Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Darren Morris, a story of transformation

Darren Morris (#236425)
Columbia Correctional Institution
P.O. Box 900,
Portage, WI 53901

Below is Darren's letter to an official a few years ago and then his first letter to me. see his Art work (at darrenmorrisartist.blogspot.com) and Guide for Urban Youth(at guidebydarrenmorris.blogspot.com.)

Janis Mueller
Legislative Audit Bureau
22 E. Mifflin Suite 500,
Madison, WI 53703

Re.: Mental Illness Testimony

Date: October 28, 2008

Peace and Love

Ms Mueller,

Recently Peggy Swan has informed that you are conducting some sort of audit on the Mental Health treatment of inmates, I will share with you my experiences and hopefully it will help you to help us, and help people like Peg. I truly believe that Peg saved my life, had she not gotten involved and let the prison know that someone was watching they would have killed me, because I was in a place in my mind that I would act without regard for my own well being or fore thought what they would do to me.

I am not sure what all you need to know so I will give you a short history of how I got here. My mental health problems seem to have plagued me from the beginning. When I was about 3, I was playing with my father´s pistol, and when my mother seen me, she went to take the gun from me; as she snatched it, it went off, hitting my mother. From that point on I was not very well liked among family members. My mother lived, and gave the story to the officials that when she set the gun down on the dresser, it went off accidentally, this was to keep the State from taking her children. My brothers and others would often do things to me to punish me. I will not go into specifics, most of it was physical, and restraints (home made), different types of isolation, there was some sexual from both older males and females.
I accepted what ever they did without complaint, I felt that I deserved it for shooting my mother.

Until I was about 11, one of my mother´s boyfriends done something to me that was a wake up call, I do not remember how I understood it but I knew that if I did not do something, they were going to kill me in that house. I began to retaliate whenever and however I could. This sudden violence shocked many people that were not in the home and did not know the situation, because I was a very silent person, I read a lot and tried as best as I could to not be seen or heard. This change in them, or rather in me, brought a change in that they became even more violent, if that was possible.

I went through a very long depression by the time I was thirteen, I was hearing voices and it would be like I would see somebody on the side of me out of the corner of my eye, but when I would look, they would be gone. I would be fine for a while, and things would just change, I did not understand what was going on and what was happening to me. I was sent to a special school after seeing the school shrink who sent me to another doctor, who diagnosed me with Schizophrenia, and they put me on medication

In 1993 I was released from boys school (Lincoln Hills), they sent me to a group home before sending me home. When my medication ran out I stopped taking it. I never told my mother. She noticed that I began to change and thought that I was on drugs. She felt that “we” were in need of a fresh start. She moved me to Green Bay, where a family friend had moved to and told her that they had more resources to help me up there than they did in the inner city.

Within a few months, I was convinced that people were trying to kill me, I even lost weight because I was certain that my mother was poisoning my food, so I would only eat can goods, but I went through great lengths to ensure that I picked my own cans from the store. My weight went from about 220 to about 185, maybe 190 pounds, I worked out and ate a lot of beans, I had to be ready for when they came.

I eventually hit a breaking point. First I tore up my mother´s apartment, trying to figure out where these voices were coming from. I was taken to Brown County Mental Health Center, I was there for a day or so and they let me go, I was convinced that I had been drugged, so I told them that I was drugged and that is what they went with.

Two weeks later I felt I was being followed in school and the voices were telling me that they were going to kill me, I kept trying to get away. I got trapped in a hallway that had only one way out and these two guys that I thought were about to get me had just entered the hallway. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew what they came to do and I started to fight for my life, several teachers attempted to restrain me, I hate to be grabbed! They were unable to restrain me. They let me leave rather than attempt to try and fight with me. I was picked up by the police, I fought with them, with additional officers; they were able to restrain me.

I was taken to the hospital, which referred me to the psych. hospital. They took a urine sample, because they were sure I had to be on drugs I was not. They told my mother I was dangerous, something needed to be done. My mother asked me how I felt, I said I was fine as long as she did not let them tie me down again. The first night I was in there they strapped me down to a bed and left me in there alone. I told my mother that, she refused to sign the commitment papers.

