Taking Disownership: This Inmate's Evolution and Revolution

Chapter Two

September 1st, 2026

Mom's death didn't get sympathy cards. While they hugged, cried, and ate ham sandwiches on her sofa, not one of my her family members reached out to her only child. One aunt lied and told her she'd stick by me as Mom died. That while she consumed her pain-pills by fistfuls, and needed her, as a respected "caregiver" read: junkie. Her racket for many years has been assisting the sick while herself and a close friend liquidate med cabinets. Her sweet, accommodating affect is dope-inspired. Thing is, she's half-victim.

Sober, she's a wreck incapable of performing jobs, quick math, or anything useful: slow, dull, and unsteady. Damned if she does or doesn't, our greater group bashes her for doing drugs. She's trained them to see the high version as "well" - happy, performative, and capable. They hate un-drugged her, lost as last year's Easter egg. She can't win with this family.

 If you read me right, there's tribal identification factors. ADHD occurs in my posse, as it does the planet, particularly this nation with all raised by moving screens: TV, then internet, video games, and smartphones. Now we're at Gen TikTok, 2-minute targeted for today's focuses. Starting this page, blogs summarized my week. Viewing my times shown in screen shots (no www in da pokey) I began frequent-flying below the 3-minute mark. Dividing chunks into chapters, only bitty bites receive reads (changing formats, older views vanished in case you looked) and I adapted.

 Treating my psychotic features, Topamax was used in a massive quantity, also enhancing my focus. Now I'm on the MAT program administering Suboxone, synthetic opioid. I've come to realize this medicates conditions neuroscientists predicted when I was little for tykes with TVs. This subtracts shame and should for folks like my grandma's baby needing help. I've learned helpful advocation stuff, but my addict aunt whom I adore blows me off, claiming it's over a fight decades ago. Being smarter I know its more about her sneakiness. Truthfully, I couldn't care less. Hitting another vehicle head-on leaving hospice for my deadbeat-dad Vietnam vet "drunkle" she "caregave" overnight, hoo-boy. Really, I'd relax knowing details. Is she OK despite 20 broken bones? What about the other folks? Drunkle quit talking to her, I hear. That unrepentant snake hooked her on drugs at 15, taking her to a party and feeding her angel dust to mess up something my grandpa loved, his baby. Good job, now go rot.

One of the worst obstacles I passed here was labeled a rat. My cousin is for real. His folks encouraged this. Drunkle and I tried halting it. Cuz used stolen script pads for Lortab hustling. His welfare case baby-mama, a garbage girl who saw him coming to knock her up so she could pump out paycheck people squealed on him. Besides being a rotten mom, she's the rat central to this deserving the biggest beating. His upper-middle class folks decided prison was no place for this boy (even over 30, this pronoun applied). Heading this horrid decision was undoubtedly my aunt, Mom's baby brother pussifying himself for her in agreement. Publicly my young, lost cousin pointed to a Black dealer with 8 felonies naming him, despite the haphazardness of this my drunkle and I warned.

His actions endangered all. Modern gangstas lack codes, believe me. Harming girlfriends, grandmas, and kids are possible punishments. We explained this, again. Personally, I believe there's nothing sharp to brag on Facebook about offspring in prison. That was impetus enough for having their son jeopardize the lives of two grand-kids plus my extended family.

 What justifies leaving me sitting alone as the most important person in my life died without a 50¢ Dollar Tree card to break off solitude from the folks who sat at my table weekly scarfing my cooking? Writing me 300 miles away behind concrete could endanger kids. Again, I smell a lack of "likes" moreso than that. Certainly wasn't a worry incriminating a gang member.

 Enduring matching audacity and misery I wrote letters trying to gently coax dialogue, no dice. Finally meeting a convict from McCracken who'd been in when my cousin Kevin was murdered in the early 1990's adding new details, I called my step-dad panicked. He rang my uncle, so he took my call. From losing Mom, it was obvious grief sat on him. Having even a piece of his sister brought relief to us both. Often I tried calling but only 1 from 5 calls got taken. Those that did had apologies for mowing the yard in November. Quickly I realized my calls were contraband cigars for the man surviving throat cancer. Unaccepted attempts over my aunt ended my calls.

 Personally I'm over being unworthy of fighting for. Watching "Brad, the Baby-Stomper" open daily mail and so many others has made me aware this ain't me. Slews of lesser convicts get treatment I deserve because they got better families. Growing up believing these were amazing folks set me on a damaged path. Getting gypped is part of life. Least I'm left with good stories.

Interestingly, Mom's unrelated circle has staunchly stuck beside me. From across the street when she was a girl, a woman writes me doggedly as if she was my aunt. Also, Betty's bestie beginning in middle school making the same promise as my absent aunt became my rock. My stepfather she married with me at 30 kept money on my phone and tablet til dying last year. His ex-stepdaughter Mom grew close to handled their estate, making sure I got all I should instead of robbing me blind, grabbing up the gold, which she could've. God blessed me whereas they abused me.

Repeatedly I say love your family but don't trust them. That was my motto before living left behind. Leaving less than a year from now, I'm imagining a life I'd live minus blood-kin. Everything from cradle to grave is a series of temporary events and distractions. Meaning likely it's not a final act for us. Will it be an awkward reunion from friction over all this? Probably it'll be like we've not seen each other a month or so. Not having them with me, I've evolved to a new person. Would being in a room with them erase that, and I'd get kicked back to who I'd been before? That's what most interesting adults amount to, statues we build when our folks aren't around I guess.