Boggles the Mind, it Does...

The only thing constant in life is change. ~François de la Rochefoucauld, French Classical Author

Life is full of changes, but never moreso than when you’re a ward of the state, and your life is not your own. Imagine this: Imagine having moved into a new neighborhood, a rough neighborhood, where nobody trusted you, nobody trusted anybody, and arriving ahead of you is a two-inch thick file folder that documents every negative thing (and absolutely none of the positive things) you’ve ever done for the past 30-plus years.

Imagine having to work every day at convincing those who have complete control over your life that you are not the dangerously violent stereotype portrayed in those pages, which tell only one side of an extremely-skewed story, but just an ordinary human being, seeking some peace and contentment in your life.

Never mind that the environment you live in teems with criminality, violence, and chaos. You have no control over that. The only thing you do have control over is your attitude. So imagine working hard, day in and day out, to prove you’re not who that file that dogs your every step says you are. Imagine meeting with success. Imagine creating a comfortable life with the options you are given, making peace with those who mistrust you, and being rewarded with a job you absolutely love.

Imagine finding peace in the midst of chaos. Imagine making friends, earning respect, and being treated with dignity in a place that offers precious little of such a quaint human concept.

Then imagine someone coming to your front door and telling you that you are moving—right now--today. Imagine them cutting your phone line so that you can’t tell anyone what is happening. Imagine them lying to you about where you are going. Imagine the surprise of everyone around you, as you numbly do as you are told. Imagine not having the chance to say goodbye to those you might have come to like, respect, or somehow shared a moment of friendship or compassion with in a place that discourages any form of attachment or sentiment. Imagine your own shock, and the realization that everything you worked so hard to accomplish for the past two years just went poof. Without warning, and without any discernable reason.

Next thing you know, you’re in chains and on a van headed not in the direction you were told you were going, but an entirely different direction. When you get there, there’s no room for you, so you get sent to isolation until they can figure out where to put you. Isolation, where you’re locked in a 6 x 9 cell for 23 hours a day during the week, 24/7 on the weekends, can only leave your cell if you’re handcuffed from behind, and must be strip-searched any time you leave or enter your cell. You get three 5-minute showers a week, and the only visits you’re allowed are one hour behind the glass, with yourself trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Phone calls are restricted to one per month.

Imagine your friends and family having no clue that this has happened to you, and having no way to let them know until you get what few belongings you are allowed to have in isolation and can write to let them know. Imagine having to write to them using the wobbly rubber inside of a ball point pen.

Imagine wondering what the hell happened. Two days ago you had a television, a typewriter, phone privileges, classes to go to, summer visits planned, a job you loved, ice cream every evening, and life was good. Today you have this.

Today, you have to start all over again.