The truth is better than any story

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 won't go into what I did to end up in jail in this post because it's all in the post I have made before.  For ease of conversation however I will say that my crime is categorised by the law as a violent crime. Even though I had no intention of hurting anyone but myself, the law likes to put everything in nice, neat little boxes.  I was refused bail and spent three days in a watch house.  I went to court once in that time.  So it is with great interest that I watch news programs talk about the 'injustice' that celebrities (if you could even call them that) receive when they are taken into custody.
 

Stripping from head to toe in front of two officers is horrible, you feel disgusting but it's a necessary part of the custody process. While some officers may take their role a little too seriously, this act is not done with the sole purpose of humiliation, despite what the sensationalised media will tell you.  It's necessary to protect both yourself and the people you will be sharing a cell with. Yes there is a high chance that you will have to share.
 

What are they looking for? Contraband.  Once again if you listen to the media then this only stretches to drugs. It's not. It's anything that can be used as a weapon, both on yourself or someone else.  It includes things like belts, shoelaces, drawstrings, any belongings on your person as well as the more obvious things such as drugs, alcohol and tobacco.  These things are not taken off you to make your life more difficult on purpose, they are there to protect you.  Everyone goes into the cell with the same thing, stand over tactics are reduced this way.
 

Another aspect that makes me roll my eyes is the idea that prisoners get 3 hot meals a day.  The meals might be hot when they leave the kitchen..an hour before they are served to the prisoners but they are definitely not hot when they are consumed.  Ever eaten pasta when it's stone cold? It's like eating glue.  Far from the five star treatment that the media would like to lead the public to believe.  If you live in the residential area, you must get a job so that you can pay for your own food and cook it.  Before you get scared about the prisoners being out amongst the public, these jobs are things like mowing the prison grounds, working in the kitchen, jobs within the jail. 
 

For a few of the prisoners that I shared a section with, them being in jail is better than their life outside.  They have somewhere to sleep, food is definitely coming and they don't have to deal with abusive family members.  It's easy to be grateful for little when you are used to nothing.  

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT

I plead insanity

 We all have those relationships in our past that make us think WTF, was I drunk the entire time.  Whenever Devil Papa and I are having a bit of rough patch, I go and Facebook stalk one ex, lets call him Dick, just to remind myself where I could be.  It certainly helps bring me back to reality! Dick is six beers short of a six pack..even that is being generous.  I of course claim insanity, alcoholism and any other decision impairing substance for that little blight on my history.
 

Our relationship was short, mostly of me being drunk, him being naive and a relationship that looked more like mother and son to the outsiders.  Someone once remarked to me that if I ever fell pregnant to this guy that she'd hope that it would inherit my brain and not that fathers lack of, so that I could at least have an intelligent conversation with someone.  Our relationship ended when I sobered up a bit and realised what the hell he was really like. 
 

Even after we broke up, he kind of hung around for a while.  Like a lost puppy or something.  At the time I was living in hostel like accommodation, with 6 other women.  We were all crackers so it made for an interesting living arrangement, one that always meant someone had alcohol.  One of the 'rules' was that there was to be no men staying, a rule we all broke regularly. It was kind of an unwritten rule, you keep quiet, don't cause a fuss and everyone will turn the blind eye cos they've no doubt done worse.
 

One particular day Dick decided to pay me a visit and rode a push bike from his place on the other side of town, to my place...a journey of about 7km.  He put his bike in front of the house, thinking it would be safe inside the yard.  Upon leaving the house again, we discovered his bike was gone. One of the ladies, who I was friendly with was sitting on the steps. I asked her if she had seen what happened to the bike. She took one look at me, and promptly burst out laughing.  She was laughing so hard she had to go and get her asthma inhaler before telling us what had happened to the bike....
 

It had turned out one of the other ladies had thought some hooligan (the thought of Dick having the forethought to commit a crime still makes me laugh) had pinched a bike and dumped it at our house...so she called the police to have it picked up.  Surprisingly they were pretty prompt and had taken the bike to the police station already.  A phone call to the boys in blue revealed that Dick would have to go down to the station to identify his bike.
 

I decided that I should tag along, you know for shits and giggles. Plus the bottlo was on the way.  There was plenty of giggling the whole walk there, all 12 blocks of it. More from me, less from Dick.  I figured he'd tell them what his bike looked like and be over with it, turned out I was wrong, things were about to get a hell of a lot funnier...well for me anyway, well at least after I finished explaining to them that, no I wasn't there to sign in and doing three times a week was enough thanks folks.  I'm here with this dickhead, seemed to clear it all up though.
 

