Letters From my Brother in Prison- New Segment
He’s almost 40 now. With many years left to serve. He’s a criminal. His crime of choice: Being a drug addict. He’s quietly tucked away from the eyes of society. “Out of sight; out of mind,” you know? But not for me. At least, not entirely. These letters are not recent. They are from over ten years ago, when we were young, and his life still held possibility. He was a brilliant artist, a legendary (at least in our circles) guitarist, an inspiration to little sister me.
At the time I received these letters I was in my late teens, he his early 20′s. I tried to write often, to remind him there was still hope. I tried to save him for years. It was an exercise in futility, in the end. He showed signs of promise, upon each release. But, prison would prove to be his destiny, for most of his adult life.
Through he is not dead, he is almost dead to me. His mind warped by drugs and possibly insanity, he is almost unrecognizable to me. I love him, to the end, but more than that, I love who he used to be. I remember the yesterdays, all of the things he taught me, and I close my eyes and bow my head. I mourn him continually.
I am not posting these letters simply to preserve his memory. I am posting them because they tell a story. A story about drug addiction, and family, and abuse, and love; a story about him, and a story about me; a story about most of humanity.
*Comments are welcomed, if anyone has any. However, a full picture isn’t likely to emerge, until the segment is complete.
*Names have been changed to protect the Guilty.
Prison doesn’t begin in prison. Prison begins with jail. And that’s where I’ll begin, with his first letter to me from Jail:
August 25th, 1994
Say Alice,
It’s really cool to talk with my crazy sister on the phone. You make me laugh & I gravitate toward anyone that can. I hope that when I get out I can find a girlfriend as weird & as pretty as you.
Jail sux, of course. I think I’m going crazy. I chew on my fingers until they literally drip blood & don’t even notice what I’m doing. And, I’ve achieved an almost zen-like indifference to my adversity. I have made an art out of killing time. My real problem is that I can’t sleep at night. True, a 30 grams of coffee a day habit might have something to do with it, but I’ve always been plagued by insomnia.
But I have learned to be very resourceful when it comes to keeping my mind busy. I like to read & draw, and I’ve learned a little Spanish. I wish that you knew more Spanish so that when I wrote none of these fuckin guards could read it.
I hope that this drawing gets to you & that you like it. I made it especially for you. Let me know if you don’t get it.
Hey, guess what? If you don’t want to know, don’t turn the letter over….This dude Philip Carr that was here for awhile says he knows you. He amazes me because he could open any of the jail doors here with a playing card. He already went T.D.C. to serve 10 years. But we were cell-mates for awhile & he kept getting me in trouble. One time he filled out a request form saying he wanted a blowjob from Sheriff X & signed my name & we got locked down with nothing but some shorts & our mattresses.
Okay, I’ve got to go because my medicine is making me tired.
<3 M
So, do I really have a drug-addict brother in prison? Yeah. I forgot to warn you, I’m from the wrong side of the tracks. 
Your introduction – those first three paragraph – is so beautifully written. The love you have for your brother really comes through as well as this profound sense of helplessness and loss. Thank you for sharing this very sad story.
Several things jump out -
* What was the picture he drew?
* How uncomfortable did you feel when he told you that someone in jail knew you?
* Your brother writes very well (in my estimation). I like the phrase “zen-like indifference”.
I can’t even imagine having a sibling in that kind of situation, I admire you being able to put it out there – I’m sure it’s painful.
this profound sense of helplessness and loss…..Thank you for sharing this very sad story.
I think it’s hard to come to terms with the fact that you’re mourning someone who is still alive. It’s not like you can say “he died,” and people get it. Yet, he isn’t quite all there anymore. There is definitely helplessness and loss, even if I haven’t entirely lost him yet. How do you explain, when people ask? Some are quick to judge; slow to understand. Still, you have to keep reading, this isn’t only a sad story. There is a silver lining on this dark cloud. To say anything more would defeat the purpose of posting these letters.
* What was the picture he drew?
I will be posting some of his art. However, this particular picture had my actual name as the central component, so I chose not to post it.
* How uncomfortable did you feel when he told you that someone in jail knew you?
Not uncomfortable at all. We lived in a fairly small town. It wouldn’t be that strange for a person in jail to know who I am. But, in this instance, I did not recognize his name, so I figured he was just saying that to identify with my brother, and establish some sort of common ground.
