Tossing the tank...My home, "the tank", was "tossed again tonight. Seven guards sneak up the stairs, burst into our quarters, yelling and screaming "Stop what you're doing! Don't move! Stand still!". I'm reminded of a childhood game...red light, green light. The lead guard, the first thru the door, always has a certain look on his face and he carries a large canister of mace. Once our custodians are sure we aren't hiding any contraband, we are marched out to "the yard"...a room with vents that allow the chilly air of the out of doors to come inside. The guards line us up facing away from them, legs spread apart, arms overhead, palms flat on the wall...what once was excruciating in terms of shame is now just "another night in the tank"! With enthusiasm, they check our legs, arms and torsos. Then they "hook" their thumbs inside the waistband of our undies (at the hips) and shake us. You'd be surprised at what falls out and down the various pant legs: pills, sugar packets, Koolaid packages, yeast!! When we return to "the tank", it looks as tho' Homeland Security was called in to search for weapons of mass destruction. But my bunk space is only twenty-one square feet so it's doesn't take long to "put it right" again. DepressionIt probably started with the holidays or maybe the holidays were the tipping point. Months of being in "the tank" have taken their toll. I feel like I've dropped down to the next lower level in Dante's Inferno. I think there are twelve levels. Twelve...mmmmm. Twelve Israelite Tribes - Twelve Zodiac Signs - Twelve Hours in a day - Twelve Months in a year - Twelve Stations of the Cross. Even The Brothers Karamazov is written in Twelve Books. Twelve seems to be an important number. But I digress; forgive me...it's not easy keeping a focus in "the tank" while the tribal warriors hoot and holler at the guests (or are they really contestants?) on Gerry?Jerry Springer. The composition of "the tank" has changed once again. The air is thick with anger and aggression (YUP...more bloody fisticuffs!). We have a man convicted of second degree murder with us, awaiting his transfer to prison. And another tribesman who is awaiting sentencing for a domestic violence incident. I thought this tank was for minimum security inmates. I was wrong! We are part of THE GENERAL POPULATION! I also thought I was finished with the five stages of grief yet it seems I keep spiraling back around to DEPRESSION. An old friend used to tell me when he was melancholy that he was feeling "lower than a snake's hips!". THAT IS LOW and, well, that's how I feel today. I tried reading Pema Chodron. That didn't help. I could not concentrate on her words. Sometimes re-reading the cards and letters ya'll have sent to me pulls me up. I'll give that a try after I take a nap. The nap started out fitful but I finally slipped into a deep sleep. When I woke, I read your letters again and I feel a little better. THANK YOU!! I am amazed and humbled at the number of people who still care about me. Missing mama earth...I often think...if only I could go for a walk in nature. That would cheer me up. This concrete box is beginning to be claustrophobic for me. I'm getting "cabin fever" or maybe it's tank fever, eh?
I have many memories of being in nature...camping with my wife...and my children... hiking... backpacking alone off trail...standing atop Mt. Adams...climbing to Camp Muir with my son on Mt. Rainier at 10,000 feet. These recollections are a little like fog...when I reach for them, they dissolve. Will I ever again touch a tree? I can see Mt. Rainier (on the days when she's not being bashful!) from my "slit-window". Realizing that truth makes me grateful. I could be in an upper bunk without a window. I must agree with Zig Ziglar...gratitude is the healthiest of all human emotions. Three more days remain on the 2014 calendar. What will they bring? Hoping they bring each of you a very Happy New Year as I continue to ponder...
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AuthorPatrick Michael Leonard Archives
August 2020
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