Remanded

Following the violation of his parole, Reg was sent to Sleepy Hollow Correctional Facility, where he would be held until the Court could decide his fate.  Amazingly, Reg thought that he would get off with "a slap on the wrist" as you'll see, while his lawyer was much more concerned about the possible outcome. 

Reg goes to Jail - October 28, 1998

In October 1998, after violating the terms of his probation, Reggie is transferred to the PEI Provincial Correctional Center on Sleepy Hollow Road, just outside Charlottetown, PEI. Reggie was sentenced to a term of less than 2 years, which meant that he avoided going to a Federal prison.  Reg kept a day by day journal of his experiences. Fortunately, it was not the type of jail that we see in the movies, but it was nonetheless jail. A lot of frustration and anger, but also a lot of interesting stories, some fascinating, some funny, and insightful.   Fortunately, it was not the type of jail that we see in the movies, but it was, nonetheless, jail.

A lot of frustration and anger, but also a lot of interesting stories, some fascinating, some funny, and insightful.  In these writings, you'll see his stories on day to day life, how drugs are smuggled into this jail, and his "tormenting" of jail guards.

 

Reggie did not write on his first day in jail, so we pick up his story on Day 2.
October 29, 1998  (Day 2)

I woke today not feeling bitter.  I have a certain level of acceptance of my situation.  These are not the feelings that I had expected.  But I am here so I may as well make the best of it.

Breakfast was at 8:00.  I was able to get to speak to George M. in the kitchen (he is in one of the other units within max.  We eat together but are locked in our separate units throughout the day).  Anyway, George’s brother and I were roommates at Talbot House so I feel that I already know him. Actually, we did meet once before in a detox centre, where I helped him to escape.  But that’s another story.  He didn’t even remember the incident until I brought it up.)

George seems to be a good man (he try’s to see the best in people) … I was going to carry on a little further here but perhaps I should change the subject keeping in mind that outgoing and incoming mail / paperwork will be read by the guards and I shouldn’t make personal observations / judgements on other inmates.

I did some writing in the morning; a letter (rough draft) that I hope to present to the court to help explain my point of view. I find it easy to express my thoughts on paper and I get a wonderful feeling of satisfaction (pride?) upon completion (is this how a woman feels when she gives birth?? Probably that’s a little different, a bit more painful too!).

… just took a little break.  I went down to ask the other guys if I could include them in my writing.  Each person I meet affects my life and becomes part of my story.  We are made up of our own experiences, are we not?  There are others in my unit.  One seems to be interested, but the others seem to be ok with it (“as long as you tell ‘em how good looking I am!”)  We’ll be spending a lot of time together so it seems logical that we get to know each other.  At the moment, I sit here writing and they are involved in a game of cards.

The canteen here is open on Mon., Wed., and Friday.  Today is Thursday.  The guards here made an exception and let me order some junk food today.  I appreciate this.  It’s nice that we can treat each other with at least some respect.  There are a lot of other institutions where you don’t see that.  They also allowed one of the other guys to order some tobacco, another nice gesture of goodwill toward your fellow man.  I suppose that no matter what our occupations are, when we go home at night, people (we) are all basically the same, here and around the world as well.  (now I must take a break.  I would really like to enjoy a cigarette at this moment, and so I will).

I was speaking with one of my fellow inmates just now (I don’t know his name yet) and he was talking about his friend, Mark S., who lives in Moncton and is a close friend of a female friend of his.  I related that I was in treatment with a guy named Mark who was transferred to a halfway house in Moncton.  Same guy.  Small world isn’t it.  (But I wouldn’t want to paint it!)

All the other guys are gone to the gym now, so I sit here alone working on this (and watching “Class of the Angry Lovers” on Jerry Springer)  Just a few minutes ago, I was in the office talking to my councilor (?), case worker (?) and the nurse about my situation.  It’s quite complicated.

I was sentenced in June of this year to a 2 years less a day conditional sentence for the possession of cocaine for the purpose of trafficking to be served in the community with the final year to be served in Talbot House or Homewood Health Centre (Guelph, Ont) as recommended by Dr. Marjorie Jones.  By using drugs in Talbot House, I was discharged from the house, thus breaching this condition.  Dr. Jones has been out sick for the past 4-5 weeks (I haven’t been able to discuss my experience in Homewood, where I was in September and had some problems which played a part in my drug use last weekend) and I am unable to contact her.  Therefore, I am sent here where I remain in limbo until I appear before the judge next Friday, November 6 for her final decision on the matter.  I also have little confidence in my lawyer (former lawyer?) so I am feeling anxious and uncertain about the situation.  Also, my court supervisor who should have been able to handle this situation yesterday, was out sick as well so the case (from his office) was taken over by one of his co-workers who I have never met before and this is probably unfamiliar with the case.  All I can do now is wait for a call from the Legal Aid lawyer, who is, so far today, out of her office ...

... OK, I’m back again after a several hour break.  You would think that I would be lying around doing nothing but so much has happened.  My lawyer called.  I spoke with her for a few minutes but she will have to get my files and meet with me at the first of the week. At least, I have some hope.

I also spoke on the phone with my probation officer, Gordon Garretty.  I am unsure of what to say when talking to him because I don’t know exactly what his position is, who’s side he is on.  I must remain guarded until I get this figured out.  Strategy must be discussed first with my lawyer.

And I spoke with John back at Talbot House.  I called him to make sure my belongings are collected for my family to pick up.  I have a good relationship with John and having his brother George here on my side can only make things easier for me.

Prisoners are not allowed to make phone calls here on Thursdays and Sundays but somehow I was able to make several calls.  The reason phone calls are not allowed on these days is because these are the days you can have visitors.  But until you’ve been here ten days you can’t have visitors.  So for the first 10 days, I am kind of … fucked.

They have quite an elaborate paperwork system here.  Every time you wish to speak with anyone you have to fill out a request and wait for approval, which may take hours.  I’m surprised that you don’t have to file a request to wipe your arse (but there’s still paper involved).

I forgot to mention supper.  When I talked to John on the phone he told me that they had Chinese food for supper at Talbot House.  Their meals are brought in from the jail here.  Because the maximum unit, which I’m in, is the last to go to the dining room, the food at Talbot is delivered before we even get to eat.  So I know what was for supper tonight a half hour in advance.  Funny.  Hmmm.

I received advice from some “jailhouse lawyers’ over supper.  All are telling me to fight this thing and they have some valid points, one of them being: “if you plead guilty, you’re fucked, but if you plead not guilty and get off, you’re laughing”.  Being the open-minded guy that I am, I will consider any and all advice no matter what the source.

