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  I stood up and she pulled me toward the dayroom. I wanted to run; I wanted to slam my head into the fucking wall and finish the job. Instead, I went quietly, because the moment I exited my cell I realized all the lights in the pod had been turned on, and every inmate in Female West was standing at her gate watching as I was dragged out, the sheet still hanging loosely from my neck.

  “I need to take your glasses as well, ma’am,” the guard said, reaching toward my face.

  “I can’t see without my glasses, I need them,” I pleaded.

  “It is our job to make sure you are safe while in our custody. Your glasses could easily be fashioned into a weapon and we are not going to take any chances.”

  I winced as she removed them from my face, and immediately the world around me became a blur. My vision is terrible and without my glasses I couldn’t tell how many fingers you were holding up even if they were an inch from my face.

  I heard the cell door slam behind her and could only assume she had left, because I sure as hell wasn’t able to see her leave. I had been placed in an observation cell. These cells were specifically designed for inmates who were suicidal. It was made to be deathproof. Someone who wants to end their life can become quite crafty, so the deputies take special precautions to ensure that it would be virtually impossible for any inmate to do so.

  There were no protrusions in the room. No sprinkler heads, bunk bed rails, or windows. My jumpsuit had been replaced with what I can only describe as a large, bulky, Velcro potato sack. There was no loose fabric, so even if I wanted to attempt to twist my new attire into a death weapon, my efforts would be futile.

  I was barefoot and blind. And if that weren’t bad enough, the cell walls were made of glass, to ensure that anyone passing by would be able to peer in at me and check to make sure that I was still breathing. The guards had a complete 360-degree view of everything I did in the cell, including using the toilet.

  I felt like an animal at the zoo. I could see the silhouettes of officers in uniform passing by, occasionally stopping at the glass and making snide comments. Most of the correctional officers knew why I was in there; they had access to the entire report that detailed the things I had done to their brother in blue. Needless to say, each of them wanted to ensure I was fully aware of what a piece of shit I was. I could hear them say, “I don’t blame her for trying to kill herself, I would too. She’s looking at a lot of time. She’s blind as a bat, serves her right.”

  I was embarrassed, ashamed, and there was nowhere for me to hide.

  After about seven hours in my aquarium, I started to lose my fucking mind. I was already feeling mentally unstable, and the current conditions certainly didn’t help. The longer I sat there—blinded and stripped down to nothing—the more my grip on reality seemed to slip away. I had walked into the jail as Tiffany, but in this moment, I was something else. An animal in a cage, a suicidal maniac, a thieving liar, an inmate. The old me was gone, and I was fairly certain she’d never be seen again.

  I’d been vomiting repeatedly as the drugs made their way out of my system. I spent most of my time hunched over the toilet, heaving as I desperately tried to get the poison out of my body. I had my head resting on the cold metal of the toilet seat and suddenly had an idea. They had all these measures in place for suicide prevention—but I was smarter, and I was going to finish the job.

  I pulled my potato sack up over my head to conceal the upper half of my body. Once hidden, I crossed my arms, placing both of my thumbs onto the bony part of the front of my throat, and began pushing and squeezing as hard as I could. I wanted to break the bones in my throat in hopes that it would cause me to suffocate. I wanted death more than I had ever wanted anything before. I needed it. I knew that if I succeeded, I would be free. My earthly body had malfunctioned, and I didn’t want to carry on inside it.

  The bones in my throat were more malleable than I had anticipated. Instead of breaking beneath my strong grip, they shifted backward, causing me to choke loudly. I dug my fingers into my flesh and twisted the bones and muscles around, but it wasn’t fucking working.

  In the distance, I heard someone calmly say, “Here she goes, open number four.” Seconds later the door clicked open. I felt the heavy hands of the guard on my shoulders, pulling me back away from the toilet. I landed flat on my back and he held me down with his elbow to my chest. “Stop this—right now,” he growled.

  “Just fucking let me go!” I shrieked. “Why the hell won’t you people just leave me alone?! It’s my fucking life!” I twisted and writhed about the floor as they attempted to restrain me. I couldn’t see anything, which made it difficult to fight back. “It’s none of your business, just stop. Let me finish, please!” I howled. Despite the cold floor on my legs and back, I was hot with rage. “Please just beat me over the head with your nightstick. Please, please, pleeeease just kill me. I’m begging you. Shoot me with your Taser please. Please,” I pleaded, “I want to die.”

  “I’m not going to kill you, Johnson. That’s a lot of damn paperwork and I’ve got a date with my wife when I get home. I’m going to stand up and exit the cell. You have one more chance,” he said. “If you pull some bullshit like this again, we won’t hesitate to shackle your hands and feet. It will be a lot more uncomfortable for you if we have to do that, so knock it off.” The lack of compassion in his voice was startling. The worst day of my life was just another day on the job for him.

  In that moment I came to terms with the reality of my current living situation. These people didn’t give a shit about me. They were just waiting for their shifts to end, hoping things remained quiet in the meantime. They didn’t care that I was once captain of the cheerleading squad, or voted class clown by my peers. They didn’t care that I was a sister and a daughter or that I once did roller derby. They didn’t care that I was voted queen at the Valentine’s dance in high school or that I was a restaurant manager for three years. None of that mattered, I was no longer that person. I was inmate 4012342, and nothing more.

