Taking Disownership: This Inmate's Evolution and Revolution

Chapter One

August 31st, 2026

Three years back Mom died with me behind this prisoner's fence. Thus marking the cruelest moment of my life not only accounting to me robbing myself of being beside the foremost figure of my life's topography I rented a body off of, during an event making me aware grief prior was practice and their expressions melodrama. This brought on sadness returning childhood's tears with sobs like accompanying being in the meat department, daydreaming, then immersed in strangers. This experience's only upside was keen awareness of being alive alongside an ofttimes questionable soul.

Sucking beyond scope was my partner I praised for being there every step brushing me off beginning here. Unwilling to share the spotlight of his "depression", deciding to lay in bed three nights locked safely away from me while I walked unending laps, un-flanked and blindsided. When we reconnected he launched into a pity-party without anything event-wise occurring. Acknowledging my situation finally, "Dr. Phil" said I should head to the shower and cry it out once, then returned to his regularly scheduled existential crises.

Six months later, four past me terminating his position with the firm I dropped a letter on his pillow vividly breaking down his failures and inadequacies that led him to avoid me further, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. My note resulted from him badmouthing a recent partner I'd ditched. Soon after he was shipped to a prison where he got dealt a rash of ass-beatings. Mayhap he's a better boy now, after somebody gave his 37 year-old dumpy derriere something to cry about. I'm not diminishing depression, my dad shot himself during a bout with it which this waste of eggs and spermatozoa would be way too big a puss-wad to pull off.

  What made my mom's going so sorrowful wasn't only loss, but unveiling cruelties of my living relationships. Preceding arrest, I'd spent 3 years back in my hometown, Paducah. For a quarter century while away, we caught each other - the family and myself in snapshots: vacations, visits, calls, and ephemeral means. Always I knew the day would come I'd settle back into the Atomic/River City (whichever postcard's on your fridge) to be Family Guy. Without picturing a psychotic break, six months in jail, and losing 25 years of human equity, still it came to pass. Having a judge declare the event "guilty but mentally ill", life 250 miles down the road begun.

 Traveling to Europe's queerest destination, Amsterdam, and hitting the States' foremost madhouse event, Burning Man, with hosts of notables between: radio DJing, studio art, business ownership/management, independent catering, go-go dancing, having a stripper Adonis hop off the stage to snatch my # off a $1 bill (tell me that ain't list-worthy), naming a major label record ("Nemesisters" by Babes In Toyland), and enough material for (God I hope) a few good books, moving back to the fam hit heights of satisfaction surpassing my dreams. That self-repairing sum of my parts poured into the place I escaped felt complete. Problem. Everything in me believed I belonged in prison.

Part of the detonation destroying my home-life in 2012 with sudden schismatic style was believing that life was over. Even though I'd began anew, a new one undergone, I wasn't past feeling 'twas doomed. Fearing if I didn't take action and do something to be incarcerated, I acted before something happened beyond my control. No matter how you split it I had destiny behind bars, so at least I should choose a victim was my viewpoint.

  Rather than holler for Child Protective Services, worrying over a buddy of mine seeming more like he wanted to date his kid than daddy him, I decided he was the ideal bus-pass to the gates. July 4th pretending I was gifting a 5 A.M. back-rub (both of us were massage therapists), I hopped on and went Tony Perkins to his Janet Leigh (IMDb for you kiddies, I'm here to educate). Within an hour, I sported turtle gear. Giving up a house I treasured, being with Mom whom I grocery shopped with that eve then said bye to sadly knowing likely it'd be our last trip, friendships going back to elementary, overall an easygoing lifestyle the likes of which moved far past my expectations. For prison, I traded suburb splendor. Was I crazy?

This prison houses almost exclusively sex criminals, by this chance I discovered my molestation in the very home I took my victim in. This explained too young behaviors of mine I've questioned decades, while I've developed an unparalleled understanding of sex crimes and their laws from this life and these circumstances. Since 1991 I've wished I could have a degree in Sociology, and landed on the first prison yard in Kentucky for that option, with the Bachelors I'll get this December. Lifelong patterns got fixed by me being at Northpoint. Since second grade, focus problems robbed my ambitions of fruition. Being housed here that wound up addressed and solved. An isolated individual who paced the varnish off the hardwoods getting nothing done is an overachiever. From flunk-out to valedictorian. Wannabe to ten-hour per day writer, cook, department manager, and facilitator. Something I'd love to do is human as hell, talk to my people about it. Problem? No one's left.

End of Chapter One