I noticed one of the older guys (George) talking to the nurse a while ago.  I recognized the nurse on duty tonight as being one of the detox staff (she has 2 jobs) who I know fairly well because my mother is also a nurse for addictions.  So I have put in a request to see her, hoping to be able to probe her for information on Dr. Jones.

Tonight at supper, I ate rice for the first time in my life.  I’ve been on this planet for 32 years and I’ve always managed to avoid this seemingly incredible substance.  Actually, it wasn’t all that bad.  Makes me wonder why I ever had such an irrational fear of rice (riceophobia – is that one in the medical books?) … this place may yet drive me foolish.  But AA promised me I would get my sanity back.  What’s up with that?

I did get to see Sharon, the nurse, tonight.  We had a good conversation.  I love talking to people, probing their brains.  I never used to be a very talkative guy.  Hmm.  Makes me wonder.  Her opinion is that the judicial system is higher up the totem pole than the medical system (where does spirituality fit into this equation?).  I find it interesting that everyone has a different perspective on life and I value everyones opinion (well almost – there are always exceptions).

Hmmm.  Suddenly, I encounter writers block.  Must take break – must have cigarettes (my higher power at the moment).

OK, maybe I’ll just close up for the day.  This is my last piece of paper anyway.  I’ll have to fill out another (fucking?) request for more paper.  It may take some time getting used to the strange ways of the correctional system.  But my time would be better spent somewhere else.  Things could get boring in here.  Right now I have the challenge of preparing myself for court, and I like a good challenge.  But after that?  Will I encounter freedom, or sink deep into madness?

So far today I’ve written a letter to the patients at Talbot, a letter to the staff, a letter I intend to present to the court and these eight pages.  Very productive day.  Now the Simpsons are on and I must watch.  Sometimes I think Krusty the Clown is my higher power …

 

Draft written statement to the Court – Day 2 of Max

Note:  This is a draft, it appears of a statement that he was going to make to the judge.  A few pages into it, he has notes which help him focus on the message that his target audience – the judge – would like to hear.  He notes the following:   judicial point of view, medical, spiritual.  Whether or not the following is true and from the heart is debatable, but he does make a good statement.

Your honor, the reason I stood before you in June of this year was to answer to a charge involving the sale of drugs.  I have not returned to this activity and I am determined never to do so.

What has happened is that I have tested positive for phenol-barbitol.  I would like to describe the circumstances leading up to this event.

In September of this year, I was sent to a 28-day rehab program at Homewood Health Center in Guelph, Ontario.  I went there with great expectations, hoping to learn about this disease and how it affects my behavior.

The person I shared a room with was a heroin addict from Vancouver, only 19 years old.  We got along well and reminded me a lot of myself as I was at an early stager in my addiction.  However, several days into the program, he came back from a walk downtown stoned on heroin.  None of the staff or other patients noticed this but I did.  It brought to the surface cravings and negative feelings in me that I hadn’t seen for months and had thought were no longer part of me.  His behavior continued for several days and then he took off back to Vancouver without telling anyone.  I had asked him to confess to the staff about what he was doing.  He told me he would but kept putting it off and then he was gone.  When I talked to the nurse about this she told me I was wrong for not turning him in, that I was bad.  Meanwhile several other patients had gone home on weekend passes and come back intoxicated.  They were not punished for this as I had been used to seeing here.  Their reasons for using were discussed in group so as to help them and others from doing this again.

I was confused about this because it was a different approach than I have seen here.  I attempted to ask questions about relapse but was told, “it sounds like you’re looking for an excuse to relapse, Reg”.  That was not my intention but the response I received led me to lose trust in the staff.  I was afraid to speak in group because I felt that anything I said could be misinterpreted and turned against me.  As a result of this I was sent home from the program after 23 days, incomplete.

A few weeks after I returned to Talbot House, a patient there, who I had become close friends with was discharged for using drugs.  I thought that he needed help but it seemed to me like he was pushed out the door and made to feel like a failure.   Again I was confused and attempted to ask questions about relapse but I was made to feel like there was something wrong with my thinking.  I felt that I couldn’t share my feelings openly and honestly with the staff.  Apparently, the subject of relapse, which I feel is a major part of addiction, is taboo in treatment.  I had cravings and thoughts about drugs which I felt I couldn’t share.  I wanted to get them out but I didn’t know how.  I took a phenobarb pill, which is used in detox to subdue cravings.  I didn’t want to get high, I just wanted these unwelcome feelings to go away.  I knew that it was wrong to take anything not prescribed by a doctor but at that moment, I was able to justify its use.  Despite all the consequences, which I was fully aware of, I could still justify it to myself taking that pill.  That in itself says something about the power of addiction.

I have been using drugs for about 20 years and I never expected that I would be cured in four months.  I firmly believe that my intentions are good even though sometimes my behavior indicates otherwise.

I believe that I have made many positive changes in my life this far.  I have attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings daily for the last six months, mended relationships with family and friends that I thought were beyond repair.  I’ve been involved in forming a narcotics anonymous group in Charlottetown which was needed in the area, and perhaps most important, I have allow my spirituality to develop and grow.

I don’t expect to be excused for my actions.  I seek only understanding and the opportunity to move forward in life… Regardless of how this turns out, nothing that anyone can say or do to me will make me feel like a failure for / because I know in my heart that I am on the right path and one day correct my behavior, keeping in mind that I am only human and none of us is perfect.

I have spent the last nine months of my life in hospitals, detox’s, treatment centres, and now jail.  I have been attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings daily during this period.  I was involved in organizing and founding a narcotics anonymous group in Charlottetown in the past few weeks.  I have the support of my family and AA members throughout the island.

I am attempting to pursue a career in journalism and have had some work published in the Guardian.  I am in contact with a journalist (Holland College) for advice and guidance.

I firmly believe that my intentions are good even though sometimes my behavior indicates otherwise.  Each persons acts can be perceived in many different ways (notes on judicial point of view, medical, spirituality) and I think that being in treatment under the direction of the courts biases some peoples views toward my own actions.  But, I believe that anyone who knows my background can see that I have made many positive changes and most important of all to me, spiritual progress, although I accept that I will never attain perfection.

Alcoholics Anonymous teaches us that no man is perfect, we all have our defects of character.  But with the support of one another we can improve the quality of our lives and become productive members of society.  I don’t mean to preach or ramble here, but I feel it is important that I state my opinion at this point.

To focus on the positive, what I have done in the last eight months is to repair relationships with family and friends that I thought impossible to achieve at one point, attend AA meetings daily, take the initiative to start a new Narcotics Anonymous group which I felt was needed.

