*The following post contains descriptions of self harm. Please ensure you are in a safe place before reading*BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Hands where I can see them inmate.”
She woke with a start, disorientated in the bright fluorescent lights that lined the inside of her cell. She looked towards the small window in her door and saw the sneering face of the guard who had woken her.
I’ve shared with you all before that I have been in jail before. I was there for 2 months. Two long months. Two months is certainly long enough to know what the routines are, what is expected and to miss the things that you take for granted in the ‘outside world’. It’s this experience that makes me pissed off when I see people make flippant remarks about how ‘easy’ criminals have it in jail. It’s certainly easier for a lot of people than being out on the streets, but it’s certainly no walk in the park.
I haven’t really talked about this. Well not in great detail to many people. I have glossed over the details. Who really wants to admit stuff like this anyway? This post has been in the back of my mind since I started this blog. I just needed to find the right words. On Friday I got in one of my lovely moods where I am mostly inappropriately open about things in my past. I posted on a friends link about treatment of mentally ill people in prisons. It all snowballed from there and I ended up pouring my story out to this friend. I’m glad I did because it gave me the push in the right direction I needed to start this post. The post where I talk about why I was in jail and what happened.
It’s almost 4 years on and I’m still paranoid about the police. Every time a police car drives past, my heart starts to beat 100 miles an hour. It kind of unnerves me that I have police officers as friends on my facebook. I’m always on edge waiting for the penny to drop.