Behind the Wire

I look out to the trees in a quiet moment. The blue and gold clouds of the morning sky are scarred by rows of razor wire. If someone had told me two years ago that I’d be spending my days locked behind this wire with the dregs of society, I’d have laughed in their face. Seriously. By that stage of my life I had already experienced so much and there are still so many things I have yet to do. My bucket list seems to get longer every year.

I thought I knew the path the rest of my life would take. After all there are things you are expected to do: husband, kids, mortgage. In fact I was well on my way to success using those things as my gauge. I was pretty proud of how far I had come. My life hadn’t been a fairytale thing, though if you think about it some of those original tales were pretty dark and gruesome. That aside I had made something of myself, my life, and I was happy, as I would have judged these things.

Let’s face it not every girl can find someone to love them when their past has the kind of shadows in it that mine has.

Two years ago I suppose you could say my life was fairly normal. I’d strived hard to reach that place. To take myself away from the depression that sometimes clouded my moods and left me feeling trapped and suffocating. I dealt with the predisposition to drinking that I got from my father, by choosing my family over the buzz I got from alcohol. I guess though for some people normal just isn’t a good fit.

People are surprised by where I am now. Also by how well I’ve adapted to such rigid structure. They seem to think my creative flair would result in a clash with the paramilitary nature of this place. Somehow though, it doesn’t.

The day here starts at 0700 in the morning, with officers counting bodies and checking for movement before unlock. (On weekends prisoners don’t get unlocked till an hour after that first check.) Then there is breakfast. Not much later cells are inspected and prisoners go to work. Like I said, it’s all about structure. Even the weekend fits a specific routine. Meals are served at certain times, medication is available at certain times, counts and recreation all happen at set times.

My days are now filled with time spent in the company of fraudsters, drug addicts, drug manufacturers and dealers, arsonists, murderers and those who have committed crimes against children. Behind fences and razor wire, locked doors and grilles. I never thought I would end up here. Who the hell does?

Actually I suppose that is a bit of a silly question. I’ve met people who did think this was always where they would end up. There are plenty who see it as some sort of twisted badge of honour. There are even people who, when they get back in here, are so happy, because for them they feel that being back in prison is like being home. It’s where they have friends and family.

Something has to be really wrong when people consider prison normal. When they don’t see the possibility life has to offer. Where they don’t understand just how far down they have gone. Where they don’t want to change. Life is about change. It is about choices. I thought I understood that before, but I wonder if being here has given me a better understanding. A clearer realisation of the wonderful things waiting for me on the outside.

My days are so surreal sometimes. Let me give you an example straight out of today. I was standing next to a couple of murderers, the kind of people whose names you would recognise, (see even that sentence seems surreal), and they were talking about music. One pointed out the Kelly Clarkson CD in the canteen and the other one said she’d eat her own face off if she had to listen to that. I mean I couldn’t make this stuff up.

There are times this place really freaks me out too, check back at the story I just mentioned and think about it.There I am standing less than a metre away from two vicious, twisted killers. If that doesn’t have the ability to freak you out on some level then you are way tougher than I am.

Of course there is another side to this place and sometimes I have to just shake my head at the ridiculous things that come out of some people’s mouths. The other day I heard someone complain that her cell door should be shut so she could get changed and how it wasn’t fair that there was no privacy in prison. I may be fairly new to this place but even I know when you are a user and have a history of smuggling drugs into the prison and dealing inside, that you are not going to get privacy to hide your stash before being taken off for a piss test.

Then there are some things that are just plain funny. There were people dressed in civilian clothes getting a tour of the facility the other day. They could’ve been new civilian staff, powers that be or even new probationary officers. We were walking past a group of them, when of the girls I was with ducked her head and started mumbling about how embarrassing it was. I asked what the hell she meant and had to not laugh out loud at her answer. She said it was embarrassing for her because she didn’t look like an ordinary prisoner. She said she was prettier than people would expect.

Just out of curiosity does anyone know what an ordinary prisoner looks like?

Sometimes it it really strikes home just how self absorbed and yes even silly these girls are. Day after day locked in here and they still think someone else is responsible for their actions both inside and out.

Before you come in here you kind of think you know what life behind bars is like. Until you are here though, there are things you just won’t understand. For me one of those things is mental health. I mean I always knew we didn’t really have enough places to deal with the loopy people but so many of them come in here. I’ve now met people who really hear voices in their heads telling them to do things. Others are just delusional, I think there may even be one who has several personalities but what would I know I’m not an expert.

I do have a favourite part of the day in here? That’s easy, it’s lock up time and it means I am about to go home. It means the constant neediness is over and the system has held together for another day. It means myself and the other officers I work with, get to walk out the gates, and go home to our friends and families in the same condition we left, in one piece. Unharmed. Any day that ends like that is a good day.