Gay for the Stay. That’s what they call straight men who, during their time in prison, decide to enter into a relationship with another man, being “gay” only while they’re behind bars. Can you imagine how amazing my life would be if I could just decide to be gay for a while, then not be, and then turn it back on whenever I wanted? Like flipping a light switch on and off. I’ve always been gay, never changed, and I suffered a lot until I learned how to survive.

In the beginning, in criminal prison, I behaved more cautiously, which made me an easy target, prey that was easy to spot. And believe me, there are so many men in there looking for someone to live with in a cell as a couple. I won’t deny, some of them were very attractive. Think about it: many were Latino, tattooed, in shape, just looking for someone to exchange affection and care with while in prison. It’s fascinating to see how humans, in this case, men, can change in the search for affection, in the search for love.

And I fell in love. I had my heart broken more than once in prison—multiple times, to be honest. One of the first was Chad. He was special, beautiful. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue. When I first arrived at the psychiatric ward of the prison, Chad came to greet me. And when I saw those eyes… “Chicos, those eyes!” I knew something would happen between us, and it did. We never kissed. We got so close once that our lips almost touched. He looked into my eyes, and I looked into his, and then we pulled away.

We were two madmen locked up in the psychiatric ward of the prison. And you know, they say that mad people don’t realize they’re mad. Deep down, we were just two people desperate for affection. We spent our days together, talking, laughing, sharing stories. When I met Chad, he had no money to buy food at the canteen, and neither did I. We helped each other whenever we could; if one got extra food, we shared it. Chad would talk about all the drugs he’d done and how heroin was his favorite. He would tell me how he loved living on the streets, always saying, “It’s a lifestyle, Bro!” Something inside me believed I could save him, that he deserved saving.

Sometimes, Chad would come to my cell, sit next to me, and just stare at me with those deep blue eyes. We would play-fight with each other, a way for us to touch without anyone saying anything. Someone started putting money in Chad’s account, and he began to gift me sweets and food. Sometimes, other prisoners got jealous, but Chad didn’t care, and neither did we. But Chad was very jealous. Once he realized how much I was into him, he started to change. He would complain that I walked around the block too much, that I didn’t want to sit next to him, that I talked to Scotland, that I didn’t play with him. Many times, out of jealousy, Chad would refuse to share food with me, doing it on purpose.

One day, Chad snapped out of jealousy and tried to attack me, saying he was just playing. The guards decided to lock down the block, and Chad refused to go back to his cell, so he was taken to solitary confinement. And just like that, Chad and I never spoke again. Maybe it was for the best. Many other inmates told me real stories about him that scared me and opened my eyes.

Chad was the first, but many more would come after. The interesting thing is that during that time, I never questioned Chad’s character. I never evaluated his actions towards me, and now, almost two years later, I can look back and see it all—and most importantly, see myself too. Remembering all this only made me realize how desperate I was in my search for love, not knowing that I should never have been searching for it because love isn’t something you search for; it’s something you build from the inside out.

When people blame drugs and alcohol for all the shitty things they’ve done instead of accepting responsibility for their actions it’s really just a cop-out and a way to deflect accountability. That being said I wouldn’t have made the decisions that put me in prison if I wasn’t strung out and completely out of touch with reality. It was the choices I made while under the influence that ultimately led me to be where I am now. So while I am completely and utterly responsible for the shitty things I’ve done I wouldn’t have done them if I wasn’t loaded. It’s like Dr.Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. My story isn’t unique, unfortunately. I suffer from a disease that millions of people struggle with globally. Some people think its a choice but for me it never was. I suffer from the disease of addiction.

I’ve been an addict practically my entire life. I first tried smoking weed when I was nine and by eleven I was a full-blown weed head. I was introduced to meth when I was twelve or thirteen and by that time I was willing to try anything to get a buzz. It wasn’t so much a desire to get high as it was a way to escape reality. I kept looking for something to change the way I felt and eventually that turned into obsession and compulsion. Before long I was getting high because getting high was all I really knew how to do. I had years of practice and not much practice in anything else. All the dreams and goals I might have had as a young kid faded away like dust in the wind.

The only true constant in my life is the obsession to use drugs or alcohol no matter what the cost. I’ve traded the most important parts of life, time, and time again for the chance to get high. I’ve put drugs and alcohol above everything else and at times I’ve felt completely powerless to change.

I’m in prison for getting in a high-speed chase on icy roads in a stolen Dodge pickup. I got three hit-and-runs before I crashed and then stole another truck to get away. I had the entire Richland police department chasing me as I eluded them like a bat out of hell. I was drunk and strung out on method and the only thought in my mind was doing whatever I had to do to get away. I look back now and think to myself how lucky I am that I didn’t kill someone or myself. I was caught the next day and charged with two stolen vehicles, three hit-and-runs, and a felony eluding. Those were the choices I made. I can’t blame those choices solely on drugs and alcohol because the fact is there are countless addicts suffering from the same disease as me and don’t make those kinds of irresponsible, irrational, reckless decisions.

Drugs and alcohol are only symptoms of deeper rooted problems in my life and even though being in prison sucks, I thank God for the opportunity to evaluate the behaviors that led me to do the things that put me here and try to get a grip on life and learn to live with more restraint. I’m not responsible for my disease but I am responsible for my actions and the steps I take to deal with my disease. For me, it all starts with accountability.

O. Henry was released from prison today in 1901, after serving time for embezzlement, shortly before this story was published, which makes its unexpected sources of compassion particularly poignant. https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/hearts-and-hands

A letter from PPP incarcerated trainer Jeania to her service pup-in-training.

Smooth-coat Collie, Gentry is Jeania's first service pup-in-training with PPP and she has worked with him side-by-side since last Fall, along with volunteers to help him overcome anxieties and become task-oriented. Gentry has been at a long-term foster since our shut down in March.

"Gentry,

You came to PPP as a tiny pup [at] 4 months. I got to choose between you or your brother. After making you temporary mines, you got super sick. I spent a total of 30 days with you giving you your meds, watching you grow and building a bond. You gave me a purpose. A purpose to change, I would wake up daily, take you potty, feed you, brush your teeth, wipe your face and run a brush through your hair. You are my purpose. You have given me a direction in life to change and be better. I <3 Gentry.