* Your brother writes very well (in my estimation). I like the phrase “zen-like indifference”
Yes. I agree, but I might be a tad biased. The letters I post in the future will further confirm that he was verbally-gifted. He did many things well. So, perhaps you can imagine the frustration I feel to see such a talent, brilliance, and entire life laid to waste.
One of my older brothers who died last year, spent much of his 20s in jail for the same reason as your brother. I wish I would have communicated with him more during that time and in our adult years. He stayed an addict until his death and I’ll always regret not taking his drugged out and drunk addled calls sometimes.
I wish I would have communicated with him more during that time and in our adult years. He stayed an addict until his death and I’ll always regret not taking his drugged out and drunk addled calls sometimes.
Wnen someone close to us passes, I think we often internalize, find blame with ourselves, thinking we could have loved better, or more while they were here. This is something I don’t want to have to regret.
So far, he has not had me on the visitor’s list. I believe this is because he feels shamed to be seen this way, again. He has a new scar, and bad vision over one eye, because of being slashed with in a razor blade in a fight ( he’s not the biggest guy, stocky, but only 5.9 or 5.10, and he says IF you back away from a fight, you will be constantly terrorized, so you always MUST fight), And he also recently had his nose broken. But I live only about 45 mins from the prison. And he recently added me to the visitor’s list. He is requesting that I come. It will be difficult for me to see him that way, and not break down. But I will not turn down the opportunity to connect in whatever way I can with him, And, because of the point you make in your comment, it is for sure a golden opportunity.
Do it. When I was a teenager, my school bus would go by the prison he was in every day and it ate me alive. I missed him like hell but could never bring myself to go see him. I can’t take any of that back. While it won’t ruin my life, it will always remain in the back of my mind as a horribly selfish action (inaction) by me.
Do it.
I actually just went last weekend. I was surprised by how healthy he looked. He’s only about 5.8, or 5.9, but he’s in better shape than I’ve ever seen him. His muscles are huge, and the reason is bc he truly has to fight to survive. He’s had his nose broken, his eye cut, his head bashed in. He’s never been a fighter, but said you absolutely cannot back down from a fight- ever, or you’ll always be a target. So he fights if attacked. He told me usually the guards pretend they don’t see what’s going on, and you are your only protector.
And, it was funny, as part of this whole “tough guy” act, he walked in stone-faced, with glazed, distant eyes. And when he first started talking to me he sounded like a thug on the streets. I was thinking- wow, that’s not how he talks! But within minutes he was back to old self, using his normal voice, even laughing at all of our inside jokes like we used to.
The two hours felt like minutes, we had so much to say. He wanted to hear my problems, of all things. But they made him angry, bc he felt helpless to do anything about them. He also noticed changes in me, some he did not like. I don’t like them either, but I wouldn’t have realized how obvious they were, unless I’d had them reflected back to me honestly (note: he was not criticizing me, I’ve been going through some stuff-like most people, and he was only trying to help me see what I’ve allowed others to do me, by comparing my old self, or real self, to today).
It was a much-needed, and joyful reunion.
After I left, the realization that he and I have both so felt isolated, and alone (bc I recently moved to a new area, not entirely by choice, and have very few friends, and no family here), and the twists and turns of our lives had landed both of us very far from home, but only 45 min from each other, seemed like no accident.
I will visit as often as possible. We will talk, laugh, remember, cry, maybe get bored, and he’ll eat snacks from the vending machine. My brother is not dead; I am not alone. He’s there for me, as I am for him. Though we will meet in a prison, we will both be back Home.
it will always remain in the back of my mind as a horribly selfish action (inaction) by me.
I am sorry for your loss, it must be a horribly painful to experience that. People often feel guilt that they didn’t do or say more (especially in a situation like this), when they lose someone. But, you know, at such a young age, it wasn’t necessarily selfish, you just weren’t prepared to handle the weight of all of the emotions that came with seeing him in prison.That’s self-preservation, which is essential to your mental well-being. His choices had nothing to do with you. If you loved him, I’m sure he knew.
I feel a bit dramatic saying he was dead to me, especially in light of your situation. But, with an addict, you do have to detach some, as you know you might lose them at any moment.
The Funeral.
(Sorry, in the link there’s an ad first. Guess BOH are super famous, and getting paid for it now. Good for them.)