Doing Time

Chapter One

For my first story, I am starting with his...Bruce Thibodeaux, also known as BJ, the love of my life. He is currently incarcerated in a prison in Louisiana. He has served 11 and a half years with 15 more to go. All of his story may not be pretty, but this is something he needs to do, and we believe the world needs to hear. I am currently also writing my version of Doing Time, as I have recently served 5 flat years. We have other stories, as we come up with subjects and we write essays together. We have decided to start with this one of his, as it touched my heart so wholly, is the only word that comes to mind. He is an amazing writer, among many, many other amazing talents he has that are just wasting away in there. Thanks to vocal, at least his writing abilities, his ability to make people see and understand, his love for all of humanity will not be wasted any longer. If you would like to leave tips for us to be able to continue to get his, mine, our stories out for everyone to see, please feel free, as they would be greatly appreciated. It is pretty expensive to be able to correspond through the prison system. Thank you. And I genuinely hope that y'all can feel and experience our stories as we have, the good times and bad, happiness and sadness, trust and betrayal, longing and suffering, strengths and well if I continue to go on we won't need to write different stories so this is the beginning of just one of our real life adventures we will take you on...

How does one begin to explain a life behind bars to those who haven't got a clue of what "doing time" really means? I guess it's sorta like trying to explain the beauty of a rainbow to one who was born blind, or the sweet sound of music to one born deaf...It is practically impossible to get the full idea across without ever having seen the inside of a jail cell, and seeing the inside of a jail cell is not the same as "doing time"...Actually doing time consists of a lot more than spending a few days in a cell. I personally don't consider that a person has done time even if they have spent a few weeks or even a few months in jail, No, once a person has lost "years" of their life to the confines of a jail cell or in the throes of a real prison, only then can one say they have experienced,"doing time".

"Doing time" means losing everything you have ever held dear, reforming your mind, your way of thinking, your way of life as you know it completely. I give you my account of what "doing time" really means. What it has done to me personally. How it has twisted my true character beyond repair, and how it has shaped my present and my future...This is an 100% true account written by convicted felon and current inmate Bruce Thibodeaux DOC #417816.

I sit in my rack, bed #9 in unit Wind-2 at Rayburn Correctional Center waiting for count to clear so I can go use the restroom. If I move even a foot away from my rack before count is clear, I could be restrained and sent to extended lock down pending attempted escape charges, and countless infractions for other rule violations. Count time, the most serious part of everyday. We must be sitting up in our racks, and are not allowed to talk or make any noise while the corrections officer walks through the dorm counting every single human body at least twice. It will take at least half an hour for count to clear... only then can we, the convicts, resume what we were doing. Once count finally clears the noise in the dorm booms back to life. It immediately grows loud and aggravating. As usual, I get up and rush to the restroom, where I stand in line at the urinal behind 4 other inmates who beat me to the punch. Their racks were just a little bit closer to the bathroom than mine.

Absolutely everything we do is monitored by one of the many cameras installed in every corner and crevice of the dorm, and the entire compound itself...there is absolutely no such thing as "privacy". Whether you are in the shower or sitting on the toilet, whether you are on the far side of the rec yard or in the chow hall, the only place that comes remotely close to privacy is when you are buried deep deep under your covers in your rack. But that is only an illusion of the word. Privacy is nonexistent in this place. I remember a time when I took these little things for granted , not realizing how much it would affect my life in the long run. Sometimes in life we don't realize what we truly have until we have lost it, only then can you fully understand how something so small can pack such a huge meaning. As I sit back now and view it all from the inside out , I find it amazing how society don't seem to grasp how the little insignificant things mean so much more than the bigger, noticeable things. To be able to walk outside and gaze upon the open sky and appreciate the stars shining so bright, or something as opening the refrigerator door to find something worth eating inside. To sit and take a shit by yourself without some stranger sitting one foot away from you taking a shit himself. To wear the clothes you choose to wear or eat a meal that you picked yourself. I could sit here and name countless things that mean so very much once you have lost your ability to make your own choices, ut that would take far too much time regardless of the fact that I've got plenty to spare.

