Jail, Prison and The Penitentiary

A mental health story

We didn’t know the difference as kids. We just knew we never wanted to be a resident, of any of the three. Not even part time.

Then, the first person we knew personally that went to any of the three, came home. They weren’t the same as before they left and whomever they were before, no longer existed. They had transmuted into something somehow simultaneously more and less, all at once. From their very first day of incarceration, their soul’s innocence began its descent into the abyss that is the big city penal system. Some called it justice, others a travesty. However, very few of us saw it as the national tragedy it actually was, still is today and will always be. Not right then, atleast.

Jail is a place police officers take jaywalkers and underage drinkers. Prison is where they send convicted felons, even the innocent ones. The penitentiary is where hardened criminals reside for, bare minimum, the foreseeable future. Some remain there, for the rest of their natural born lives.

Any of the three, are or atleast can also be non physical places where the sick and suffering commit themselves voluntarily. Some will spend their entire lives behind the imaginary walls and non existent bars, they’ve created. Some have physically created such a cell for themselves, even if understandably so. Others, have merely found no way not to. They’ve gone feral. Death, with no funeral or physical harm done,mainly.

But instead, a mental hell they’ve spent (typically) subconsciously building over the years. A place they can’t seem to escape but aren’t positive they’d even bother to try to leave, given the opportunity.

The main problem of course being, how do you leave a place you should, but aren’t physically in? One you’ve created internally, in silence. Sometimes subconsciously, others as a direct result of the consequences of our own past or present actions.

Addiction, anxiety, and major depressive disorders can all easily become, a penitentiary of sorts. Especially when combined.

Our own minds can be the judge, jury and executioners of the worst kinds, but the catch is,they don’t Have To Be.

Rehabilitation then, truly is or must equal genuine freedom of the finest kind. Even if it rarely feels like it at the time during, or when we’re going thru the worst of it. I speak all of the above from experience or observation except for the last because I am far from free, as far as the eyes can see and then some. I am not healed, cured or rehabilitated and most times I feel like I never will be, because I’m a realist you label as a pessimist. The invisible prison of depression that can keep me bedridden if left to their own devices, is one I don’t want to die at but clearly, currently reside at.

However, as a realist I acknowledge how much better that position is, as opposed to being sentenced to actual jail or prison for any amount of time. Because based on my own personal observations throughout my lifetime with close personal friends of mine, loved ones, family members and everything in between, prison, jail and the penitentiary all take a tremendous mental toll on each and every individual that interacts with or is sentenced to for long enough. Even if they don’t realize, see or agree to this here fact. You don’t need them to agree for it to remain true.

And all I know for certain is, like a rich appealing death row inmate with a high priced lawyer, I will happily die before I ever give up fighting for my freedom.