Your honor, the reason I stood before you in June of this year was to answer a charge involving trafficking in drugs.  I have not returned to this activity and am determined never to do so.

What has happened is that I have had a short relapse.  I can’t fully explain why this happened nor can I fully understand why it happened.  What I know is that I am dealing with a disease that is both cunning and baffling.  I am trying very hard to control / tame it and I feel that I have made great progress.  Feelings of low self esteem, low self confidence, and inferiority that I once had are gone.  Relationships with family and friends that I thought were beyond repair are being dealt with and mended.  But I never expected to be cured in four months.  Much time and effort is required to change 20 years involvement with drugs.  I have been taking steps to.

 

October 30 (Day 3)

Morning again.  I slept well and despite my circumstances I awaken feeling well and content.  I had a good nights sleep.  I realize from the way I feel inside that despite its faults drug treatment has worked for me.  I feel that I am ready to contribute to society (again?).  (who is to say whether I have made a valid contribution in the past.  I believe that I have but something feels different this time.  Some part of me, something good and honest, has surfaced and I greet it like a long lost friend.  We are together again.

Sorry journal, but I must curtail my thoughts for now as breakfast time is quickly approaching.

OK, now I am back from breakfast.  Soggy toast again.  I suspect that the chefs here are not amongst the elite of the profession, not yet at the pinnacle of their careers.  In life, we seek progress, not perfection.  Cereal was available to us, although they were out of Special K, but I won’t let that affect my day.  As one of the inmates (Doug?) said to me, “try not to let the things bother you.  It only makes your time seem longer”.  Good advice and I’ll take it.

At all meals, we are given silverware which must then be collected and counted after the meal by the guard.  At first, this seemed silly to me. Has anyone ever really tried to tunnel their way out of this place with a spoon?  Are the guards watching too many old prison movies?  But the reason they do this is so that nobody can get a piece of silverware out of there and make a weapon out of it.  That could lead to chaos in the unit, even death.

The latest I must overcome is money.  We are not allowed to carry money, for reasons that should be obvious, as we are in a prison setting.  Money is kept in an account for us and is taken out by the staff when we order needed items from the canteen, primarily tobacco.  At present, I have only $10 in my account, the amount I had in my possession when I was admitted.

Had I known I would be going here perhaps I could have robbed a bank and I then I could live like a king, as it was always meant to be.  But someone above must have other plans for me because here I sit with pen and paper and still only $10 in my account.  Things have not improved since I first mentioned the $10.  the situation has not changed.  I still need more money in my account.  The only way to get money in the account is to have family members personally bring it to the jail.  And if and when that happens I will not be allowed any contact with that person.  Also I am only allowed one phone call today (5 calls a week) so that I must sit back and apply some strategy to this situation.  I must decide who I can call, who will be best able to meet my needs.  So much to do, so much to think about.  I think at this moment in time the best approach to this situation would be to take a nap.  No first I will have a cigarette and then I nap.  I must go now anyway as the guard is yelling at me to make my bed.  Even in here, maximum security, we have responsibilities.  Plus ca la meme chose.

At this moment, one of the other inmates, Doug, is having a minor (major?) problem.  He is making up a list of people who can visit (10 family members and one friend, all of whom must be approved by the staff.  More paperwork to be submitted!).  Doug’s problem is that he has a new girlfriend (common law wife?) who has six children.  Doug cannot remember all of their names.  If she knew this, she would be insulted, perhaps hurt, perhaps angry.  If he leaves any of them off the list because he cannot remember their names she would be insulted, perhaps hurt, perhaps angry.  Unless he comes up with a solution I guess you could say that is fucked either way.

Let’s discuss the word “fuck”.  In the world that I live in this is an acceptable word.  I do not consider it offensive.  It has a place in our language, in my vocabulary. This morning I was talking to the guards about how to get money into my account and, realizing and accepting there was nothing I could do at the moment to achieve a higher position of wealth amongst the population here, I said, “so basically, what you’re saying is that at this particular moment in time, I’m fucked”.  She (female guard – and that another subject to be discussed at another time) looked at me, smiled, and said, “yes, well put”.  And at that brief moment, I felt that we were equal, not guard and prisoner, but just two human beings whose paths crossed briefly on our journey through life.  It’s funny how sometimes the smallest things said to one another can change your mood, even change the course of your day in some way which I can’t fully explain.  Also humor is a wonderful tool we can use to get us through times of sadness and despair.  I can’t imagine a world without humor.  I would want no part of it. To me it would be better to not live at all than to live without humor (did you hear about the dyslexic atheist?  He didn’t believe in dogs).

Just went down for a smoke with the guys (how does that Beatles song, A day in the life”, go? Something about ‘had a smoke’ comes to mind).  Robbie O has asked if he has made it into my writing yet.  I will be sure to include him as the days go by.  I hear him making jokes about phenobarb, the drug that got me into this situation.  Thus far, I haven’t said much on the subject and so I feel it is time I explained my situation, as I see it.

Where do I start?  I’ll go down to the common area where the other guys are instead of isolating in my cell (as rooms are called in this place).

This will probably be the ‘condensed Readers Digest version’, we’ll see as we go along.

I must interrupt myself for a moment.  Had to go down and pick up a change of clothes.  I ran into Alex M. on the way but we are not allowed to socialize in the halls.  He is in another unit so I may never get to speak with him.  He was in Talbot House a few months ago but got drunk and got into a squabble with his girlfriend and got himself taken out to this place (he’s in medium).  2 of the guys from the unit next to ours, George and ?, have decided to?  Requested to?  Been allowed to?  Move into our unit.  I didn’t know we had this option but its ok with me.  Could make things a little more interesting.

So anyway, back to myself.

I’ve been a drug addict for 20 years, since I was 12 years old (now you now my age – 32).  Keeping in mind that this is the condensed version, I’m going to jump ahead to the past year or so.  My addiction (disease) has progressed through the early and mid stages to the late stage where I find myself now.  It has led me to losses of family, friends, employment, and material possessions, as well as to the brink of death whether by suicide or other means.  And lets not forget my spiritual devastation, or my arrest on drug charges.  All were factors that led to my involvement in treatment.

I was brought to the hospital (QEH) on February 2 of this year, after my parents, on a chance / random visit, found me unconscious in my bed and were unable to wake me.  At the time, I would have preferred that they left me to die.  Death seemed, in my twisted thinking, to be the only answer to my problems.  But it was not to be.  A week was spent in Ward 9 where I was taken off the drugs which led to my despair – cocaine, heroin, alcohol, valium, seconal, methadone, morphine, dilaudid, Demerol, codeine, percocet, fiorinal, xanax, secat, halidid, and all the others that don’t come to mind at the moment.

