That 48 sq. ft. was my whole world. Did I eat? Sleep? What was the food like? How often did I get out of that little enclosure? How many showers did I take? I have no answers to those types of questions. I just do not know. I remember they gave me 5 cigarettes a day, brought to me in the morning. I still had the smokes given to me way back in the beginning from that other girl.
Most of my time was spent lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Another cement surface high above me with a plain bare bulb for illumination in that dark little cage. Didn’t really matter. There was nothing happening in there anyway.
Sometimes I would sit up on the bed, back propped against the wall, and stare out the door. I was able to look straight at the guards desk…and the guards. I realized they were able to observe me every moment of the day and night. If I stood close to the door and looked to the right, I could see a kitchen area with table and chairs and all the “good girls” playing house, cooking, cleaning, dining together chatting and laughing. I watched them once. I felt sad for them.
One day I had a visitor. A nondescript little man with glasses and an annoying habit of clearing his throat constantly. That first visit was mildly interesting because he answered some unasked questions. He also fired questions at me, one after another, seemingly as though he expected no answers. Which was good, because he got nothing out of me except a few eloquent gestures.
He told me that I was there for “my own good”. Picked up for possession, vagrancy and assault. Assault? Me? You have GOT to be kidding. You’d think I’d remember something like that…but no, not even a glimmer of a memory ever came into my mind about anything remotely resembling an assault.
He also told me I was not allowed communication with any of my family members, friends or “outsiders”. I would remain in isolation until I proved I could “get along” in society. I was not allowed communication with anyone inside that place either. I was under constant surveillance because of my “self-destructive” nature. Seriously? What a bunch of morons.
He said a lot of other things too, because I saw his mouth move all the time, heard sounds coming out of his mouth as well. No clue what he was talking about because mostly I wasn’t listening. I have no idea how long he stayed. I do know he came back twice. The last time I saw him, I was sitting down on my bed, back against the wall, staring at nothing. He came in, sat on the chair he placed directly in front of me. His questions were all about sex, how much sex, with who, when where how why blah blah blah. Getting no response from me did not deter him. He continued on, sometimes repeating himself and he was getting on my last nerve. Buzzing like an annoying mosquito I had the urge to squish him like a mosquito. Just before he got up to leave, I said “Pervert. Is this how you get off, talking about young girls sex lives?” His eyes snapped to attention and met mine. I gave him the finger. I never saw him again. Creep.
That night, I needed to go to the bathroom so I stood in front of the door looking for a guard to signal. I could hear him, chatting and laughing it up with some girl somewhere, but couldn’t see him. I took my empty little trash can, peed in it and waited at the door for him to appear. When he did, I was crouched in front of the door and only saw his shoes. I don’t know how long I waited, but the warmth from the pee in the trash can had long since cooled off. I dumped it on his shoes, got up and backed up to my bed, sat down and smiled as he did a little “dance”, sputtering and swearing about “crazy girls” and not getting paid enough. Dumbass.
The next morning I was escorted out, being told by the guard I was going for a ride. Must be why I didn’t get punished for the “pee on the shoes” last night. Shrugging my shoulders and falling into step, I walked out with him and down a corridor into my ride. I was alone in the van. I don’t remember the ride. I don’t remember what the judge looked like. I saw my mother. She did not look at me. She was mostly talking to the judge. At one point, I was standing in front of the judge, looking up and I was furious. He had called me an animal and I responded “You lock me up in a fucking cage and call me an animal? Fucking idiot!” Next thing I knew, I back in my cell.
I was always brought some type of workbooks with a crayon to write with. I have no idea what was in those workbooks because I never opened one. They also brought me popsicle sticks…lots and lots of popsicle sticks. I could have built a house with the amount of popsicle sticks I had on that desk. But I didn’t. I did nothing. I couldn’t think of a single reason why I would do anything. So what if I didn’t do the homework? What were they going to do to me, ground me Ha Ha Ha Ha I had no interest in what was going on in that place. There was nothing good or interesting happening and there were no consequences for me to suffer. So, I did nothing.
Every night I lay on my bed, listening to the sounds of the other girls settling in. I always heard every sound they made, the whispers in the dark, from one cell to the next, a few giggles now and then, but mostly, I heard crying. Sobbing actually. Always from a different location. Sometimes muffled. Sometimes not. Those sobs touched my heart. Poor little girls. Sad. Lonely. Alone. Bereft. Unloved and unwanted. Stuck in this place.
I wonder what happened to them?
Did they stay longer than I did? Did they go back to the maximum security juvenile detention centre or did they get farmed out to the permanent facility for lifers? That’s funny. Lifers. Lifers were set free at the age of 18. For a 15-year-old, that constitutes a life sentence, doesn’t it?
My story does not really end here. When I am released and sent home, I spiral out of control to epic porportions…at least, that is how my family sees it.
So there will be a part 4 and 5, maybe even a part 6. And those parts were far more lively than the first 3. Lots happened. Crap happened. Traumatic events happened.
I moved quickly…no moss growing under these feet. I left my mother’s home at the age of 14 and half to live with my unknown father. Before that year was over I ended up self medicating with street drugsand locked up in juvvie. By the time I turn 16, I’ve lived more shit than most people. Wild and out of control, I push buttons and drive people to the edge. I had no way of stopping myself.
I realize now that ADD/ADHD contributed to my behaviour in mind-boggling proportions. Impulsivity, detached, no sense of timeor consequences, distraction and dissociation. Crazy ideas, talking and moving, always busy and always looking for something to do. No control. No holds barred. Always game for a good time. Or a bad time. Didn’t really matter much. I’d try anything once. irresponsible and inconsiderate. Unaware. All major symptoms of this disorder that can ruin a life if left unrecognized and untreated.
Nobody realized what was going on in my head until I reached the age of 56. Thankfully I am a person of above average intelligence and was able to create a good life in spite of myself.
Stay tuned for more adventures of an ADDer wildlife specimen.