I was taken to court and they sought to get an order from the court, but because I was 17, the judge did not want to place me in an institution without trying everything else first. I was released on a 90 day consent settlement. I was put on medication called Haldol. I was sent to counselling. I got better.

By 1994 I was so good that I thought I was cured and I stopped taking the medication. March 22 I had fallen back into the same pattern, but I had not peaked yet, I was at an apartment with my then girlfriend and either because it was true or these people thought it was funny to mess with the crazy guy, the people in this apartment started talking about gang members with guns outside wanting to kill us, people were running this way and that way, screaming, they would go to the window and say stuff like there they go and run away from the window. I use to be in a gang and many of my childhood friends in the Kenosha and Northern Illinois area were shot and stabbed by members of a gang called Latin Kings and these were the same people they said were outside. This went on for 1 maybe 3 hours, I was convinced I could not get out.

Eventually, I was backed into such a place mentally that I began to hear stuff, and I became fearful that it was true that they were going to kill me. I could not stay in that apartment any more, I had to get out, armed with a knife I went out. There was a man in a red truck. This man lost his life there in some dispute about what actually happened. Witnesses told police that I stabbed the victim 3 times. The next day I was arrested and I could not remember stabbing the victim. I remembered going outside with the knife and then waking up.

Over the next few months I began remembering things, each memory about that night, and each one was as real as any memory I ever had, if not more real. The county jail had me see a psych. doctor and put me back on medication (Haldol). My attorney was told about this, I pled a special plea, of Not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect. The Judge signed an order to have me evaluated for mental responsibility, but they never did the evaluation.

The day of trial my attorney told the court that he had written a letter and I signed it wanting to withdraw the plea. The court asked me one question, if that was true, to which I said yeah.
I was convicted and I was sent to prison. In Dodge they put me back on medication. I had stopped taking it before trial, because I could not think on it. I went into a long depression. I was sent to Green Bay Correctional. I was okay for a while, then I was sent to Waupun Correctional Institution and they had a very different way of doing things. I was placed in segregation.

They locked me in this room, and before long I had attempted suicide, I could not take it anymore, and the only way to escape that I know was to hang myself, but fortunately for me, I did not brake my neck or crush anything, I was choked unconscious. But that was only the beginning. I would fight with them, they would fight back, they would gas me, and as punishment, they would leave the stuff on burning, and they would tell me to remember that feeling. But sometimes they would attack me when I had not done anything.

Once I was placed in observation, after I told the psych doctor that I was hearing voices. They took all my clothes and placed me in a cell with big windows and a camera, naked, I did not have a blanket or a mattress. They gave me this rubber mat that looks like the mat that they put on the back of them trucks to keep from scratching it up. I was up for 2 days. It is extremely cold in there even in the summer time, which is not normal. I had fallen asleep finally, when the psych doctor came to see me. I told him to go away, I did not want to talk to him anymore, I refused to talk with him, so they gassed me, they then shocked me with a taser, they came in with the gorilla suits on, they beat me up and then tied me down to a bed, and every few hours, the nurse would ask if I had to go, and when I did have to go, the nurse would come in while 2 blue shirts and a white shirt stood watch, the nurse would take my penis and place it into this thing that looked like a big clear plastic coffee mug, or if I needed a bed pan, they would leave me strapped to that bed and just slide it under me without letting me up to clean myself, or give me the privacy to go.

This would be a revolving cycle, at times I would be blessed to get out of seg, but it would
not last long. I would be written up for some sort of rule violation, some times it was legit, I had done something wrong, and sometimes, the officers would bet on a pool on how long a “Seg. rat”, which is a name they use to call inmates that spend a lot of time in the hole. The pool would be based on how long it would take before they could make me snap or act out. In population there is no one to talk with who can help you through the rough times. Every 3 months I would be seen by a head shrink to see how I was, but he would have 4 or 5 guys scheduled for one hour, and he would push you back out of the door as quick as you came in.

