Editors Note: Previously published elsewhere and revised to fit this site’s length preference after submission by the author.
We are an estimated two million, yet the sound of a pin hitting the ground makes a louder noise than our four million teardrops, entombed as we are in a purgatory state of existence inside correctional facilities across the United States. It can be said that we deserve to be imprisoned – some of us for the rest of our lives – that we let people down. Can it also be said that we are human beings? We still bleed. We still breathe. Yet our presence is forgotten when the iron gates slam and the cell door closes.
No one can see or hear us anymore – much like an eyelash falling on your nose; hardly detectible and having no outside effect at all. I’ve been locked here for over a decade and still have not gotten used to the burning sensation of hell’s fire at my feet, never ceasing – not even in sleep.
Animals at the shelter are morbidly euthanized, a bitter sweet luxury of quick escape from this nightmare. We, phantom souls, serving life without parole sentences with no rehabilitation or educational reform available are rotting in supermax prisons. Everyone eventually leaves your side – scattering like cockroaches when the light turns on. No more visits or collect calls accepted. No more photos or letters or financial assistance. No more anything – a phantom soul cut off from its body and the hope of getting back to life and love.
That’s when mental illness, violence, murder and the suicide rate increases. A phantom soul with no help, no education, no vocational training and no rehabilitation has nothing to lose and no hope for the future. It’s better off dead. Actually, that’s what a phantom soul truly is – a dead man walking. It’s bone chilling to realize that.
When a phantom soul loses itself completely, it attaches to the prison lifestyle and culture for survival, like a leech to flesh, thirsty for blood. We do not live in here. We survive in a cold isolated world of pain, loneliness, anger, confusion and hate. It’s a menagerie where big dog eats little dog. Kill or be killed. Human snakes of all shapes and sizes roam with evil agendas, resorting to convict ingenuity to get by and survive.
For many, pride is sealed with tattoos, for others they are shields. Respect, acceptance, loyalty, acknowledgement, reputation, honor and authority are earned by the degree of corrupt mercilessness displayed, and violent deeds against rival gangs, racial enemies and guards. The guards can sometimes be the most ruthless, deceitful, dangerous, conniving, lying and cheating gang in the prison.
Hate is the only way emotion is expressed inside this concrete bed of barbed wire thorny roses that we reside in. Positive activities are only available to a select few or non-existent, leaving the vast majority displaying acts of treachery and hate against one another from boredom, and lack of mental, emotional and physical stimulation and the absence of hope. People wonder why prisons become rampant with gangs, violence, drug abuse, racism, hate and mass deterioration of what were once good natured souls…
Men die in here, physically and mentally, and it’s planned. Reckless prison administrations and faulty judicial systems make the plans which provide laws, sentences, stipulations, restrictions, and little true rehabilitation, education, therapy, job training and recidivism prevention programs – creating the animals many of us unfortunately become. The government planned this horrendous thing that is the greatest unknown atrocity in America – for not all men are created nor treated equal.
It’s a struggle being a ghost-like soul between hell and a soulless cell. Some people say, “They deserve it for what they’ve done.” I feel sorry for those people, because their souls are more lost than ours. Compassion and understanding are gifts. There are minds of great intelligence in here that could put an end to issues that are deteriorating our beautiful world. Imagine what we could accomplish with proper rehabilitative and educational reform provided to all of us while incarcerated – at all levels.
This is not a poor me story. I deserve to be punished for my crimes that I take full responsibility for. I also need help to better myself. Most, if not all convicts, will not admit they need help, but there is no fault in that. It’s sometimes hard to admit you are human, because then all the emotions rush in and it can be too much to bear. Prison is not the answer for everything. Punishment with no reform and no proper educational rehabilitation is not the answer. Life without parole, hopelessness with nothing to lose or gain, is not the answer. Long term solitary confinement in draconian supermax prisons is not the answer.
Rehabilitation, love, education, understanding, hope and change are the answer. How can it be properly applied so that it is not taken advantage of? I don’t know, but I sure hope someone can find a solution to this problem before this phantom soul completely fades away…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Gerard is an artist and writer of essays and poetry serving a life sentence in Menard, Illinois. Although this piece was previously published on other sites, it has been revised here to fit our length preferences. Gerard can be contacted at:
Gerard G. Schultz, Jr. #R55165
Menard C.C.
P.O. Box 1000
Menard, Illinois 62259