As the plot thickened, it turned out that the bike was his mates and he couldn't remember exactly what it looked like. Not one single detail.  Something which I didn't know until he was asked by the officer in charge.  Long story short, they wouldn't give him the bike.  Cue more laughter from me.  He then had to ring said mate, who had no idea that Dick had borrowed his brand new bike and tell him that he had to pick his bike up from the police station.  To say his mate wasn't impressed, was an understatement. 
All in all it was an afternoon of entertainment still makes me laugh even now, 6 years later.
 

Do you have an ex in your closet that you'd rather forget? Share your stories, make me feel a little better about Dick.

Crisis Schmisis

Last night I realised the positive power of social media and once again the short falls of my local after hours crisis centre.  I am both amazed and appalled that women who I have never met IRL helped more than trained 'professionals'.

Things came to a head like a great big pussy pimple and I needed help stat!  I had been texting my best friend back and forth most of the day.  I had been waiting a week for my case manager to call me back, I missed her call.  I spent the rest of the day building up the confidence to call back and working out what to say.  I finally called her back and she told the receptionist that she would call me back...she didn't...again.

I have very, very, very little faith in my local crisis team and inpatient unit.  So the fact that I relented and called them, I think shows the frame of mind that I was in, and the distress that I was feeling.  

As soon as a voice answered on the other end I blurted out "I want to cut myself".  He asked if I had spoken to anyone else about this and I said that I had been waiting for my case manager to call me back but she hadn't.  What did he surmise from this? That the solution to my crisis was to send my case manager an email and problem fixed.  I started crying and asked what I was supposed to do in the mean time? His answer? I sent your case manager an email, problem solved.  I called him a wanker and hung up.

He called back...I won't bore you with the details but the conversation pretty much followed the same line as the first one...my problem was already solved.  I told him I wasn't coping with my child and the care of him and he told me that everyone goes through that and to suck it up, go watch a movie and it will blow over. I. Am. Not. Kidding.

The scary thing about this experience? It's not a one off, they weren't just having a bad night.  I can count on one finger the amount of times that they  have been helpful.  They are the first port of call before being hospitalised.  If you present at the ED, you have to pass these gate keepers.  Depending on the time that you present...you might not even see a doctor before being sent on your merry way.  Regardless of your state you can be sent on your way without seeing a doctor.

I have been dragged to the ED by police and still they said that the Dr didn't want to leave the comfort of his bed and send me on my way.  Even the police were appalled.  

The first time I had contact with them my parents had driven 8 hours for the 'privilege' only to be told 'she's not old enough to be in our unit' even though at the time I was 18 and a half.  Our referring GP was told that I was guaranteed a bed and that I needed to be hospitalised.  It took my mum 'making a scene' for them to admit me.  Even though I had just gone through surgery to fix something I had done to myself, I wasn't considered 'sick enough'.

I am really appalled that as a developed country we still have this fight to have mental illness treated and to be treated with respect.  Most of the time we don't have the energy to jump through the hoops they set for us and self harm, criminal activity, drinking, taking drugs is just 'easier' than having to deal with the crap these 'professionals' deal us.

Decided to link up with Dear Baby G's For Fuck Sake Friday.  Pop over and show some comment love or link up with a post if you have something that has been driving you up the wall this week.

Police

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.

It's quite possibly worse when I see a prison officer.  My knuckles go white I am clutching the pram so hard.  Sometimes I feel like I have a 'label' that tells them that I've been there.  

I hated every. single. minute of being in prison.  Anyone who says that someone going to jail is getting the 'easy' way out has obviously never been there or even visited.  One common exclamation from the general public is that they get 'three meals a day'.  Sure you get three meals a day but lunch is the exact same thing every. single. day.  It took me 12 months after getting out of prison to be able to bring myself to be able to eat a wrap.  You have allocated milk and if you drink it before the week is up then no more coffee or cereal for you.  Dinner every night is cold, not cool, stone cold.  Its usually pasta or another carb laden meal.  There is also no deviation from the menu, there is a set meal for every single night of the week.  Wednesday night was ham steak....this was just a ham steak in the middle of the plate with a piece of pineapple on top.