There were times, I wanted to learn what was wrong with (me) and have some one to talk with and help me do that. I eventually learned from some very special people and funny enough I met them all about the time, Peg, a lady named Jamyi Witch, who was a chaplain at Waupun Correctional, and George Kammer, a crisis intervention worker at Waupun. These people really cared for me, and no matter how long it took in some cases that meant hours, they would talk with me, explain things to me, and the helped me reconnect with something that was lost. These type of people are not well liked in here. The guards make life very hard for them, and the women who want to help and actually care, usually get accused of having some kind of inappropriate relationship with one or so inmates.

Peg helped me reconnect with painting and drawing, as a way to distract and soothe. No one had ever taken time to explain simple things like that. Those seg units are not right. I understand that if I do something wrong, I should be held to answer for that.

The place usually smells of urine, and I do not mean the gas station bathroom kind, this is the kind that when I first smelled it, I got sick, partly because it is usually fused with other smells, body odor from guys that have not washed in a while, and at times fecal matter. There is an endless attack of noise, banging and yelling, but if I take out my hearing aides to escape the noise, then I do not get fed. There are no real programs to deal with the needs of the mentally ill, the staff do not know how to deal with us and often times they do things to intentionally make it worse and sometimes it seems unintentional.

They cannot make an accurate diagnosis of what is really wrong, because they see so many people they just give you pills and send you on your way, and they will change that diagnosis to suit their needs. I had been in a single cell for nearly 14 years. When I got here as a way to get even with me and punish me, they took my single cell status and doubled me up.

I have a very real fear about contact with an adult male, if I think he is peeking at me, with any hint of funny ideals, I can not handle that. But I have to remind myself to think first. I was fortunate, I was blessed to meet people that helped me brake the cycle. I have been stable for about 3 years on medication. It helps when there is a real check and balance, when Peg let them know that someone was watching out for me and willing to go to bat for me, it made them back off me long enough for others who want to help, to help.

I have many medical records and will do whatever I need to do, to help you help us. Most of the time I am fine, from time to time I need a little extra help, as I have gotten older, I am now being treated for Bi-Polar, manic-depressive type.

Be at Peace, Be Blessed

First letter to me:
August 17th 2006

Darren Morris #236425
Waupun Correctional Institution
Post Office Box 351
Waupun, Wisconsin, 53963

My name is Darren Morris, and I am an inmate here in Waupun Correctional Institution, where I am currently being held in a Segregation Cell. At the age of 17, I began to have "more"severe psychotic episodes, in which I had to be hospitalized for more than once. I was put on the medication called Haldol. I would hallucinations and delusional thinking that would lead to violent acts. I was arrested for PTAC of first-degree intentional homicide, and once in prison I continued to have these psychotic episodes. I would go through periods with no episodes, and then it was like someone snatched the rug from under me. I had numerous disciplinary actions taken against me, more so since being in Waupun Correctional. I have been shocked with some kind of electrical device It was around 1999 some time. I'm sorry my memory can't come with exact dates.. I thought I was in danger, that my medication had been switched and laced with poison, so I stopped taking them. Soon I had a psychotic break and I was put into segregation, though I cannot remember the charge and my delusions continued. They put me into the "Naked Man Cell", (observation). they chained me to the cell door, cut my clothes off, they put me in the cell naked. I don't remember much, though I do remember I was cold and crying. I was given two squares of tissue to clean myself with after using the toilet. I could not sleep because I was naked, it was cold and there was no mattress. Instead of a mattress there was a hard rubber mat, and the lack of sleep only made things worse. I started to pound on the door, at which I was given a direct order to stop, and I did not. In turn they gassed me and came in with these black suits and helmets, and when they attacked me I fought back. I was choked until I blacked out. When I woke up I was handcuffed to a concrete slab by both wrists and my feet. I began banging my head on this slab. They came in and put a strap on me to hold my head down. About a day later i was let out of restraints, I was still naked, I began pounding on the door, and told them if they gave me a blanket I'd stop. They gassed me again, they came in with the suits on and when they had me pinned down to the floor some electroshocked me. i went to Wisconsin resource Center- twice. I had many situations where my illness caused me to get a ticket and put in the hole. I'm also hard of hearing, I'm supposed to have a hearing and for both ears. I came here from the outside with two- they lost them, and claimed not to be responsible. They gave me only one hearing aid and told me to make due as best I could with that. i got two tickets once for sleeping during count, I never heard the buzzer and they put me ion the hole for, I think, 90 days that time. Now I am stable on my medication and had been doing okay, but I got a ticket again for disobeying an order. They gave me 60 days in the hole. Since I been here I tell them I can't hear the buzzer for meals or medication or other things. Here, when the tone sounds you must stand at your cell door to get that meal, medication, showers or whatever if you are not at that door, I don't get to eat or my medication for the schizo effective bipolar type. I keep telling them, I can't hear the buzzer, They have 2, one in the hall, which is the one I can't hear. Then there is one in the cell which they use sometimes- that one I can hear just fine. They should not be able to pass me for meds and especially medication- if I can't hear the sound then I can't react to it. I have about a 7th or 8th grade reading level and I'm trying to figure out the law because I'm knowing what they do is wrong. I want to teach them that it is not okay to let a person go hungry, and to discriminate against people. I want to change the rules and the way they do things here(..her he asks for help) .. They never ask how to help me, they leave the lights on all the time, my brain don't get a chance to rest, the people argue, and pound all day long and the COs pick on them when they get quiet to make them argue again. Every time I hear keys I get worried they coming with them suits again and shock me and cuff me up or gas me up. I tell them I hear voices and they give me no counseling or help with my issues, and I try to tell me self it's in my head, nothing to fear, but when I hear them keys I get ready to fight cause I think they coming to get me.
If you cannot help. will you please find someone who can. Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely, Darren