Seven miserable days spent there and then I was sent to the detox in Ch’town, where I spent 14 miserable days.  I felt unable to deal with the pain and suffering I was going through and escaped from this place on two occasions, only to be taken back by police or family on both occasions (many stories to tell but remember – condensed version).  Following this I was sent to Souris detox for 10 days (miserable, of course), where I was able to retain my sanity only (mostly) with the support and companionship of fellow patients, especially Anne T. who plays a large part in my story (sorry – condensed version).

Souris is my hometown, the place of my birth, where my life was shaped (?).  At the time of my story in Souris my mother and father were in San Francisco visiting my brother Mike (oldest of 3), an engineer (I fill the position of black sheep within the family).  My mother is a nurse at Souris Detox so I was only allowed to be there because she is on vacation, otherwise it would be a conflict of interest, unfortunately.  My parents live on the same street as the detox and I was able to see the house from my room there, which also made my stay difficult.  Adding to this I had recently separated from my wife and 2 children, Steven, 10, and [Valerie], 1, who was born during my stay in detox the previous year.  I think we may be the textbook dysfunctional family.

With the help of my family doctor, AK, a childhood friend who has recently returned to Souris after a 20 year absence spent in Ireland. AK's brother Gerard, a very good friend of mine in my childhood, lived just down the street from us but moved (back) to Cork, Ireland when I was 8 years old.

When my parents returned from SF, I was released from Detox to stay in their home.  My most prominent memory of this month spent there is the shotgun which I gazed at every night before I went to bed and every morning when I work, contemplating a way out of my misery.  Severely depressed, and feeling that I just could [not?] handle life at the time I asked to be committed to some sort of treatment facility.  This turned out to be Lonewater Farm in (outside of) St. John, New Brunswick.  I went there on March 29 still miserable and unhappy.  I had expected it to be a serious treatment facility but mostly it was just a ‘warehouse’ for winos from St. John wanting to get off the streets for a while.  3 meals a day and a roof over their heads, and, of course, a welfare check.  My stay there, sick as I was, was made easier by several guys from P.E.I. who I met and befriended there:  Kevin M. from Montague, Brian I. from Ch’town, and Trevor T. from Ch’Town.  All of these guys are involved in my story – condensed version.

Brian and Trevor later came to stay at Talbot House with me.  After 6 weeks at Lonewater, I went in to St. John on a routine trip, and went straight to a bar.  I hadn’t planned this; I just felt drawn there (fate? destiny?).  Of course, I had several beer which led to my expulsion from Lonewater, and my return to P.E.I.  After getting kicked out of there I realized that being sober for six weeks hadn’t been that bad and I became determined to continue to explore this lifestyle choice.  I should also mention that I went on a 2 day cocaine binge when I got to Souris which also helped me to come to the realization that I didn’t want that way of life anymore.  This also taught me that some positive can come out of a relapse and we need not always focus on the negative, as is usually the case, especially within the justice system.

After several days in Souris I contacted Dr. Jones, who has dealt with me for several years in her capacity as an addictions specialist, and asked her to refer me to Talbot House.  Talbot was then under the supervision of Inez T., who is now on a leave of absence to attend UNB Fredericton where she is studying for her Masters Degree in Psychology.  Irene is a stern but caring lady, sort of a motherly type.  She interviewed me and accepted me into the house.  Several weeks later she told me that she was unsure whether to accept me or not (she has a background in corrections and I have long been involved in criminal behavior.  She was dubious of my sincerity and motivation as I had pending legal issues).  She told me that what swayed her in my favor was that she saw a part of me, a small part inside my soul, that wanted something more out of life and she thought that part needed to be nourished and nurtured and allowed to grow.  This, I believe, is the essence of my spirituality.

Now, the legal issues.  I had been charged with possession of cocaine (20 grams) with intent to traffic in May of the previous year, 1997.  I’ll admit that motivation to be involved with this activity was greed in the past but by this point it had become an addiction problem.  I had a massive appetite for drugs, fueled by addiction, which could only be fed by the sale of drugs.  (let’s say $200 - $1000+ per day spent on drugs.  I was barely human, going through life like a zombie.) Throughout this period (’92-’98) I also owned and operated a small business, Days of Wine and Beer, selling brewing supplies.  I was able to operate this quite well until brought to my knees by drugs.

I’m going to skip a lot of background issues here and go straight to court.  The prosecutor felt that what I had been involved in was serious enough to warrant 3-5 years incarceration.  My lawyer, John Davis, was able to convince him to ask for 2 years less a day, the maximum that can be served in Provincial Jail, anything above that moves up to the Federal system.  My lawyer informed me that there had recently been an amendment to the Criminal Code allowing sentences less than 2 years to be conditional, which means served in the community with certain conditions.  He didn’t seem too confident that such a sentence would be imposed on myself as my crime was serious, especially by P.E.I. standards.   However, I approached Dr. Jones and asked her to write a letter to the court stating her medical opinion and the need for treatment.  I also asked Inez T. at Talbot, and my councilor there, Freddy A., to write a letter describing what progress I had made up to that point.  Both of these letters were presented to the court.  After a considerable amount of time, which seemed like an eternity to me, the judge returned from his deliberation and ruled in favor of a conditional sentence.  I can’t express in words the feeling I had at that moment, but I’m glad that my wife and parents were there to share it with me.

So I returned to Talbot House and life went on pretty much as it had during the past few weeks.  Several months passed and I made much progress with my illness. One of the conditions of my sentence was that I attend a treatment program at Homewood Health Centre in Guelph, Ont.  This was arranged to begin on Sept. 2.

I arrived at Homewood with high expectations but I was only there for a short while before things went wrong for me. My roommate was a heroin addict, from Vancouver, only 19 years old (Steve).  He and I got along great. He reminded me much of myself when I was younger, not taking life too seriously and perhaps too smart for his own good.

