend of not getting arrested. Luckily now that this matter is being resolved, I no longer have an active warrant out for my arrest. That feels good in and of itself. I’m so, so ready to turn my life around.
