#fromprison

Eventually, I decided to move to a unit for long-termers and lifers. I needed space and time to be away from Brooke. We still saw each other as much as possible, but I was continuously moving away from the relationship. I had started hanging out with Shayla who was white, tall, thin, not really my type, but it was to take attention away from my relationship.

Brooke noticed the change in my attention and asked me what was going on. I told her about me getting to know Shayla. Well, Brooke told me that she had been spending time with this woman, Tamara. It seemed to me we were in the same head space-that we were no longer interested in being together. But our breakup didn't last for more than a week. I told Shayla that I wanted to work things out with Brooke. To do that, Brooke felt that we should live on the same unit again but in separate rooms. I liked where I was, but I missed being around her and wanted to try to fix things.

I moved to the unit that Brooke lived on. As soon as I was moving my things upstairs, Brooke told me that she didn't want me in the room I'd be going to. The room had three boy girls in it plus me. I didn't care though because I could live with practically anyone and I had moved to work things out with her. I didn't for see any issues. I was still very much in love with her.

We began trying to fix the issues in our relationship. Our problems weren't cheating, lying, or loyalty-which are complete deal breakers. But Prison creates a different set of issues that can be just as bad. We put a lot of things on the table, such as plans for when she went home on how we could continue our relationship, we talked about marriage, my demanding ways, our sex life, and all the other problems we had. Sex was infrequent because we lived in different hallways, but it was happening-sneaking around made things exciting. I just still wasn't having the attraction, passion, and spark that I needed.

I began expressing my feelings to one of my cellies, Keyana AKA NaNa. I had seen her at my last Prison, but we never spoke. Nana was sexy, charismatic, and young. She was in a relationship with Sam, but they were having problems as well. Nana was one of the main reasons Brooke didn't want me living in that room because of her reputation for sleeping with everyone. Sam and I weren't friends, but she had said how great sex was with Nana in front of me. That piqued my curiosity because my sex life wasn't as fulfilling.

Brooke told me when we met that she was here for aggravated assault. That an old friend from high school had reached out to her on Facebook and invited her to a party, she went and there were drugs. The police were called, the women blamed it on her, and she went to jail. After being released Brooke and a few guys went to the women's house and beat her up badly. Subsequently, she was sentenced to 5 years in Prison. I never questioned her story, until recently. There were rumors that she was a cho mo (child molester), but rumors like that are common. People twist why you're here and run with it. I asked her if it was true and she told me no-end of story. She prided herself on being honest, she never lied to me in the past, and I felt like I knew her well enough to know the rumors were untrue.

We had broken up because of my cheating, but after my Uncle passed we began talking again. Sometimes when bad things happen it makes you realize who's important in your life. Brooke knew more than anyone here how much I loved my Uncle and what his passing meant for me. So, she broke up with her girlfriend and we started to mend our relationship. I felt things were going better than they had in a long time, but seeing each other was hard because of the quarantine.

After I went to the hole, Brooke came the next day. She refused to lock in and was given 15 days. It was actually great because we were able to see and talk to each other more than we had in months. She caught me up on all the things that happened while we were broken up, like the fact that she had sex with one of our mutual friends, Tymber. I was angry about her having sex with Tymber because she was around us since getting back together, smiling in my face. But I was even willing to move past that. Brooke refused to leave the hole and did another 15 days.

With only a few days left, I asked her if there was anything else she needed to tell me. She said no and I felt good about things moving forward.

Until, I got in an argument with Jamie about the TV. She told me I needed to stop acting like my girlfriend isn't a child molester. I didn't pay Jamie any mind because of the rumors in the past that Brooke denied, but she kept going on about.

The next day I asked Brooke why Jamie said that to me. I had heard that rumor too many times and started to feel uncomfortable with it. Brooke said she didn't know why Jamie said that. I asked if she was sure, and that's when she told me the "truth". I say " truth" because even that ended up being a lie. She confessed that a 15 year old boy asked her to purchase liquor, she said no. That boy then told a girl that he was having sex with Brooke- the girl told her mom, her mom told the school, the school told the police, and Brooke was charged.

I was shocked and I tried to make sense of it. I went through stages-I was confused, understanding, uncomfortable, upset, and finally angry. After processing and questioning I realized how demented Brooke is. Her liquor store lie was fell apart, so I had her Googled. The truth was that she went to a mutual friends house, had sex with the 15 year old and was charged with statutory rape. I realized how many lies she told me over the years to hide the truth from me. How she guilted me for things she was guilty of. How she manipulated me to keep me. How the plans we made for the future were all lies. How she portrayed herself to be someone she wasn't. I knew she would never tell me what really happened. I haven't spoken to her since.

I am no stranger to having a cellie, over the past four years I've had dozens. It's bizarre how you you're required to live with a random person. Imagine: Being in the checkout line at Walmart, taking the person in front of you, driving them home, and living with them. It's actually that random. Getting dressed in front of them, dealing with their individual personalities and habits, having all your things around them, and worst of all using the bathroom in front of them.

