One Profound Moment:What You Have To Worry About

Last night was a hard night for me.

If you follow me on Twitter (@BostonBliss) and were up in the wee hours of the night, you’ll have been privy to my state of mind and the struggles I was attempting to work through. My work is not only challenging in and of itself, but it's also incredibly challenging to me as a person – to my values and beliefs about myself, others, and the world in general.

I cry even now as I write this.

I only slept for about four hours despite the fact that today is my one day off a week where I can catch up on missed sleep and enjoy a day of naked rest and relaxation. I just couldn’t get into the headspace for sleep last night, and when I woke up this morning for no concrete reason, I was wide awake once again.

I’m mentally exhausted, but sleep is evading me. I think I have to read up on my self-care methods. I’m forgetting them and their slowly slipping from my priority list. But this blog is, if nothing else, making me stick to one part of my self-care, which is putting something to paper. It's about getting it out.

This week’s little nugget of pure truth isn’t an exchange between two men. It’s a little bit longer than usual, but no matter how I try to condense it, it just doesn’t seem right. It has to be told in its entirety for it to mean anything.

So here’s one man’s story of incarceration. With great pain he told this, only to benefit another group member who is entering jail next month. He wanted him to be aware.

One Man's Story:

When you go into jail, you know you have to worry about the other inmates. You have your story all planned out – you’re here for domestic violence – that’s a good one to use. You’re just here to do your time. You don’t say anything else because it’s better to just not talk about it, because then people start asking questions. If someone finds out you’re in for a sexual offence – well, let’s just say that’s not what you want. 

You know all this. What you don’t know is that it’s not only the other inmates you have to worry about – it’s the guards too. It’s the guards especially.

When I went in, I was stripped down and given my new clothes in a private room. Before I could even process what was going on I realized there were four guards present and I heard someone call from down the hall: just don’t get blood anywhere. I knew what was going to happen then.

They jumped me, four against one. I was beaten and bruised and bleeding, and they continued to beat me with a resounding chorus of what a piece of shit I was, and how I should just get it over with and kill myself. I was told I wasn’t worth shit. And I couldn’t argue – what they said was true. In the end, I was knocked down to the floor with a heavy hit to one side of my head, and my ear ended up splitting open against the concrete. Blood spilled everywhere, like a horror movie scene almost. But you know what? They made me clean up my own blood. They attacked me, and I cleaned it up for them.

They handed me a piece of paper and I was told to tell the truth about how my ear and been injured – they don’t like guys who lie, after all. I made up a bogus story and signed it, and they took me down to the onsite nurse.

One guard stayed with me the entire time to make sure I didn’t change my story. The nurse tried to ask what happened – she knew. But I couldn’t change my story – it would’ve just made things worse. I only needed to survive forty-five days. That’s all. I’d survived three decades – forty-five days was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

There’s a lot of shit that happens in jail that just shouldn’t happen – but it does. People, whoever they are, are hateful and vengeful, and sometimes downright evil. You go into jail and when you come out, you’re changed. Someone shows compassion and empathy towards you and you distrust it – you can’t accept that people like that still exist. It’s a sorry state when you’re genuinely surprised by even the smallest act of kindness, and I think maybe that’s the worst part of it all.

I always used to believe in the genuine goodness of people. Not anymore. I want to, but I still don’t know if I can get back to that after what I’ve seen, what I've been through. It changes you - no doubt about that. Just be ready for it.

FAITHFULLY YOURS,

One Profound Moment:What's Your Own Self-Worth?

Last night was the first night that I went to group and sat amongst eight men who have sexually offended and laughed. It was the type of laughter that can't be contained, the type of laughter that is utterly contagious and uncontrollable. I listened as a group member described in great detail the psychological warfare he's been engaging in with his neighbour, laughing and living through him as he weaves the intricate details of his daily life.

It's important to celebrate the achievements and the joys of daily existence, but our group is bound by men who share many obstacles, challenges, and heartache. Not ten minutes later after laughing along with the group, I'm suddenly filled with reverence and respect as another man shares the story of his offence from beginning to end, pausing often to find the language for the words he hadn't yet spoken out loud. Two hours is gone before I even realize it, and I'm left thinking about the many profound truths I'd witnessed in that short time.

