The only clarity my life had known was found through the bottle and/or overuse of the white lightning known as cocaine.
These 2 items.
Made.
Me.
For upwards of 20 years, the legend of me (in my mind) grew to enormity.
Unashamed.
Uncaring.
Unbreakable.
Without those 2 items I was an egg without a yoke. A goo encased by a shell.
Ingestion of the items broke the shell, and the beast inside would come alive.
Clarity through chemistry. No goals. No guidance. Just go.
Until I wasn’t allowed to pass go to get my $200.
Clarity was redefined.
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I awoke on concrete. It appeared my wardrobe has been drastically altered from what I remembered putting on last week.
A week of lost time.
Eventually the pieces would return to complete the puzzle, but for now I was left with
“What Happened?”
I was wearing a white jumpsuit, pink boxers and orange slip on shoes.
I arose from my concrete bed and looked around. This did not take long.
I was in a cell.
Not the type of cell I was used to.
This was the isolation cell.
“What…..happened?”
4 thick concrete walls. 1 thick plexiglass door with a slot on it. A sink, toilet and an aluminum mirror above it. A raised concrete slab with a 2 inch foam mattress. A stool to sit on. A light high up above.
Clarity.
Silence.
Mindless silence.
I sat and tried to….remember. How long? I do not know. There was no clock.
There was a loud click of a lock being released. I looked to my right. My door had opened. An extremely large officer stood at the door and spoke.
“1 hour out for shower and to walk around. You want it?”
Dazed I replied,
“What happened? What did I do?”
He answered,
“1 hour out for shower and to walk around. You want it?”
I got up and headed to the shower. The officer walked out of what was called the day room and locked the other steel door.
I took my shower. Then walked around.
The day room was surrounded by 8 cells. 2 unoccupied. I figured one of the other 6 occupants might know where I was.
Cell 1-empty
Cell 2- a Hispanic man who spoke no English. He occupied his time by drawing ducks on his cell wall.
Cell 3-a young black man who yelled at me for looking at him.
Cell 4- mine
Cell 5- a very tall lanky white male. He was naked. His mattress in tatters and what appeared to be his own feces splattered all over the walls. He was face down on the floor mumbling.
Cell 6- empty
Cell 7- an old black man with no teeth. He growled at me and told me not to take his stuff as he wrote the entire layout of a grocery store on his walls.
Cell 8- a middle aged black man wearing glasses and reading the bible.
He looked up at me, took off his glasses and spoke.
“Are you doing ok? I ask because I heard you screaming and rambling most of the last 2 days. Word has it you told the officers to kill you….which is probably why you are here.”
I looked at him kind of stunned.
“So….where am I?”
He smiled a little and plainly replied,
“4th floor of the County Jail. Also known as the psyche unit. I would tell you to get comfortable…you will be here a while….but it’s impossible to get comfortable in this box.”
I sighed then replied,
“I don’t know what I did. Blackouts, hallucinations I’m lost. You don’t seem crazy? Why are you here?”
He looked me sternly in the eyes.
“Crazy is undefinable in here. They will figure that our for you. My crimes are only relative to the ones who will judge me….are you judging me?”
I shuffled my feet and was about to attempt to answer when the steel door of the day room opened again.
“Hours up, back in.” the extremely large officer said as he lead me to my cell.
I made a mental note to myself not to engage in conversation with the other animals for the remainder of my time in this concrete paradise.
23 hours a day I remained in the cell.
No contact.
No conversation.
No interaction.
Each day spending time pacing.
16 paces heel to toe long side.
8 paces heel to toe short side.
Hour after hour.
Day after day.
Searching for mental clarity in the cold silence.
______________
This is part of my story.
For more of my journey follow the link below
Good2begone 