Me and Brooke lived together for the majority of my time here. I always say it was like living in a tiny house, so I was lucky. But I'm here to talk about the absolute worse cellie I've had, Ms. Hicks. After moving from the unit with Nana I went straight in with Ms. Hicks. I'd regularly seen her around so I knew who she was. As soon as I looked in the room I knew it was going to be a problem. The rooms are small so for it to be comfortable for two people you have to keep the clutter down, but this room was about to explode. I tried to be positive about the situation but I'm wise enough to know it was going to be a problem.

Ms. Hicks had everything in there you could think of. Clutter is annoying but the old food was intolerable. She would save food for days past its expiration. The smell of old food, farts, and muscle rub assaulted me daily. It sounds funny but its not a joke. The room smelled so bad one day people walking past could smell it while the door was closed. She claimed the smell wasn't coming from the room, but when she threw all the food away it magically disappeared. It was so disorderly we were searched and I couldn't believe the things they found. They took so much stuff from her they needed a push cart to remove it.

Besides being smelly and unorganized, it was unsanitary. On multiple occasions she would soak the cloth that she used to clean the floor with in the toilet. The worse account of unacceptable cleanliness was the day I had taken several trips outside. I had walked to the visiting room for a virtual visit. Then I walked to commissary to pick up my food and hygiene. The maintenance men had dug up dirt in front of the unit, so it was unusually muddy out. I went to my room it put my commissary away and saw mud on the floor. It looked dried so I went to pick it up to put it in the toilet. Well, it wasn't mud-it was poop. Ms. Hicks was in the room and I started freaking out. Her suggestion was to just wash my hands. I can't imagine a celly worse than Ms. Hicks. Poop on the floor is unprecedented, even in Prison.

This has been a very vulnerable time for me. Most people don't understand what losing my Uncle and Aunt has meant to me.

I was transferred to a minimum security Prison. My new room was on an open unit. This meant there were no doors, four people to a room, and a communal bathroom. It reminded me of a college dorm. One of my cellies was Brooke. Brooke was 10 years older than me, white, reserved, and not really my type physically. Her demeanor was what attracted me to her.

I was flirty with her and could see that the attraction was mutual. It wasn't long before the flirting turned physical. One late night we ended up having sex. We weren't in a relationship and I don't think we had even kissed yet. She hadn't been with anyone since being incarcerated and I thought we could be friends with benefits. I was actually getting to know a woman named Leah at that time.

The flirting and sex continued between Brooke and I. She wanted me to stop hanging out with Leah, so I choose Brooke. Living together, sex, and having common interests turned into a relationship. I had only been at this Prison for a little over a month. I wasn't looking to be in a relationship, but there I was. She was nice, genuine, and there for me when I needed someone.

We stayed together for almost 2 years. After about 8 months we moved from an open unit to a closed unit. A closed unit is a "traditional" jail cell-a door, bunk bed, with a toilet and sink. I was happy to be in a cell with her because it was almost like our own tiny apartment. We were able to have sex without dealing with cellies, we could decorate how we wanted, and do what we pleased. I started to really fall in love with her.

I got a lot of negative comments from people about how we looked together. Brooke had lost a significant amount of weight which caused some extra skin. I think people wanted me to be with someone my age, Black, and a boy girl-Brooke was the exact opposite. Though I wasn't physically attracted to her, I was deeply in love with who she was as a person. This created some disconnect. Some times I wouldn't want to have sex and she viewed this as a rejection. I didn't want to make her feel badly, but I also didn't want to force myself to do something I didn't want to do.

I started having issues of my own as well. After receiving denials for my first few appeals, I was devastated. Looking back I can see that I took a lot of my frustration out on her and our relationship. I was moody, mean, and didn't want to be in my room as much. I felt trapped and tried to fill my days with things to keep myself busy. Brooke took this as a rejection also, which only made things even worse.

If you plan on reading about someone in Prison you must open your mind. There has been an influx of movies, videos, and shows showing what life in Prison is like-most of it is inaccurate. On such media about Prison life, we fall in love with actors through the characters they portray; we find a connection to them through their stories. But what happens when they're not actors but actual people in prison for actual crimes?

It's 8 am on a Sunday, but sleep can wait: I have to start my day and make breakfast. As most of my mornings begin, I climb off my bed and go over to the sink to brush my teeth and wash my face. I leave my room, go downstairs, and check to see if I have any new emails. After seeing I have no emails, I go back upstairs to make myself a cup of coffee. I get what I need out to make my breakfast of fresh banana bread, boiled eggs, and turkey bacon. I share some with my neighbor.

Sounds pretty normal right? Except my "bed" is the top bunk. My sink and toilet are in my cell. My "room" is a 6x9 cell shared with a celly (roommate). My door was left open by my celly after she took a shower, which gave me the ability to leave. "Downstairs" is what is called the dayroom. A large area filled with metal tables and chairs. I check my emails on a stationary kiosk. My coffee is instant. My banana bread is made with cookies, sugar, and bananas in the microwave. My "neighbor" is a girl in the cell across from me.

When I tell people that we have microwaves, ice machines, tablets, kiosks, hot shots, and TVs, they are usually surprised. Once you go to Prison you quickly learn, its not all downhill from here. I still laugh and joke. I still enjoy cooking and sharing my dishes. I still have a relationship. And I'm still unwilling to compromise my charm and wit. I can still be grounded, confident, and comfortable.