I would rather focus now on the things society don't ever hear about when it comes to doing time. The way we are honestly treated by the staff, and how we are viewed as no more than a number, a commodity, a pay check. All inmates are looked upon as the scum of the Earth, like we are no longer human beings and deserve everything that our fate has in store for us. Our treatment is completely justified through the ignorant eyes of a society that don't really have a clue. The corrections officers are taught as they go through training that every word an inmate says is a lie, that there is deception behind everything that we do. The corrections officers will look at you with utter suspicion even when you're sitting in your rack reading The Holy Bible, in their mind, you are hiding something, you simply can't honestly be sincere. Yes, this is the truth in how we are viewed. It matters not your hearts true intent. All they see when they look at us is corrupt pieces of trash literally thrown into the same garbage can, and with that comes much torment amongst us. It's hard for me to find the words to explain these things, for I've never had to explain them before, nor did I ever imagine anyone would even care to hear about it. So please bear with me as I try to get my story across.

Rehabilitation is not what you may think. The administration that runs the prison does not car. The administration that runs the prison does not care one way or another if an inmate is rehabilitated or not. That lies solely in what the individual inmate wants for himself. If an inmate does not seek the rehabilitation efforts on his own, he will not be rehabilitated. The only duty that the administration demands of n inmate is blind obedience and free manual labor. Anything on an education level depends solely on the inmate to obtain on his own free time, as long as it does not interrupt our mandatory prison duties, which come first and foremost. This is why it is not a mandatory requirement for an inmate to have an education in order to be released from prison. If we choose to re-enter back into society just as dumb and ignorant as we were when we got locked up, so be it, they will let us go no problem...

There are indeed countless education classes and self help programs that an inmate may participate in, but they are not requirements nor are they mandatory outside of a court order during sentencing. Once again, rehabilitation rests solely on the inmates desires and ambitions to want to change for the better. 80% of the prison population (my guess,not fact) will be inmates that are more worried, driven, and motivated over card games, sports, gambling, fighting, and homosexuality than trying to get educated. Most inmates can tell you more about every football player in a starting line up before a game than they can tell you about their own case that they were sentenced for. The saying "ignorance is bliss" has never had more meaning than it has inside these walls...

We are all gathered in the day room waiting for the guard to holler 'CHOW'. Once chow is announced, we will all rush out the door and head up the fenced in walkway in a straight line towards the Chow Hall. Every inmate must be fully dressed, state issued blue jeans and blue button up shirt tucked into our jeans. Our clothes all have D.O.C. inmate stenciled on them, our DOC number is stenciled along with it. We must all be wearing our state issued masks as well, due to the ever growing COVID 19 crisis. As we enter the chow hall, my eyes immediately scan all occupants that are in the chow hall. I have to stay alert and be fully aware in case any inmate i have had beef with in the past just so happens to have foul play on their mind. Altercations can happen in an instant, any time, any place.

The menu varies, but today I collect my tray of pinto beans on rice, corn bread, greens, and make my way to an unoccupied table where I sit and start eating, all the while staying aware of my surroundings. It takes me less than 3 minutes to clear my tray, and make my way to the scullery where another inmate, a kitchen worker, will take my empty, dirty tray and wash it. I exit the Chow Hall, start back down the walk toward my housing unit. This is a ritual I do 3 times a day: rain, sleet, or snow.

Routines do not change when you are doing time. What you did today at any given time will be exactly what you'll do tomorrow at that exact time. Everyday, day in and day out, will be exactly like the day before and the day before that, and so on...There is really no need to pay attention to a calendar or even a clock for that matter, everything will be announced by the guards anyway: such as; count time, chow, or rack down. "Routine" never ending, all the time, same old everyday thing.

To be continued....