  After what felt like an eternity in isolation, there was a soft knock on my cell door. “May I come in?” I heard a kind-sounding voice say from the other side.

  “I don’t give a shit,” I said, huddled in the corner of my cell with my knees pressed to my chest. I heard the door click open, but I couldn’t see the person standing there. I could tell by her silhouette, however, that she wasn’t a guard.

  “I would like to come closer, but I need to know that you won’t hurt me….Can I trust you not to hurt me?” she said calmly.

  “Hurt you? Why would I hurt you? I wouldn’t do that, I don’t even know who the hell you are, I can’t see shit,” I said.

  “Well, my name is Dr. LaChance and I would like to speak with you.”

  I took a deep breath and stared down at the floor. “I don’t really feel like talking right now, no offense.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t blame you; you are in a glass box, nearly nude, without sight. I’ll tell you what. If I could convince the guards to get your glasses for you, could you make a promise to me that you wouldn’t try to harm yourself with them?” she said.

  My heart skipped a beat. Being able to see what was happening around me would certainly help me comprehend my surroundings, and I would feel better equipped to handle my current situation. “Oh my God, yes. Please. I promise on my mother’s life I will not use them for anything other than looking at things. Please, can you do that? Can you get them?” I asked eagerly.

  I could hear that she was smiling as she spoke. “My, you certainly perked up, didn’t you. Give me just a moment.” She exited the cell, and a spark of hope ignited somewhere deep inside me.

  I had taken my sight for granted, and once I no longer had it, I realized how important it was to me. I waited with anticipation for what seemed like hours for her to return, and I began pacing back and forth in my cell. Suddenly, doubt crept in.
I realized she wasn’t coming back. I knew this was too good to be true. I hadn’t encountered one employee who had talked to me as if I was a person since I had been here. Why would a sweet stranger whisk in and reward me with my glasses out of nowhere? I had officially lost my damn mind—I was hallucinating now.

  I sat back down in the corner, defeated, and pressed my chin to my knees. At the click of the door, I raised my head. “Hello, Tiffany, it’s me. May I come in?” Dr. LaChance asked.

  “Yes, of course,” I said. I heard her heels click on the concrete floor as she entered the cell, but then they suddenly stopped. It had grown silent.

  She giggled. “Oh, I forgot. You probably can’t see me. I’m handing you your glasses,” she said as she slid them into my right hand. Tears of gratitude and relief rolled down my cheeks as I slid my glasses onto the bridge of my nose. My jaw dropped when my guardian angel came into focus. I knew her. How did I not recognize her voice? My face suddenly flushed with embarrassment once I realized this was Katie. I used to be her cheerleading coach.

  6

  I was instantly embarrassed at the condition she had found me in. The last time she’d seen me, I was the bright, bubbly, blond cheerleading coach whom she looked up to as a role model for many years. And now? I was a sickly, pale, sweaty junkie cowering in the corner of a jail cell.

  She must have noticed the various emotions I was going through, because she gently placed her hand on my knee and smiled. “I know what you are thinking and I want you to know that the person you are today, in this moment, is not you. I know you, I know the real you. You are the funniest girl I have ever met, still to this day. I have always looked up to you, and that hasn’t changed.” She ushered me to the wall and we both sat on the concrete floor, our backs to the wall. “Your path in life seems to have taken a detour, but I am not here to judge you, Tiffany; I am here to help. I’m the therapist here at the jail, and I just want to talk to you. Will you talk to me?” she asked.

  Katie and I spent the next two hours talking about everything. I told her all the things that had happened in my life since I became addicted to drugs, and she sat quietly and listened. She occasionally spoke up but only to ask questions that caused me to probe deeper into my thoughts, as if she were trying to get me to think of things from a different perspective. In a weird way, it felt like we were back in high school. This was the first time I had felt human since I had arrived.

  I felt free after speaking with her, as if I had been lugging around a giant sack of rocks for a very long time and Katie had gently taken my bag from me, freeing me to focus on the journey ahead, instead of worrying about how I could possibly make it while toting around this heavy load.

  “I am proud of you for being so honest with me. I know you don’t want to die, and I think now you realize it too.” She leaned her head down until her eyes met mine. “I would like to see you a week from today; would that be possible, you think?”

  I knew what she was doing; she was trying to hold me accountable. If I had a date set up with her a week from now, I would have to be alive for it. She was ensuring I didn’t off myself in the meantime. “I would love that,” I said, and I meant it.

  “I will tell the guards you are ready to go back to general population, okay?” she said, standing up from the floor and dusting off the back of her skirt.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Everyone saw what happened, and I feel really awkward walking back in there.”

  “Can I give you some advice—off the record? Fuck them.” She walked toward me with her arms outstretched and gave me a tight hug. It felt so good to be embraced. I had been moments away from shattering into a thousand pieces before she entered my cell, and her presence gave me a flicker of hope. She reminded me that I was still human, even though it didn’t feel like it lately.