After a few days there, he came back from a walk downtown stoned on heroin.  None of the staff or other patients knew, but I did.  This went on daily for about a week before he was called in for a random urine test.  The next morning, I came back from my morning session and he was gone.  He took off for Vancouver without telling anyone.  All the while he was using I was really confused.  Negative feelings and thoughts of deviant behavior which I thought had left me over the past few months were again brought to the surface.  When I tried to talk about these feelings and behavior in group I was made to feel that the way I thought was wrong.  When Steve was using I talked to him and asked him to confess to his group.  He said he would but kept putting it off and then he was gone.  When I told the nurse that I knew he was using she made me feel like I was bad and wrong for not turning him in.  Meanwhile other patients were going home for the weekend and coming back drunk or stoned.  These people were not kicked out.  Their reasons for using were being dealt with in group.  They were not punished.  This created great confusion in my mind because it was totally different from what I saw in treatment in P.E.I.  but again when I brought up the subject of relapse I was told that I shouldn’t even be talking about such a thing.  I just couldn’t understand how to get along, what they wanted from me and this eventually led to an early discharge from the program.  I was also continually being questioned and analyzed about my motivation, as I was technically there under the courts direction.  This to me was a hurdle I could not overcome.

I returned to Talbot House but found that I had lost the sense of trust that I once had in the staff due to the way I was treated in Homewood.  Another patient in Talbot, who I had become close friends with, was found to be using was quickly put out of the house before I even knew what happened.  I tried to talk about my feelings on this in group but again I was made to feel that there was something wrong with my thinking.  Relapse is a major part of addiction but it seems like the subject is taboo in treatment centres (and I feel this has something to do with their low success rate).

Thoughts of using and cravings built up inside of me and I couldn’t release them because I felt that I couldn’t openly and honestly with the staff (there was one staff member, Jim G., who I was getting to know, whom I felt might be able to talk to but I was unsure I would make him uncomfortable by talking about this subject.  I didn’t want to be pushed away again).

Eventually on Fri. Oct 23 something inside me snapped and I took a phenobarb pill (this is what they use in detox to subdue cravings).  I did not take it to get high.  If I wanted to get high I would have taken cocaine or morphine, both of which are easily available on the street.  I just wanted these fucking negative feelings to go away.  I don’t know if they’ll ever go away but I don’t want them anymore.  I just want to think like a normal person, whatever that is.  I hope someday I’ll find out.

On Wednesday morning we were supposed to have our group meeting at 8:30 am.  The staff came in and told us they had something urgent to deal with.  Shortly afterward an RCMP car pulled up in front of the house and two officers walked into the office.  I was then called in.  Wayne C. waved a piece of paper in my face and said, “I have the results of your urine test.  You tested positive for barbiturates and are discharged from the house”.  Then I was handcuffed and taken away and now I sit writing my story, hoping everything will work out some day.

I just had a meeting with staff psychiatrist? Social worker? Earlier today, I passed some letters to be mailed.  All of my mail has to be screened by the staff.  It seems they had some concerns about ‘questionable content’ in one of my letters.  I wrote to Wayne C. at Talbot and made a comment that ‘soon all will be under my control, will proceed with plans for world domination’, written in the context that I was here as a secret agent. It’s an inside joke between Wayne and I but when the staff read it they questioned my sanity.  I find this quite amusing.  Fortunately, I was able to convince them that I am, indeed sane and now everything will be ok.  I now realize that I will have to sprinkle a few jokes throughout my ramblings to keep the guards amused, as all outgoing mail will be screened.  Is it true that cannibals don’t eat clowns because they taste funny?

Lunch today was another obstacle for me.  They had fish and I don’t eat fish (curiously, my father is a fisherman).  So apparently, I have to fill out a request to talk to the nurse who will then talk to the cook who will then, hopefully, cook something not containing fish or any fish by-products for me (more fucking paperwork).  Chain of command thing, I suppose.  Fortunately, I was able to trade my fish for some of the other inmates jello (effective functioning of the barter system).  There are also crackers available to all, no paperwork required.

We were allowed outside for an hour this afternoon.  I had envisioned us all spread out across the grounds on our hands and knees picking magic mushrooms.  But the reality was different.  We were in a 30’ x 30’ caged area smoking cigarettes just like we do inside, only it’s colder out there.  I may choose to pass on this activity tomorrow.

If you shoot a mime should you use a silencer?  (that was just thrown in to keep the guards amused) from now on I will try to use the symbol G [with a circle around it] to denote a joke for the guards.

… encountering mental block … must smoke …

I just spoke with my mother and Ambrose, the doctor, on the phone (about placing the call – I asked the guard to make the call for me, as we don’t have access to the phones.  The call had to be routed through the main switchboard (even the simplest things are made complicated here).  After waiting 15 minutes I said to the guys, “watch this, as soon as I light this cigarette the phone will ring (Murphys Law)” as soon as I lit my cigarette the phone rang and everyone burst out in laughter).

Anyway it seems to me that I am the only one who has any confidence that I will get through this ordeal unscathed.  Despite this, I will hold on to my positive thoughts and hope for the best.  God grant me to accept the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.  G [Guard joke] do you think a world without bears would be unbearable?

I just noticed a piece of paper on the desk which the guys have been writing their different interpretations of what the letters RCMP stand for:  real classless major pricks, rectal checking maggot pharmers, regular cocksucking mother phuckers, royal clap-infested mother-fucking pigs, returning cockbreath mindless pukes, real clueless mindless potatoheads, rough cunts molesting pigs.  Interesting how we keep ourselves amused in Sleepy Hollow – Minimum Security.

Tonight I tried to talk to the nurse, Sherri, about my diet but she wouldn’t discuss it.  She says I must talk to the head nurse on Monday, 3 days from now.  How will I ever grow up and be big and strong if I can’t eat the food here.  A man can’t live on crackers alone (one of the guys shared his crackers with me, obviously sympathetic to my plight).  So tonight I go to bed hungry, hoping there will be something good to eat tomorrow.  Sometimes it’s just no fun being in jail.

 

October 31 (Day 4)

Again I awaken feeling well rested, feeling good.  Today is Saturday and we are allowed to sleep in (and we don’t have to put a request to do so).  The extra time to sleep is much appreciated, makes me feel a little more relaxed.  All in all, I am surprised, shaken even, that I find it so easy to ‘do time’ here.  One of the promises of AA is that “we will intuitively know how to handle situations used to baffle us”, and I believe that this has come true to me.  This is my second visit to Sleepy Hollow.  The first was a 15 day sentence for leaving the scene of an accident, which I served in 1992.  At that time, I was in minimum security and I was depressed and miserable the whole time I was here.  Except for meals, I spent all of my time in my cell reading (even to this day, whenever I see a Readers Digest or National Geographic magazine, I am reminded of this place).  I am reminded of this place).  I kept to myself and did not talk to anyone while I was here.

Something that is bothering me, after speaking with my mother last night, is how little confidence my family has here in my ability to deal with this situation.  I remain confident that when I have my day in court, this place will be in my past (later, I will discuss my courtroom strategy).  The impression I get from my mother is that everyone is disappointed and feels that the situation is hopeless.  Nothing is hopeless and I aim to prove that to all concerned.

