by Lynn Woods
I was awakened by another nightmare of being chased down a dark street by a mean-looking pit bull. I could smell his breath on my neck, the odor of dead flesh, so close I should have been bitten, but was not. Every time he opened his mouth to bite, I would somehow get away to continue running. I screamed for help, but no one seemed to hear. And then I was awake and all alone. My body is covered in sweat; my heart is pounding. This nightmare was getting old, but how do I stop it?
My day starts at 4:30 in the morning, something that I’ve grown accustomed to since a young age. I manage to muster up enough strength, dragging myself to the sink. I push the hot water nozzle expecting hot water; however, the water is cold and smells of 
algae. My stomach churns and I bite down on my bottom lip, disgusted by the gray color. Continuing on with the routine, I settle myself, clearing my thoughts before I am reminded that because of an unjust judicial decision, I will more than likely be sitting behind concrete walls and electrical fences for the duration of my life.
As always, I do not let my thoughts rob me of my peace. Instead, I allow it to be my motivating force in becoming a better man. Reaching in front of me into a six-cubic foot steel locker divided into four compartments for storage purposes, moving around hygiene items to get to a plastic eight-ounce Folgers jar of instant coffee, literally worth every bit of $10.00. I can honestly say that coffee is the best part of waking up. Over the years I’ve somehow managed to convince myself that coffee provides this unknown super strength that allows me to experience my full intellectual potential. How crazy is that, right? One good thing about it is that I don’t have nightmares about this kind of stuff.
You’re probably wondering why I would mix anything in this water. Let’s just say that two hefty tablespoons of coffee would make the water in Lake Michigan safe to drink. As I sit on this bunk, I am also forcibly reminded that I am sitting on a three-foot slab of steel that is not only occupied by me, but by a six-foot long and one-inch thick mattress. This recycled bag of old dry wall insulation is of the poorest quality. Besides the chronic nightmares yanking me out of my sleep, I am experiencing back pains that often bring me to tears. I will not openly complain about health care, but I will say that with Obamacare they might as well issue out wooden coffins; however, without it, they may as well add a shovel with a wooden cross. The lack of adequate medical care in these complexes continuously ends in fatalities. Without the hope and faith I possess, that one day I would be freed from this place and unwanted nightmares that are causing me stress that would end up killing me.
Wrongfully convicted and brutally without hesitation thrown away in here left to die—my parents, children, wife and grandchildren robbed of their son, father, husband, and grandfather. At times my head sits high on my shoulders; other times reminded of reality my chin finds comfort against my chest. All the birthdays, graduations, victory parties, marriages, baptisms, kindergarten, tears laughter, smiles, hugs and goodnight kisses. How does a father tell his children that daddy may never come home? I refuse to make this my ending; I will fight for the freedom that was taken from me. I will live every day with the hope that pumps life in me, preparing for the day I look back at this place and utter the words, “I win.”
How can a judicial system designed to bring order as well as save lives, be the same judicial system that in the same breath destroys and ends lives? Then you have this place, the “prison-industrial complex,” designed to provide rehabilitative programs; yet, we “tenants” are forced to fight and pray just to stay alive and not die at the hands of corrupt peace officers, as well as the real monsters that definitely belong in here. It’s scary. I’m afraid that I will never get a chance to make it out of here, if I just happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Question is, how do we fix what we know is and has been broken for decades? Where do we start? How can a corrupt and tainted government repair a problem which they have created? Again, this is why faith and hope are necessary in situations such as these, because without a fight, my only choice is to give up. I won’t.
My nightmares are common and this is what I dream about and it affects my everyday functions, causing health problems I cannot control. I wonder why my knees are weak, my head hurts with a throbbing pain, and my heart feels like it’s always being tightly squeezed. I can taste the fungus of these raw thoughts I’m having like vomit of the food I ate two days ago. It smells like spoiled bread and uncooked meat. Is this real or could this also be a nightmare? How will I know until I awake again?
Republished from “Perspectives from the Cell Block: An Anthology of Prisoner Writings” – edited by Joan Parkin in collaboration with incarcerated people from Mule Creek State Prison.
