Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

Chopper’s favorites are the drunk driving rednecks that pour into this place on Friday and Saturday nights. Most are still drunk and pissed off that they are there, so he’ll stand right next to them and talk shit about their mom or scream at them until the drunk will try and push him away or cuss him out. That’s when he uses his boots to break people’s legs or kick out some of their teeth. Sometimes they will arrest two men outside a bar that have been fighting with each other, both will be bruised, bloody and strapped to those wooden cross looking things that basically bends them over backwards and prevents all movement. They put these hogtied guys on a flatbed cart and wheel them in all strapped down. Rare is the time when I haven’t seen Chopper get a few good licks on these totally immobilized people, breaking a rib or giving them an elbow to the eye. This is pure twisted legalized evil and I wish I could film it to pass to any news agency. I literally hope he gets killed in one of his own melees but I seriously doubt the world is that lucky. Most of the other goons just eat donuts while watching him kick people’s asses all night and if it gets too crazy they’ll all dog pile a prisoner and really fuck him up. I’ve had to look away many times and I’ve been threatened with being taken off trustee duty if I ever yell at them to stop again. One protest from me was enough to get a busted lip and some kidney shots so I mostly just watch and fume when I see something really bad, feeling totally powerless. So when I say we have to clean up the processing room it usually means cleaning the trash from people’s pockets, somebody’s vomit from an overdose or too much drink and the blood that Chopper splatters on the floor.

Tuddy came in today from visitation and I found out later that his brother had died last week and nobody could get in to tell him until after the ceremony. I guess the cliché that white people instinctively run towards trouble is true. I could tell he was hurting and while the other black guys in the tank could also tell something was up with him and backed off, I was the one who finally tried to be a pal and asked him what was wrong? He was so upset and angry that he sucker punched me and I got in a couple quick ineffective retaliatory shots to his nose before the other brothers pulled him back. It was cool that the other guys were there for me when it all went down because given another minute Tuddy could have taken me apart like a surgeon. He didn’t mean me any specific harm, this place just gets to people. Feeling so powerless compels a man to do something to regain a sense of power.

He never apologized, but I could tell we were still cool a little later; his brain just needed time to process everything that had happened or to shove it down deep so it wouldn’t affect him. This place is slowly killing a piece of everyone.

Well I’m back out on the streets after another three months of waiting. The problem is that in Texas you have one foot in prison and one foot on a banana peel. I’m going to enjoy myself as best I can for a few weeks, try to rekindle my love with Jen and be with her as much as possible before I violate again. I know I’m an addict now and hooking back up with her means I’ll soon be a part of the smack-run again but it’ll give me the chance to be involved in helping her life for a little while. For this little while I’m going to devote my life to her, even if I can’t find a way to tell her that I’m going to have to go back. She would get angry if I told her why, but I want her to remember me as I loved her. I would die for her but I won’t get all wacky obsessed with her again just to have it taken all away, if not for my sake, then hers.

Besides, this getting out of jail crap is a big joke anyway. I’m expected to pay the County money to be free, yet nobody will hire me in a job that can pay my start-from-scratch living expenses. Then, on top of that, when I’m not scraping money together to help them build new jails, I’m supposed to do community service. Then, on top of THAT, I’m supposed to find a way to pay for a series of classes that gets me a letter that says I’m rehabilitated. I sorry I have to refuse to comply, but thanks for letting me out on my temporary jail pass.

I still have no family to turn to and I won’t ask Jenifer to help. I have no possessions, no more worries and I’ll do what I can to settle my affairs with the time I’m given. They’ll be able to give me up to two years once I’m back inside. That’s just the way it is and what I might have to do. Since I’ve missed two birthdays and every holiday at least once while I’ve been incarcerated, a few more won’t make much difference.

Jenifer, I have ego now and I’m not scared. I hope one day you’ll understand that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing but I’m doing what I think is right for both of us. Dammit Jenifer, I love you, I pray everyday now. I pray that you will heal. I’ve never stopped loving you as you are. I still fantasize that I want to have a child with you and that one day we can magically live together for the rest of our lives. I’m just grateful to know you and to have been a part of your life in a small way since I think you are the most truly magnificent person I’ve ever met. I know we’ll always be friends and I guess that should come first, even if the way we have to get there is a shitty road to be on.

A part of me had to die to gain the little bit of wisdom I needed to have these thoughts and write these words, but I never envisioned having to hit rock bottom when I prayed to God for knowledge. The trouble with wisdom is that most of it comes from experience. Le Petit Mort.

My dad once said Jenifer reminded him of Katherine Hepburn. I think he meant it as a compliment though. The only image I have of Hepburn is the wrinkly scratchy throat lady who was a bitch to everyone. Apparently she was somebody especially beautiful a long, long time ago. God shaped Jenifer’s soul to suit her face. I now know that if I ever want to achieve my full potential, be better than blue collar, I cannot indulge in my fantasy of a life together. My denial of the ordinary forbids my indulgence and eventual stagnation. Please just know and remember that I will always love you.

“Instead of a war on poverty, there’s a war on drugs that says the police can bother me.”

“How do you know where I’m at when you haven’t been where I’ve been, understand where I’m coming from?”

Sung to the Brady Bunch Tune:

I’ve been back in here quite a few months now. I don’t really keep track of the time or anything anymore. There is weekend time and weekday time. It’s funny how weekend time is really dreaded around here. Weekend time is when you know there will be no progress made whatsoever on anything concerning you. Some of the other prisoners get visits but I’ve given up on expecting or getting upset and moody when nobody comes to see me. I guess it’s been a few weeks since I saw my sister and a few months since I’ve seen Jenifer. The mail doesn’t come on the weekend and the blacks take over the TV so they can watch Soul Train and Flava TV, a local rap video show. I must admit I’ve come to enjoy the latter after months without music. The people that keep track of time are the people that know when they are getting out or when they should be getting shipped down south to prison. It’s kind of funny that the county jail is so bad that people who know they are going to prison get bent out of shape when the guards run a chain and they are not on it.