Part 1

Understanding the Box

A pointless journey through an unwanted life, is what I thought I was living. It was like my feet were moving- yet for twenty-three years my feet trooped the course, as much as I moved, I never got any further than I was the day before. There I was, stuck an infinite prison corridor.  Early on, I was tired. Tired of living scared, that any day my inability to cope would cause me to end my own life.

I worried daily about those I would devastate if I gave in my suicidal to my urges. Mostly I lived, in order not to cause more pain to those I loved. I lived for my mother. Though i often hated living. I was lucky. God blessed me with a ride or die mother, who despite struggling with her own problems somehow managed to stand by me and support me for twenty-three straight years and never once did she leave my side. She is why I still exist.

From behind the front I always knew someday I’d be on my own, but I didn’t foresee prison, that’s for sure. I mean who does? Of the millions of people who go to prison, it’s not like we say as kids, “When I grow up I wanna be an inmate.”  Nope life happens good or bad- and what’s worse we can’t undo it.

After the crime, I carried my conscience in such a heavy load. I struggled to understand why I was left breathing. I often wished I could switch places. But no amount of wishing or praying could undo what was already written.

Feeling stuck like a fly in prison’s poison web, I tried to figure out a way not to be devoured by regret and fear.

Home replayed itself over and over in my mind, but each time it became less and less visible, time obstructed my view. Home got so far away I began to forget what it looked like.

I once even got so desperate I thought I wanted to die and just be done with it once and for all.

I feel my throat muscles constrict whenever I recall that desperate, life changing day back in 2004 when I pulled the sheet off my bed, cinched one end to the ceiling pipe, and tightened the other end of that deadly fabric boa constrictor around my neck. I told myself that I was prepared this time–that it was the only way and long overdue. That it would be over soon. I kicked the chair out from under me.

It hurt! Too tight! It was choking me! The white concrete walls were turning black. I could feel the blood vessels bursting in my face. No, not now, damn it! I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this!

I tried screaming for help., but my voice wouldn’t work. My head felt like it was going to explode!  I don’t want to die, God! … My mother–I can’t to do this to her. … Please let me live! Everything was going black. Who was screaming? Was that me?

*

Someone grabbed me by the arms. I tried to see who he is, but my eyelids wouldn’t open. As the pressure let up, I sucked in air. I felt frantic fingers struggling to loosen the knot around my neck.  Was I being saved? No, my body felt so limp. I must be dying. Please, God, forgive me.

Then, footfalls. A sudden slam. A male voice: “Help! We have a Code Restrictive Housing in here! Activate 911!”

Why was he just now calling a code? Why had he waited? His grasp startled me. Hadn’t he already been holding me up? He pushed his leg between my legs and lifted me, relieving the tension. His reassurances sounded panicky. “Just hang on, Tracie! You’re gonna be okay! Help is coming!”

For once, I was not just my last name or my number. I was Tracie, a person who needs saving.

Others began swarming the tier. Someone brought the suicide rescue kit.

I was cut down. I recognizde some of the faces hovering over me. I felt stiff. Why was I so stiff?

A nurse asked for people to stand aside and give her room. When they lay me gently on the floor, the cold felt good against my bare arms. I was fully conscious now, aware of what was happening around me. The nurse slapped me and called my name. Again, I was Tracie. I wanted to answer her, but all I could manage was a groan. I saw relief in her eyes, the smile she exchanged with the onlookers.

The blood pressure cuff scared me as it tightened around my arm. I needed her to take it off. She did.

A guard put restraints on me. The metal was ice cold. I heard the click. A minute ago, I was almost dead. Then I was Tracie. Now I was Bernardi again.

I was lifted onto a gurney. Strapped down. I winced at the camera flashes, the picture taking for the reports they would have to file.

I felt more exhausted than I ever had been before.

I sleep.

*

A few weeks later, I approached the guard who had saved my life. I wanted to thank him, but he spoke first. “Are you mad at me?”

“No. In the middle of trying to kill myself, I realized I didn’t want to die. You saved me, sir. Thank you.”

He sighed. “Please, kid. Promise me you won’t ever scare us like that again.”

“I promise. But can I ask you something? Why did you wait before you called a code? Why didn’t you call it as soon as you came into my cell?”

“I did!”

“Then who was that first guard?”

“I was the first one. I found you. Unless an angel got there first. Held you up until I got there.”

He laughed, thinking he had made a joke.

Yes I had lived but now I had to find purpose?