The first thing I did this morning was have a shower, which is not as straightforward as you would think.  There is only one knob in the shower; cold.  To get hot water you must first turn on the shower and then go to the guard and ask him to turn on the hot water.  Why this is, I have no understanding.  As I said before, even the simplest things are made complicated in here.

Now I shall take a break.  I have asked Robbie to roll a cigarette for me, as I am just not much good at that, having spent most of my life in a world with ‘tailor made’ cigarettes, which are rarely seen in places like this, and highly coveted.

I just returned from lunch today.  Today we eat like kings.  Hot dogs and French fries.  I never thought I could enjoy such a meal so much.  But this is life in jail.  There is a sort of hierarchy within the population here where certain inmates have places in the dining room where only they can sit and this must be respected by other inmates (if not I suspect they incur a beating).  My position is still somewhat open although I have been invited to sit at the table next to the ‘main’ table so usually I choose to take this place.  Although I don’t feel I have a big ego I do take some pride in the fact that I am accepted by the other inmates. Within the hierarchy con artists, bank robbers or generally criminals who are very clever take the highest positions; drug offenders are somewhere in the high middle; and sex offenders are at the very bottom.  Sex offenders often have to be separated from the general population as their presence brings forth anger and hostility from other inmates.

Respect for one another is a big issue amongst the inmates, although, from what I’m told, it is not carried out as far here as it is in many other institutions, especially in Ontario.  One of the inmates here, Doug, did some time in a jail in Hamilton.  He tells me that in that place inmates must be totally quiet until noon (this is not a regulation of the institution, it is a code of ethics among the inmates).  Even if you use the toilet during the night you must not flush it ‘till noon (or else a beating).  The TV must not be turned on, conversation must be in whisper.  He told me of one incident where two men (one black, one white) were waiting to take a shower.  Each had their towel on a certain hook outside the shower.  Actually both had their towels on a hook, the white man knew which hook was his and the black man, a new guy, didn’t realize he had to use a certain hook.  The black man took his shower and after drying himself off put his towel back on a hook, which was another inmates hook.  The white man called the black guy a goof, which is the worst insult one inmate can make to another.  The black man shrugged it off, not realizing what it meant to be called a goof.  Then one of the other inmates said to him, “that guy called you a goof.  You have to do something about that”.  Again the black guy shrugged it off.  A short time later several of the other inmates jumped him and gave him a severe beating, just because he had not stood up for himself.  That’s how life is on the inside.  So far I have not seen any examples of one inmate violating anothers respect although there is some concern and hostile feelings toward a suspected sex offender in another unit.

I am incurring some good natured ribbing from the guys for being in here for taking phenobarb, as it is not a drug used to get high, although it is a prescription drug used in drug treatment.  How do I get myself in these situations?

 

November 1 (Day 5)

I awoke this morning feeling shaken and uneasy due to a dream (nightmare?) I had during the night.  I chose not to get up and begin writing at the time, hoping these feelings would pass with a few more hours sleep (also I am low on tobacco and the best way I know to conserve tobacco is to sleep).  I was correct and the feelings would pass and so now I shall relate the dream to you.  The dream ties in with another one that I had several nights before but had forgotten so I shall describe the first dream … first.

In the first dream I was living at home with my parents.  My brothers were also there so this would be at least 15 years ago.  A package had arrived in the mail addressed to me.  It was from my cousin in Montreal (who was murdered in 1993 – drug related, but I still don’t know the details).  The package contained two bags each containing a different variety of hashish, 2 bags each containing cocaine from different countries in south America, and one bag containing ¼ gram of heroin, which was yellow in color (which is unusual).  The only thing of interest to me was the heroin.  I dumped out the bag, got a needle, and began to prepare a fix.  Then my mother came into the room, grabbed the heroin and went to hide it somewhere.  That’s basically what I remember of the first dream.

In the second dream, I was in a group meeting at Talbot House but it was in a different room than the one we usually meet in.  In fact, the whole house was different.  One of the councilors, Wade M., jumped up and grabbed me, yelling that I was the son of satan.  He was holding the lid of a jar one of the patients had given him.  It had 3 holes punched in it and beside each one of them was a number 6 (666, the number of the beast, in the bible).  I had some sort of medallion in my pocket with 666 on it and it seemed that everyone was aware that I had it.  I felt like I had been exposed, that my secret was out.  I tried to laugh it off but inside I was trembling.  I also feared that they would point out that my date of birth is in the sixth month of 1966.

In the second part of this dream I was at home with my parents (again 15 years in the past).  My mother was sleeping on the couch and my father was not at home.  I was trying to find the bag of heroin that she had hidden.  I went to the bathroom to check out the medicine cabinet.  When I came out there was a note on my mothers bedroom door saying that she had gone to work.  I opened the door, thinking the room to be empty, but I heard some noise.  My father was in the corner talking to someone but there was nobody there.  Then he looked at me and I felt scared like I had been caught doing something bad.  All of a sudden there was a noise from the attic like someone walking.  We went up to the attic.  My father went in first and I was behind him holding a flashlight.  I shined the light on the floor and there was a huge pile of fresh shit.  Then I saw something moving along the wall.  It was some sort of black dog like beast, about 6 feet long with many snarling heads and some sort of monkey like creature growing out of its back.  It lunged at my father and the next thing I remember I was out in the yard screaming.  Then I woke up.

What do our dreams mean?  I had no recollection of the previous dream but it was very clear to me during this dream.

When I woke up I felt scared.  I am locked up in my cell at night.  The cell is about 8’ x 10’.  The light switch is outside the cell where only the guards can access it.  It was very dark and I felt closed in.  I felt like there was an evil presence in the room.  I wondered if I was evil or if it had been left here by a previous inmate.  I am not a religious man but I began to pray.  I attempted to say the “Our Father” but I could not remember the words (I have been to well over 100 AA Meetings in the last 6 months and they all close with this prayer but still I could not remember the words).  O put my back to the wall so I could see the entire room and recited the serenity prayer until I fell asleep.

The latest dilemma(?) unfolding here is the sex offender in the next unit.  Sex offenders are despised by other inmates.  I’ve been told that in other institutions you would be shanked (stabbed) just for talking to one (“you might as well just stab yourself”).  Usually they are separated from the other inmates for their own safety so it is unusual that they have put one in with us.  There is a good deal of concern and anger amongst the inmates although I can discuss anything I have heard because this will probably be read by the guards before I leave (G – joke for guard symbol) can you tell how old a pirate is by cutting off his wooden leg and counting the rings?