Monday, January 25, 2016

Tyrone Munson tells his story

Tyrone Munson #356816

P.O. Box 351
Waupun, WI 53963

Dear Reader,

My name is Tyrone Munson, and I am currently serving my first adult prison sentence of 290 years. I have only a juvenile record of disorderly conduct. I am now incarcerated for Sexual assault, kidnapping, and robbery.

After 15 years I have finally gathered the courage to put down on paper my raw thoughts and emotions. If you are moved in any direction please feel free to respond in honesty. I would like for you to be open as possible. In advance I would like to thank you.

also see: Tyrone Munson blog post one
Tyrone Munson blog post two

Dear Reader,

At this point in time of my life, out of sheer apathy I lacked the mental and emotional capacity to fully grasp the magnitude of just how much damage I've caused. The heartless boy described by my victims, Ms. Kate Bungi, Ms. Ruby Silvestrini, and Ms. Concette Clemente. Along with others (men not included) to paint a graphic picture of my terrorizing "only" women. When unfortunately my wrath was directed toward everyone outside of me, including my family.

I will not down play, minimize, or make any excuses for my actions. I accept the fullness of responsibility, and because of this I have become a greater man. Please bare with me as I unmask the events that lead up to this point in my life. I recall Ms. Clemente stating in the court room that I still would not admit that I committed these vicious acts against them. She was right, I could not admit it. It was also something else, I couldn't believe it either. The details were brutal, that at my hands these girls had to endure what possibly has been the worst day of their lives. I sexually assaulted, robbed, and kidnapped them.. How could I admit to myself let alone society that I stabbed a woman, beat another one? What person had I become to brutally beat a man, and fight others, all for the fun of it?

No one should ever have to endure the pain I inflicted on these human beings. No one should ever have to live in the terror I caused so many. I now see, in many ways I did commit murder. I killed their innocence, I took away their identity. I robbed them of their security, I humiliated them degraded them, disrespected them, without any remorse. In my conscious mind I now think to myself: What if this happened to my Mother? Or my Niece? Or my Daughter? How would I feel if someone did this to me? I would loath the very sight of them, I would feel less than a man. I would have a hard time trusting people. I would be very apprehensive, and cautious. I would hate them , I would cry and in deep confusion question God. In my response to this I would want whoever did this to me or my family to burn in hell. I to would want them to die in prison. It is my fault that they are struggling to cope. I have to live with what I've done. The manifestation of my actions no doubt has left a grave impact on not only my victims. But my family, and the community as a whole. I am now aware of the ripple effects that I've caused.