The following discussion took place between a new member who is currently awaiting sentencing and a veteran member who remembers being in his same precarious position. 

Man One: 

I've lost my half-million dollar house, the Cadillac in my driveway, my boat and my big screen TV - every material thing I own is gone. But you know what? That's not even the worst of it. I've been served my divorce papers, my friends and family have up and disappeared, I'm not allowed to see my kids, and just about every source of happiness that I had before is gone. I have nothing - literally nothing. Suicide? Sure, it's a thought - isn't it always? - but I don't want to be that headline, the one that says I've somehow escaped justice. Whatever that means.

Man Two:

I feel like I was right where you were after my offence - except for the Cadillac maybe. I was lucky enough though that the first corrections officer I made contact with sat me down and said something to me that I'll never forget. I had just been stripped of all my personal things, and I was a mess. He saw that, and he took a minute and said to me:

Everything you have, someone can take from you. Not one thing that you hold close is safe from being ripped away without a moments notice. Everything except your self-worth - no one can take that from you. Ever. So what is yours worth?  

At that moment I realized that I had always valued myself for what I had, not for who I was. My self-worth needed to be based on my character and my values, not all the shit I bought to blow the money I barely earned. But I know what you mean, the worst part is all of the real stuff - the family, the friends, the kids. The people you love. It's hard to go through losing all that, but it's even harder when your self-worth is shit to begin with. When you're left with nothing and you are nothing because of it, well, suicide looks pretty good, doesn't it?

FAITHFULLY YOURS,

One Profound Moment:We're Not Victims

Yesterday was my second day of providing direct client service for a group of men who have sexually offended, and I'm once again lost in contemplation about the conversations we had for those two short hours. Words cannot express how truly grateful I am to have the opportunity to be part of their group and to share with them in those moments of profound realization and epiphany.

The only way I can truly say thank you is to pass it on.

The following took place within a larger discussion of society and the general community. The men began to talk about what they wished the community knew about them:

Man One: 

I wish people knew that I'm a victim of my offense too - yeah, there are real victims here, my victims, and I don't want to diminish that - but I'm not just going on with my horrible evil life like nothing happened. Everyone involved has suffered from my offense - myself included. I don't think people see that, and I wish they did.

Man Two: 

But we're not victims of our offenses - at least not the way I see it. My victim had no control over the situation; they couldn't control the fact that I was in their midst and that I chose to act on my unhealthy desires. I didn't choose to have unhealthy thoughts and desires, no, but I chose to act on them. And that's on me. A victim has no control over what happened to them - I had control and I lost it.

FAITHFULLY YOURS,

One Profound Moment:Oh, The Irony

I've talked about this on Twitter quite often over the last few months, but I want to briefly explain one (new) aspect of my life that will slightly change the overall nature of this blog from here forward.

As part of my human sexuality degree requirement, I work with men who have sexually offended in an AA style program designed specifically for the needs of the offending population. Yesterday was my first day providing direct client service to these men, but already I know that to not write about my experiences with them would be to betray my own sense of self.

I write about what moves me in all aspects of my life, and I want to honour that.

I consider myself quite fortunate to have the opportunity to get to know these men, hear their stories, and understand the struggles they face and the triumphs they celebrate. I feel blessed to be amongst them, and I want to share with you each week one nugget of profoundness that I take from them.

The following conversation took place between two men in the group who have been (or are in the process of being) charged for accessing, possessing, or distributing child pornography.

Man One: 

The justice system, and everyone else too for that matter, sees me as a one-dimensional thing: a monster. That's all they see - this monstrous thing that I've done. I think I'm a good person, and when I think about my character, I think, yeah, it's pretty good. But I've done this evil thing, this horrible thing, but that's all anyone sees. They don't see me - the person behind this horrible monstrous thing.

Man Two: 

But that's the irony of it all, don't you see? We saw them as one-dimensional; we didn't see the person, the hurt, the victimization behind those images. What we did to them, we are having done to us. 

FAITHFULLY YOURS,