The Letters From Hell series written by guest poster Screedler were the most visited and read posts of the old Drupal powered TDA. Unbeknowst to me, the links to this series were broken in my switch to a WordPress platform so to make up for it I will post the whole series again one new one per day.
Welcome to Letters from Hell – Part 12. This letter is a little out of sequence as I left a couple of letters at work thinking I would have time to transcribe them but did not. But being as there isn’t much of a back story except an alcoholic in jail, I am going to go ahead and let TDA put it out this week and correct the order later when they have all been done. I think there’s only one or two short letters missing in between. Click here to read all the prior installments of the series.
June 25, 2006
Dear Paul and Nan,
I hope this letter finds you both doing well. It was good seeing you Saturday. It’s late (10:30ish) Sunday evening and the TV has just been cut off. We are in lockdown for the night and about half of my cellmates have pulled the covers over their eyes. The lights have been dimmed but there is still enough light to read and write.
My friend T-bone is reading the Bible to my right. It’s the only book he reads. He has court on Wednesday and is a little nervous. To my left, three people are arguing loudly over a card game. Resting on the farthest bunk from me (about 12 feet away) is a new inmate laughing crazily at them. It is the forced nervous insane laugh of someone who is not all here. He is 18 and does not know how to act in here at all. I can predict with 90% percent certainty that someone will beat him up by mid-week. I am positive he has mental problems. It’s a shame, but I will welcome his beating if it will shut his mouth or better yet get him out of here.
Click “read more” to continue with the letter…
This weekend has been tough. The food has seemed worse, the bad smells have been stronger and the company grating on my nerves more than usual. I about lost it again after our visit on Saturday. I don’t think you could tell but the gang was attempting to spoil our visit. When the guy next to me’s visit was over (with the girl that was on the video phone in the room with you and Nan) one of the gang who was in line for lunch right by our visitation station was able to pick up the receiver to that phone and somehow listen in on our conversation. While I was talking to you they were repeating everything you were saying to everyone around me in line for chow. I was so mad; I confronted and cursed them about being so disrespectful. They just sat there looking slack jawed, not being able to do anything about it as the guards were nearby. Later; one of them approached me and begged me for some food. I just laughed in his face and said no and to never ask me again. These people are insane.
On top of that I just physically feel bad. I have staph all in the back of my head and down the back of my neck. It hurts and it itches and although I can’t see it I have been told it’s quite unsightly. The nurse doesn’t seem to be concerned and just gives me Neosporin to put on it. I wish I could give her Staph infection.
You asked me to write a little about how I feel about things (i.e. my addiction), so I will. To tell you the truth, I don’t think about alcohol at all during the day unless someone else brings it up. I do not “physically” have a desire for it whatsoever. I do, however, desire relief from the situation I am in. That being said I would be tempted to do it or any other drug to alter my reality. It’s all in my head. I don’t know why I can’t deal with reality. I guess I am unhappy with the reality of what I’ve become. It’s going to be tough when I get out of here. I am going to have to learn to be happy with myself without intoxicants. Another thing I worry about when I get out; is people pushing me. I hate it when people tell me to do things. Even when I know those things will do me good. You know this of me very well. When someone tells me to do one thing, I invariably will do the opposite. I don’t know why and have no idea how to change that.
The only thing I really desire is not to be a burden on the family. I have seriously considered suicide in the past but have chickened out. I don’t think it has anything to do with my disease not letting me do it. I am just afraid of dying as much as I am of living. I have also thought about getting out of here and running away. But it boils down that I don’t have the courage to do that either. Either way I still let the family down. None of these things are new to you as we have discusses them in the past.
So, even with a “clear” head (51 days sober), I don’t have any new insights. It may be, and probably is, that at the moment I feel forced to have new insights. Please don’t push me. I will try again later on to convey my thoughts on paper. It is getting late and I want this letter to get out in the morning. I am considering throwing this one away and starting a new one tomorrow anyway.
Notice no – “Love, Screedler” at the end. I can’t remember if that was on purpose. Probably was. I wasn’t feeling much love that night. This is a hard letter for me to read. To remember those thoughts I had, to smell that stench, to hear the laugh of that crazy kid in my head. They are truly the stuff of nightmares.