W.C.I
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
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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
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