Today is going to be a long day.  I have run out of tobacco.  The other guys will give me cigarettes but it makes me uncomfortable to ask (fear of rejection, loss of control?)  I had made arrangements for Doug’s girlfriend to pick up my welfare check at Talbot House but they wouldn’t give it to here when she went to pick it up.  So it’s hard to get anything done from here.  I will have no money for cigarettes when the canteen opens tomorrow and may have to rely on charity until Wednesday (fuck!).

This afternoon I was allowed to go to the gym for an hour where I had a couple games of snooker (1 win, 1 loss), it was rather enjoyable and quickly killed an hour.

 

November 2 (Day 6)

I slept in this morning and had to run to the kitchen for breakfast.  I’m told that if you miss a meal you get thrown in the ‘hole’ (the dreaded hole – isolation, no smoking).  This morning we had pancakes (actually one pancake – as if it were normal to have only one pancake!).

We had a bunch of inmates from Summerside jail here for the weekend and now they have gone back – things are returning to ‘normal’. There is much discontent among the inmates about the ‘rapehound’ (sex offender).  If he is not moved out by the staff it looks like he will be getting a beating.

All of us are out of tobacco (except one guy who hides in his room and smokes – the uglier side of human nature comes out in situations like this).  We pick through the ashtrays and look for butts we can get a bit of tobacco from and re-roll it.   Times are tough here in max.  More tobacco will be coming from the canteen at 11:00.  I have no money yet one of the guys, Richie, has promised to buy me a bale of tobacco, to be repaid when I get money (a kind gesture from a man I met only 3 days ago).

Today I hope to be talking to my lawyer and possibly the journalist at Holland College.

Aha! The guard just called me and told me my cheque has arrived (from my mother – she’s always there for me).  Now I am able to get tobacco and junk food.  Today will be a good day after all.  It’s nice to know there’s someone there who cares.  Now I feel a bit of guilt and will (should) call home sometime this week (I had decided I was not going to, since I had the feeling my parents were not very supportive this time.  Nobody understands me.  Poor me.). Now I must put down my pencil as all my instincts tell me that this situation calls for a nap.

The tobacco just came in from the canteen.  Yahoo.  I feel like an addict who just got his fix.  I’m going to sit here and smoke till I turn blue.

Jerry Springer is coming on TV now.  It’s very popular in here. The guys have been in scandal withdrawal since Friday.  Today its “I stole my moms man”.

I got a call from my lawyer.  She didn’t seem very optimistic but she hasn’t seen the files yet and has only heard the prosecutors point of view.  The situation doesn’t look that good. I hope I can defend myself adequately, else[?] I sit here till the year 2000.  nobody understands me.  Poor me.

I was hoping that Leonard MacPhee would come out to see me but there’s been no sign of him.  There was no AA meeting last night either.  I was looking forward to that.

I’m reading this book called “Hovels”[?] by Edward Heath.  It’s interesting.  The other guys watch TV all day long and I’m just not into it.

I really haven’t done much writing today.  I’m a bit depressed I guess.  I’m getting the feeling court on Friday will be postponed until Dr. Jones’s return.  (actually I did write a 6 page letter to [Guard 3]).  Tomorrow I will write to Dr. Jones.  I was hoping to get her address from Leonard but I guess I’m on my own again.  And one final note cuz I find this amusing.  I called the guard over and I asked him if I could make a phon call.  He says “too late, it’s after 10”, so I said, “but I never got to make a call today” and he says, “where were ya?” !!!  where the fuck else would I be, gone to the mall?  I’m locked up here all day long.  Ah, this foolish place.

 

November 3 (Day 7)

Today begins much like any other day in here.  I get up just in time to rush to the kitchen for breakfast.  The food here is … uh … one notch above terrible.  Basically it sucks.  I don’t like it.  I’m not happy.  Poor me.  Nobody understands me.  Later today I will be meeting with the nurse to discuss my dietary needs.  I may have invented a new prison scam.  I am going to portray myself as a man allergic to fish.  I don’t like fish.  Hopefully my efforts will not be in vain.  Then there’s pork.  I don’t like pork.  I think my approach will be to say it is against my religion to eat pork.  I must put my mind to work and come up with a name for this religion.  If that fails I will insist that I can’t eat pigs because I have watched the movie, ‘Babe’ several times and my kids would be very disappointed in me if they knew I was eating that pig.

I was talking to Doug this morning about conditional sentences.  He is in here because he breached his twice.  On his first breach he received a 15 day sentence, so I hope for the same.

Leonard showed up this morning and we spoke for a while.  Leonard is a wise and spiritual man and it was good to see him.  I was telling him about how quickly I got taken away from the house [Talbot] and I suggested that the staff had wanted me out.  He told me not to be so quick to jump to conclusions.  As it turns out he was right.  I called Wayne C. afterward and discussed this.  There was no malicious intent on Wayne’s part.  Sometimes I have a little difficult understanding Wayne.  I believe he is a good man but I ma inherently suspicious of those in authority.  I suppose this has to with the corruption and security involved in living the lifestyle I did all those years.  So I was correct in my assessment of Wayne, as I had hoped.  He is on my side.  Now I must connect with Dr. Jones and find out whether she is onside as well.

I’m having difficulty getting anything accomplished this afternoon, with the exception of a good nap.  The nurse was supposed to come and see me but didn’t show up.  My lawyer was supposed to call me but didn’t. and then there was no answer at Dr. Joness office.  Where do I go from here?  Ah … back to sleep.  When in doubt, sleep.

Well, I got to see the nurse just before supper.  It seemed like she didn’t believe my story about allergy and religious beliefs.  Hmmm … it was a valiant effort on my part thought, I believe.  She also advised me not to contact Dr. Jones directly but instead go through the lawyer, if she ever gets back to me.

The other guys are watching WWF Wrestling.  I don’t understand how anybody can watch that choreographed garbage.  That’s my opinion.  So, as an alternative, I will try to sleep.

 

November 4 (Day 8)

Well … I’ve been here for a week and I’m still not sure if I’m having fun yet.  Actually it hasn’t been anywhere near as bad in here as I had expected.  We do manage to keep ourselves amused.  Although I’m finding it a bit harder to come up with things to write about, as life is becoming somewhat routine.

Last night I got Wayne N.’s phone number (from George who got it from John who …).  So tonight I will be giving him a call.  We’ve become close friends in treatment and I look forward to speaking with him.