This startling revelation has challenged me in every facet of my life. Stripped, as I lay bare the emotions once covered up by the abuse I had to endure. Brought upon the callousness necessary to carry out these ungodly acts.

In the past I blamed drugs and alcohol. These however were not the primary culprits in my demise. Although it lowered my inhibitions, it also enhanced the already negative self-image I entertained. Drugs and alcohol set blaze the inferno I had burning on the inside of me. I was filled with rage from the constant blows of my self-esteem. I did not just wake up with this self destructive attitude. I did however have to face what I thought was facts. God did not make a man to act in the lowest form of human existence. But it happened,it happens even more than ever. So I questioned myself, why did these girls (at the time) have to suffer from my mental and emotional anguish? Then the revelation became clear to me, everybody suffered because I didn't know how to love myself. They suffered because I suffered, I affected society because I was infected. I didn't care about myself, so there was no way that I could care about anyone outside of me.

I remember wanting to die when I was 5 or 6 years old. Normal kids are having fun at this age. But I wanted to die, I was hiding in the closet of our upstairs room. Overcome with fear from my mother and my Brother's father fighting I wished that night that I could die. Little did I know a part of me did die. Little did I know this would jump start the anger I felt towards men. I love my Mother dearly, and although she tried desperately to instill morals and values in me. Her actions spoke louder than her words. She also tried to convey love that was taught to her, but this love would prove faulty in trying to raise 4 boys.

Don't get me wrong we had good times but the good times would soon be over-shadowed by the trauma of my Mother's drug use. I remember getting hit and was told to stop crying before I give you something to cry about. This in turn would stifle my emotions. This along with having to fend for myself in the ghetto pumped my undeveloped mind with venom. At any time in my childhood if I had the mental strength to deal with my emotions the course of my life would be drastically different. Do I blame my Mother? NO! I blame the vicious cycle perpetuated by the lies that plagued my community. Violence was the norm not only in my household but in the infested streets. It would be next to impossible to escape the malady surrounding me. The residue of my poor self-image began to saturate my feeble mind. The nightmares would become a reality. The voices of kids my age in my class telling me that I was an ugly missing tooth, black boy ripped my self confi¬dence into pieces. My three brothers (who all had the same father) would also validate my poor self-image.

I felt rejected, I felt alone, yet I stuffed it. All the mental and emotional abuse I stuffed it. Family members not wanting to take in my brother and I stuffed it. When my Mother would get into fights and I would call the police and they would not come, or they would come too late, I learned not to trust them. Getting bullied in school, I stuffed it. I stuffed the affects of my father dying, moving from place to place. Living in shelters, being judged by society’s standards of what is good enough, I stuffed it. I took every single blow, punch after punch, after punch. The last punch would no doubt make me fight back. When I obtain knowledge of my Mother's drug use. The only person who helplessly tried to keep it together couldn't any longer. Drugs took the one person I loved in my life away from me. I lost it, I lost every sense of control I had. I went from being at the top of my class to dropping out of school. How can you expect for me to be a child when circumstance forces me to grow up quick. All bets were off, the one thread (My Mother) trying to hold everything together snapped, so I snapped! At the age of 11, (although this was not my first time drinking alcohol) I consumed large amounts. Now I am no expert but the quantities of alcohol I was consuming surely outweighed the tolerance of an 11 year old. I gave into the darkness, playing rushing roulette with my already withering life. The overwhelming affects of drugs and alcohol begin to break down the defenses of my morale. I would have unprotected sex with countless women. I would have fights with three or four men at the same time. I would jump out of full speed moving cars. I even had one of my friends Mother come from the bar one night I was asleep, but this did not stop her from trying to unzip my pants. I told her to stop but she didn't, she told me to be quiet. My body would deceive me; I too was intoxicated and tried again to move her. She was much bigger than I was so it wasn't that easy. Because my body had deceived me I gave in. She was 33, and I was 16 years old.

