Like most, those reading this are certain to regard me with immeasurable contempt and hatred. Most will not only desire my end, they will openly encourage, even demand it be brought about without delay. I am not surprised. I, too, feel this about those who carry the same label. I am a convicted sex offender. I loathe those who commit such offenses against humanity. I also know the burdens and pressures of being identified and regarded as such. Guilty? Deserving of this branding? Well, I’ve discovered neither matters. Cops believed in my guilt. The prosecutor believed likewise, and so did the jury. The judge must have because he sent me to prison for a considerable time. Of course the prison administration believed I was guilty. I know the parole board members believed I was guilty. Hell, they believed it so thoroughly that I could not, would not be paroled unless I confessed my guilt and took responsibility for the incarcerating offense. Since my release paroles officers, neighbors, any and all who learn of my status are certain of my guilt. One problem: One cannot be guilty of something that never happened. Of course I have no longer have expectations this will be believed. And, even if it were, it would make no difference.
I must say in the past I was extremely naive. Can you believe I honestly believed in the judicial process? Only those who are deserving of punishment are punished, or so I thought. If a person was guilty it would be revealed – the same if innocence was the reality. Like I said, I was so very naive. I think it was two years into my prison sentence that I came to realize truth and justice often stand in opposition. Since that realization I have had many opportunities to re-experience this time and time again. One situation after another lines up to reinforce what I learn with each preceding lesson.
Even upon my release I held to remnants of simple, and I suppose, childish ideals about life. I would pick up the pieces and rebuild what had been destroyed. Quitting, giving up was not a part of my nature. At times, nothing more than stubbornness had carried me through difficult times. Laying down was not an option. While in the military I was a survival instructor. I had not only learned how to survive all manner of extreme conditions, others had relied on the skills I passed on to them. There was always a way to improve any situation, always. This was part of the fabric that held me together as a person. The fibers that made up this fabric were tough, resilient, and indestructible. I could not be beaten by any environment. I would not succumb to any form of stress, discomfort, injury, or illness. I was one tough nut that held firmly to a set of beliefs rooted in optimism. Rose colored glasses? Not only did I where them constantly, I had no understanding of those who lacked them.
Well, twenty-five years ago the eroding began. Like all things it began happening in small, even imperceivable movement. Yeah, I was arrested and charged, but not shaken. Went to trial, lost and was sentenced – shaken, but not broken. Appealed and lost – broken, but not crushed. I was hurt, badly hurt, but I continued to believe once I was released I would overcome this period of my life. This belief made it possible for me to survive prison. It was where I found my strength each and everyday. For five more years I clung to this belief. Whatever I had to do I did, including rehearsing the most bitter words I would ever be forced to utter. Time after time I considered and practice the lies I would have to speak when I came before the parole board. Two things made it possible for me to speak these words, one, I had been broken, and two, I feared being crushed if I did not. I spoke those words. I sat in front of those who knew I was guilty and spoke the words they expected to hear. Again, truth was irrelevant – had been for years.
Seven years and seven days following my incarceration I was conditionally freed. The parole board had been satisfied by my truthless admission of responsibility. I had survived what I then thought was the very worst life could bring. Freedom, limited and conditional for a time, was returned to me. I was so very hopeful. No, that is not accurate. I was so very certain. For years I had watch my peers fail and return to prison when presented an opportunity to begin living again. Prison is not living. Prison is an existence. One can survive imprisonment, but one cannot be living while imprisoned. It is possibly the ultimate survival situation. As I survived the days surrounded by iron and concrete I expressed to any who would listen that when given my chance at freedom I would succeed. Those I met in prison would never see me again. My confidence was somewhat of an annoyance to others, but that did not matter. I knew I would not return to prison – not ever.
1 comment
I hope this is not your last post here. I cannot say I know what you are going/been through. What I can say is, that I am a survivor. That alone, speaks volumes to what I am about to say. I *do* know what it feels like to be in a situation that seems hopeless. I also know that for what ever screwed up reason (and that is still being debated) I’m still here. Not necessarily because I want to be, but obviously because there is a reason. Just like there is a reason for you to live. Please stay with us long enough to know that sometimes, just talking or writing about it is just that little thing that keeps us alive. I’ve only been here about a month, but like my moniker says, I was, fortunate/unfortunate enough to find this site and through that, a way to survive. Yes, it’s an everyday struggle. But when honestly looking for it, there is support here.
I’m here every day, not all day like a few months ago, and I’m on west coast time, but if you need to talk, let me know, I’ll try to be here for you.