I had the guard call my lawyer this morning (all the calls have to be placed by the guards.  That’s another rule.  No paper work involved though … surprisingly). She (lawyer) was not in.  Her secretary said that she is in Supreme Court for the next few days.  So I left a message to call me as I understand, and hope, that she will be representing me on Friday.  I’m thinking that she is thinking that because Dr. Jones is out (she is unaware the doctor is back). There is nothing that can be done on Friday except further remand (which will probably happen), and so she feels it is not urgent that she contact me.  All I can do is sit her now and wait for her reply.  I feel that the best I can do in this situation is to take a nap.

… there was a moment of great joy amongst the inmates which quickly turned to disappointment for reasons I can’t disclose from inside (there is much potential from these notes).  Its funny how sometimes just the events of one moment can trigger something in the mind which will allow me to write extensively).

Now I wait for the arrival of the nurse (bringing regular medication) so I can begin the nap I mentioned a few lines back.

At the moment Doug is outside mopping the unit.  I’m staying here in my cell so I don’t get my socks wet.  We are in charge of keeping our own unit clean.  Speaking for myself, I would not care if we lived like pigs, being the man that I is (newfie-ism).  Actually pigs are very clean animals and I like them (Babe) but unfortunately, society views them as a filthy animal.  All my sympathy goes out to the noble pig, who seeks only peace for the world and happiness for his pig family, but ultimately ends up on our plates, just another link in the food chain.  Ah, the poor pig, nobody understands him.

Another amusing incident to report.  I just went for a clothes change.  We have to turn in our dirty clothes and then go to the counter at the laundry room, call out our assigned number (I-99) and receive a clean set of clothes.  When asked for my number I called out ‘double O seven”.  We all had a good laugh over this.  Maybe you had to be there.  But anyway it’s the humor that keeps us together.  I can’t imagine a world without humor.  I wouldn’t want any part of it.

All the guys are watching womens aerobics on TV, as they usually do every morning.  I can’t believe that these shows are really made for women.  Also, there must be a large audience of unemployed men sitting at home for shows like this to ever be conceived.

I have just written a letter to the editor regarding a story in Wednesdays paper (Nov. 4) in which the city seeks a ban on smoking in public.  I’m tired of being made to feel like an outcast.

 

Dear editor.

Is the city going a bit too far with the smoking issue (page 1 – Wednesdays paper)?  I smoke.  I enjoy smoking.  I don’t smoke to injure other peoples health.  I just enjoy it.

Look what has happened to the Food Fair at Confederation Court Mall since its smoking ban came into effect.  The area is void of customers, smokers and non-smokers alike, throughout most of the day.  It was once the social center of the downtown core.  Now it is virtually abandoned.

Surely we can apply some reasoning, some logic, to the situation.  Hopefully a suitable compromise can be reached, allowing both smokers and non-smokers to live in harmony.

P.S.  Please don’t print Sleepy Hollow as my address.  I don’t belong here. I’m innocent.  You gotta believe me.

Because I smoke, so I shall let my feelings be known.  Somebody has to speak out.  Why not me?

I just sent a letter to Jean to apologize for the first letter I sent her which was kind of harsh.  Like I said to her, I’m kinda frustrated about the situation I’m in but I shouldn’t take my anger out on her.  So I guess you could say I’m seeking amends (one of those steps in AA).  So I have learned something from AA, something spiritual.  So I am making progress.  Indeed I is.  But I still haven’t been able to take my nap yet today.  Again I’m waiting for the nurse (who all but me seem to dislike.  Hmmm … treat people with respect and they’ll treat you with respect) to bring the meds (medication).  Who would think I would be so busy in here.  Hmmm.

I may not even get my nap in now cause at 2:00 we go outside, weather permitting, or to the gym if weather is … not permitting.  So we’ll just have to sit back, assess the situation, and see what happens.  Then we’ll make a plan of action try to implement it.  That’s how its gonna be.  Yeah ….

Robbie G. has just been told they are moving him to Summerside jail, which is kind of disappointing.  You just get to know someone and then he’s gone.  Plus ca la meme chose.  I think I speak for all of us when I say that I don’t want to see him go.  I’ve told him that I will make sure that he is included in my book.

Robbie is gone now and for a short time there were just three of us but another guy, a replacement perhaps, has been moved in from medium.  It seems he failed some piss tests so they’ve decided he belongs here in max with the hard core criminal elite.  Always room for one more, they say.

I was just speaking with Wayne R., my partner in outlawed rehab activities, on the phone.  You see, Wayne also tested positive for phenobarb and was thrown out of the home after me.  Fortunately for him, the consequences were not as severe.  I could write for hours about things Wayne and I have done.

I got to the library this evening to pick up some books.  It’s not much of a library, but I was able to find some books and magazines (Time and Atlantic Insight – haven’t seen that in a long time) to keep me busy.  I’m not interested in fiction.  I like history, geography, adventure, travel, true crime.

 

November 5 (Day 9)

Today is the ninth of my originally scheduled ten days here.  Hopefully, but not likely, it will be my last.  I await the arrival of my lawyer for her opinion.

My approach to this situation, tomorrow in court, would be to meet with Dr. Jones and discuss what happened both here and at Homewood, and have her speak in court or write a letter to the court.  That is unlikely to happen tomorrow as there is not much time left.  I would also hope that a staff member from the house, possibly Freddie, could write a letter describing the progress I have made in treatment.  I would also like to have a letter from Martin Darrell stating that he sees promise in my writing (though I’m worried that I may have sounded desperate when I wrote him).

At this point it seems very unlikely that all of this could possibly come together by tomorrow.  Perhaps if my lawyer had come to see me sooner (I have been calling her since last Wednesday) it could have been arranged.  The most likely option is that it will be adjourned to a later date, hopefully within two weeks, and I will be remanded till then, probably in custody here.  I wish I had at least been able to discuss the possibility of being released to my parents custody until sentencing.  Actually, I don’t really want to stay with my parents but that’s the only option if I were released.  I would like to be able to see my kids in Souris but the idea of living with my father makes me uncomfortable.  He seems to be continually analyzing and judging me, not for what I am doing right but for what I am doing wrong.  That’s how its always been and I suspect it will never change.

Today has been a really slow day, most of it spent waiting for the lawyer, who never arrived.  She did call around 5:00 so we will meet at the courthouse tomorrow morning.  She was talking to Dr. Jones who says that Addictions P.E.I. has done all they can for me.  I will have to see her myself and explain what happened.  A bit of what it was like, what happened, and what its like now.

Andre ask me tonight if I was on Paxil.  He thought I was getting ‘buggy’.  I am on a high dose of it and I would like to get ir reduced as I am not at all depressed now.  Well … except for today.

Tomorrow, I must get up at 7 to prepare to leave at 8 for court.