I felt empty inside, the only thing I held on to was the anger and rage I had on the inside of me. Soon the powerful force of self-hatred would give birth to this vicious person displayed in my actions. I wanted out, I didn't want to feel the way I was feeling. I wanted help because I was tired, I was weak, powerless to overcome my demons. In the days of me robbing one woman, raping and brutally beating another, I released every¬thing. Everything I internalized, everything I held inside, from the age I felt betrayed up until it came all out. As tragic as it is, as vicious as it is, these girls were not suppose to be the target. No one was. How do you live with yourself? Sticking bottles in a woman's vagina, hitting her all while laughing. You would have to be sick individual to constantly beat her to the point of her saying "just kill me!" A juvenile would have to be far gone to express these types of behaviors. A person is not in their right mind to go throw with this. I shiver at the very thought of it. Once you become conscious there is no escaping this you don't just get over this. Because I have to face my Mother, I have to face my Daughter and the female friends I have. I have to face myself, I have to live with it.. and it hurts. I wish that I could take it back; I wish that I was strong enough to deal with my issues. I donut want them to hurt, I hate that I am the cause of someone else affliction. For as long as I live this will never sit right with me. I will never feel comfortable knowing that because of me people are suffering.

It has been my sincerest prayer that God help those who I have hurt. So that they don't be infected with the negative energy I generated. I pray that they don't become the hatred I gave to them, the anger I had, the low self-esteem. I plead with God that He restore the beauty I took from them. I struggle with the thought of ever getting out of prison. Do I deserve to get out for what I have done? And the answer is no, I don't deserve to get out of prison. This would be my thoughts hadn't I not taken the necessary steps that I have in becoming a better human being. If I still had a selfish disposition and a total disregard for human life. I wouldn't deserve to get out of prison, yet it still isn't that simple. Because there is an entertaining thought of, if I was to get out of prison what type of person would I be in society? The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't know until I get that opportunity. All I know is the man I am today, being in prison didn't make me bitter it actually made me better. It has given me a chance to confront myself. Iwas able to get the prison out by repetition. Challenging old thoughts and behaviors and replacing them with new ones. A constant theme plays on in my head. "Hurt people," "Hurt People!" Any pain not transformed is transferred The Bible teaches that Godly sorrow produces repentance (turning away) leading to salvation (freedom).

I repent, I was wrong, I was insensitive, young and impulsive. The boy that I was could not accept responsibility however the man that I am can. My words are not based on a hollow surface. I have really put in the work necessary. I have went into the depths of my heart, allowing God to soften every spot. I have taken every treatment offered to me. I attend any event that gives back to the victims, my motto is simply, "NO MORE VICTIMS!" I stand on this principle and I haven't displayed any anger violently in 15 years. I could not have come to this conclusion without being set free first. I was in a prison on the streets just like many are in today. I can’t change the past and if could have dealt with my issues differently than I did, I would have. My heart goes out to all the people that I hurt, and it is my sincerest prayer that at some point they are able to live a life of normalcy. I would like to be physically free one day and I know that my freedom would come at a high price. Just as I am today I have become an active member of help breaking the vicious cycle. By confronting lies, distortions, and toxic emotions. I counsel victims of abuse, I speak to young men, and children who are trapped with the same identity crisis I was once faced with.

I have studied Psychology for 2 years, I have finished school and will further my education. I am a motivational speaker. I have studied/applied Biblical principles to my everyday living. With all I've done the least that I can do is not stay the same. I think that will be the worst thing that I could do is not change. It is possible, I could stay the same. I could self medicate. I could make excuses; I could even drink self made alcohol. There is a way to escape, But God forbid how dare I run from a part of me. I had to embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have put in the work but if it wasn't for my belief in God, and the revelations He gave me then yes I think I should stay in prison. The things I did to get me here didn't make me happy. I hurt people, just as I was hurting, I hurt others. The difference between you and I is that at the lowest period of your life you didn't lash out. Or maybe you did but these destructive behaviors did not start when I was an adult. It started when I was at the Impressionable stages of my life. When my brain chemistry was not yet solids I will not take from what happened 15 years ago. But what now? From the age of 10 to 17 years old I had to endure what I thought to be pure hell.