  I was standing outside general population waiting to be let in and my heart was pounding at lightning speed. My sweaty hands were trying to keep a firm grip on the sleeping mat I’d been carrying, and I was shaking uncontrollably. The guard looked me up and down and the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. It was as if he got some sort of enjoyment out of seeing me squirm.

  The door clicked loudly and swung open and when it did, the familiar sounds of screaming and complete chaos filled the hallway. “Go on,” the guard said, nodding toward the door. I stepped into the pod, and the room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. I visually located the cell I had been assigned to and made a beeline for it with my head down.

  As I entered, a petite, kind-looking blond girl looked up at me from her notepad. I began to introduce myself but was interrupted by her jumping to her feet and throwing her hands up. “Oh hail naw!” she yelled, marching out of the cell. I leaned back to peer outside the door to see where the hell she was going and noticed she was stomping toward “The Button” at the entrance of the pod.

  The Button was used to contact guards in an emergency. No one was to push it unless shit was hitting the fan. I watched in confusion as she pushed the button twice and crossed her arms, a look of defiance on her little face. “What’s the emergency?” the guard said over the intercom.

  “Um yeah, hi, uh, so somebody put that suicidal undercover cop in my cell, and I need y’all y’all to reassign her somewhere else. I’m gonna end up fighting her, and I don’t want to go to lock,” she said, staring me in the face the entire time she spoke.

  What in the actual hell was she talking about?

  “Daniels, you know damn well we don’t take requests. This line is for emergencies only. Press the button again and you will end up in lock anyway,” the guard said, agitated.

  Fuck my life, this was going to be awkward. I watched as Daniels marched up to a group of girls and angrily began speaking. She was throwing her arms up and occasionally punching the air while they all took turns glaring at me. Why does this chick want to fight me? I didn’t want to make my bed just yet because I didn’t know what the hell to expect from this little psycho. I was afraid she might rip my mat off the bunk and beat me with it, so I just carried it out to the dayroom with me and sat at an empty table.

  You know that dorky loser kid in movies who has no friends and awkwardly sits at the lunch table by himself? That was me. Except I was surrounded by felons, not high school students.

  I felt a hand on the small of my back, and I jumped because I thought I was about to get shanked. “Hi, I’m Brandy,” a girl said, sticking her hand out for me to shake. I reluctantly shook it, noting how beautiful she was. “I heard you tried to kill yourself. That sucks, I’ve been there. I also heard what that whore said to the guard about you and I’m sorry. I figured you could use a friend, do you want to bunk with me?” She smiled.

  My heart almost exploded with gratitude. “Oh my God yes, please,” I said desperately.

  “Come on, we are over here.” She took my hand and led me to the very last cell in the row. My bed was right next to hers, and I felt relief the instant I sat down. The vibe in this cell was awesome, and it was because Brandy had such a beautiful soul.

  We spent the rest of the day talking about life. I did most of the talking and she just listened for the most part. She would periodically tell me stories about crazy things she had done, and I think she was trying to make me feel better about some of the choices I had made. She showed me how to order shampoo and shared her dinner with me. I even laughed out loud for the first time in what seemed like years.

  When it came time to go to sleep she came over and gave me a hug. “I’m really glad to have met you; sleep with the angels and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, then bounced back to her bunk.

  Brandy was the first friend I’d made since I’d been in jail. I watched her snuggle into a comfortable position and smiled, realizing that someone cared about me. Had I known that she would be dead a week later, I might have hugged her a little tighter that night.

  7r />
  After spending two days back in general population, I began to get a feel for how things worked around here. There was a schedule, and it sucked.

  Six a.m. The lights turn on, the doors click open, and we’re allowed to exit our cell and line up for breakfast. Women are coming from the top tier and bottom tier of cells, stacked on top of each other surrounding the dayroom. Inmates from the “working pod” set up at the entrance of our pod and quickly begin to serve the food. I learned that when it was my turn, I was to say my last name and cell number to the guard and he would put a check mark by my name. This is a way for them to keep track of who is eating and who isn’t. If you skip too many meals, they take you to Medical, assuming you are trying to kill yourself by starvation.

  There are technically no assigned seats for meals. However, certain people claim certain seats, and should an innocent new inmate ignorantly sit in one of those spots, she is verbally assaulted until she voluntarily moves to another place. (I learned that the hard way.)

  Six-thirty a.m. Breakfast is over and we all go back to our cells—with the exception of the inmates whose cell is on cleaning duty that week. We are locked in the cell until seven-fifteen a.m., so the guards can go around and count. Evidently, this is to make sure no one has hidden in a garbage can and gotten wheeled the hell outta there during breakfast.

  Seven-thirty a.m. The doors click open and we are freeeee! The women usually fly out of their cells, desperate to escape the confined space. I spent the first two days back observing my surroundings. I noticed that jail was kind of like a weird summer camp for the outcasts of society. At one table, you had a forty-six-year-old woman and a nineteen-year-old girl coloring pictures of hearts and animals. In the corner of the dayroom, three women were seated with their backs to each other braiding the hair of the one in front of them. Another table had two grown-ass women playing patty-cake and giggling like seven-year-olds. It really gave me the creeps.