The way I was living was not living at all. So truth be told I never really had a chance to live outside of my oppression. What's the use for punishment when there is no real chance for rehabilitation? Should I stay in prison for the rest of my life? For what? For what I've done? If you believe so why? Why should I stay in physical prison when I am no longer in a mental prison? Or emotional prison, when substance abuse is no longer a factor. I don't want to get out just to be in the way. I want to put in hard work, I want to prove my worth. When you are conscious you come to understand that life is not about you. I messed up big time and society knows this. Should I get a chance to be a major contribution for awareness? Everyone deserves a second chance don't you think? When you become conscious it's about retribution, giving back. I want to serve, I want to be on the front lines advocating against sexual abuse, and violence. Substance abuse, childhood traumas and learning acceptance. True justice is not locking me up and throwing away the key. This translate that I am no good, that I can’t be used for something. I agree with getting prison time. I agree with having to pay restitution, I just don't agree with 290 years. This sentence doesn't reflect the hard work I put in to become a better man A better Son, a good Brother, an awesome Father, and a trusted friend. This doesn't fit the hard work I am willing to put in for not only those whom I affected but those who continues to be affected. I sincerely apologize for all of the hurt that I've caused. I'm sorry to all of my victims. To my Mother, to my Daughter, to my Brothers and-also to my Niece's and Nephew's. To the community I apologize as well. Thank you for listening.
also see: Tyrone Munson blog post one
Tyrone Munson blog post two

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Todd Jones

Todd J Jones #333660
PO Box 900
Portage, Wi 53901

Prison is:
A place where you write letters and can't think of anything to say... A place where you wait for letters that come less and less often ... A place where you gradually stop writing all together. A place where you lost respect for the law because you see it raw, naked, bent, ignored and blown out of proportion to suit the people who enforce it... A place where it is proven that absolute power corrupts absolutely. A place where you wait for a visit that doesn't happen... and although you know the real reason, you have to accept the lies. A place where you learn that nobody needs you... you are the forgotten man, and the world goes on without you... A place where you discover that all of the talents and abilities you have are worthless, for you are a man in green. A place where you receive your divorce papers and you learn the meaning of the words "Till Death Do us part"... for the outside world you are a dead man. A place that doesn't exist in the minds of friends, for they cannot put it on an envelope, nor can they find it in a car... A place that exists only in a time warp, for you are only remembered in past tense... and that's probably appropriate, for you can see no future. A place where days blend into weeks, months merge into years, and eons pass without feeling the touch of a human hand unless it is raised in anger... A place where a kind word and an affectionate touch are only memories. A place where basic humanity is ignored, discarded, and eventually forgotten... A place where men are stripped of their clothes as well as their dignity, and herded like the beast society believes them to be. A place where you go to bed early, even if you are not tired; you walk in circles, even though you have nowhere to go; and you pull the covers over head, even though you're not cold. A place where escape is possible, but only through reading, dreaming, or just plain going mad. Can a man survive prison and resume a useful life? If he can overcome the degradation that is heaped upon him, society will continue to remind him that he is tainted. Does he deserve what he got? Of course! And smug society can be assured that it bas done the right and proper thing. Until... circumstances, errors, accidents, or a mistake in the judicial system flips the table and they find themselves in the shoes of the man in the cell next door!!!!
by: Mr. Todd Jones, #333660
P.O. Box 900 (CCI)
Portage, Wi 53901

You wanna walk in my shoes, well here you go, gone try them on/ be sure to let me know what it's like, when you sit in this cell all alone./ You gone trip, but don't start tweaking, when you see flies flying around/ cause that's just the beginning, wait till you see, them fruitflies that patrol the ground./ Your days become planned out to the tee, while you wait for the next big argument/ you hope that carries you to about 4:30, till you get that delivery from the mail department./ Well let me rephrase that because I forgot to tell you something you should know/ Don't plan your days around getting some mail, cause you gone be sick when the mailman passes your door./ Asking other brothaz "Was that mail?" when you know damn well it was/ just that feeling of hurt & shock, cause ain't nobody wrote to show they love./ Don't get mad though, because at one point or another, its happened to all of us/ you'll forget all ya pains anyway, especially when that med cart pull up at ya door like a city bus./ Its 40,000 ways to pass time, but yet down here we chose one/ conversation about any & everythang, ribbing each other just to have fun./ The c.o.s, oh they become victims, mainly crued by the circumstances/ you try to be cool cause every 30 days, you hoping that the review boards handed out them advancements./ One to you of course, no doubt, while the rest go out to ya guys/ when they come ask a cat they shoe £ clothes sizes, I wish I could see the reaction of their eyes./ To so many of us, this hole ain't nothing, so we accept it as it come/ we soldier on every damn day, but we don't march to the beat of the drum./ The hole is pretty unique, so don't break no rules to come here/ then you got the crisis worker at ya door, asking bout ya pills that'll keep you in gear./ Plus don't get all spooked when cats kick the door, like a soccer player kick the ball for a goal/ man be honest what did you expect, you just spent a day up in the hole.
by: Mr. Tod Jones, #333660 P.O. Box 900 (CCI) Portage,WI 53901

Wake Up Call
Is this a hellish nightmare that I have awaken from?
Caged and confined, thinking and pondering,
I wonder what human is this
that he should be subject to imprisonment
that neither improves nor corrects his soul.
Is there compassion for restoring a man
to contribute to this nation?
Or does the dark side of humanity
see offenders of the law as utter undesirables
unworthy of aid and therapy?
Society, I have been tried and sentenced.
Serving time for violating the law
is not supposed to be a picnic.
But demoralizing and dehumanizing a man
to the dust of the ground does not correct behavior
which got him incarcerated in the first place.
This only fuels the fire, a fire which, if not handled properly, will in time burn everything in its path.

by: Mr. Todd Jones, #333660 P.0. Pox 900 (CCI)
Portage, WI 53901

As you got up this morning, I watched you, and hoped you would talk top me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday. But I noticed you were too busy, trying to find the right outfit to wear.
When you ran around the house getting ready, I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were too busy. At one point you had to wait fifteen minutes with nothing to do except sit in a chair. Isaw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip instead. I watched patiently all day long, with all your activities I guess you were to busy to say anything to me.
I noticed that before lunch you looked around, maybe you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn't bow your head. You glanced three or four tables over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but, you didn't. That's okay. There is still more time left, and I hope that you will talk to me yet.
You went home and it seems as if you had lots of things to do. After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV. I don't know if you like TV or not, just about everything goes there and you spend a lot of time each day in front of it not thinking about anything, just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched the TV and ate your meal, but again you didn't talk to me.
At bedtime I guess you were too tired. After you said goodnight to your family you plopped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That's okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I've got patience, more than you will never know. I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well.
I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, prayer or thought, or a thankful part of your heart. It's hard to have a one-sided conversation.
Well, you are getting up once again. Once again I will wait, with nothing but love for you. Hoping that today you will give me some time. Have a nice day!
Your friend, God

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Shulbert Williams


Shulbert Williams 258920
Columbia Correctional Institution
P.O. Box 900
Portage, Wi. 53901

My name is Shulbert Williams. I am an inmate currently incarcerate at Columbia Correctional Institution. I was arrested approximately one month after my 18th birthday and convicted of four counts of armed robbery. I was sentenced to server 100 years in prison with a parole eligibility date of 2020.

Before my arrest I was an impressionable child with no education nor any sense of direction. I never completed the 9th grade and upon entering prison my test scores showed that I had a 7th grade reading level and a 5th grade math level. I am now 32 years old, I have served 14 years and 3 months in prison. This has been a tough school to learn in, if I may call it that. However, I’ve managed to make a man out of myself by taking advantage of the opportunities and programs that are available. I have successfully complete anger management, restorative justice, I have received my HSED and earned top honors upon completing a vocational trade from MATC. I have also earned a slew of certificates of completion from several voluntary programs.

Prison has sincerely humbled me and given me a new perspective on which to view life. I value everything that I’ve achieved while being incarcerated because it wasn’t easy. It was hard work, something I can now appreciate because the hard work is what gives a person balance. I feel I deserve a second chance at freedon to show, not only those who have stood by me and believed in me all these years, but to also show the naysayers and non believers that the system does work and rehabilitation is real. At last, I am ready tobe the father to my daughter that I was meant to be.


Shulbert Williams