By Jeremy Robinson, written for Prison Lives
For the last nine years, I have been confined to a single-man cell, living absolutely alone. I go days, often weeks, without leaving this space.
I deserved to be placed here. I attempted escape and was rightfully punished. To be completely honest, it was probably the best thing the prison administration could have done for me... at the time. My peer group was violent and negative.
Upon arrival here, I was disgusted with myself for having fallen so far,and so resolved to fill the void of what I was forced to leave with positive change and growth. I began a journey to become the man I knew I was in my heart rather than the man that my poor decisions had made.
But solitary confinement has not made it easy. I immediately learned that any progress I hoped to make, such as through education, would depend solely on my efforts. There is absolutely no education provided to inmates in my circumstance. None. As a result, everything I have learned about cognition, causation, analytical thought and other lessons has been achieved solely through reading books provided by people on the outside.
I have learned that the already tenuous relationships with loved ones in the free world are easily stressed to a breaking point when placed in isolation. Where contact visits allow freedom of hugs to family in general population, I am now led to them in chains to a glass-separated booth that forces us to speak over a phone. What’s worse, this is the only phone I can speak through. Previously allowed twice weekly calls home are not allowed at all here.
I have learned that solitary confinement is the most effective weight loss plan in existence. Where meager prison meals are supplemented in general population by easy access to contraband food items, isolation offers no such luxury. More often than not, I am hungry at bedtime. Despite the menu descriptions like “fresh yellow corn” and “deep rich gravy,” I can count on the unappetizing reality of at least one or more food items arriving spoiled, and the unclean fact that it has passed through no less than six pairs of hands before getting to me.
A hard-learned lesson is that “out of sight, out of mind” is never more true than when locked away in solitary confinement. While prison administration might remove an inmate for legitimate reasons, once the inmate is “out of sight” it becomes much easier for them to check the box that keeps them here in isolation than it is to mindfully dedicate the resources to rehabilitate him for release from it.
Perhaps the hardest lesson, though, is learning what so much time in seclusion can do to me. I have spent years tearing down my old value system and working on building a better one, learning how to make strong healthy choices.
Despite this, I am suffering greatly from this time in a cell. Seven years in, just over two years ago, I began feeling very paranoid during the rare time out of my cell. For the 10 hours per month allowed out of my cell, I felt as if I was being stared at, looked at out of the corners of eyes. It got so bad that I didn’t want to leave my cell at all, prompting me to even refuse medical and dental appointments.
I have never been a mental health patient. No one in my family suffers from a mental disorder. I am rational and clear minded. I am literal and focused. Yet, years in solitary have taken a serious mental toll. To get “help” from mental health staff carries a stigmatized label as a “psych patient.” I was reluctant to contact them.
Intellectually, I understood what was happening. I am not only isolated by the state, I am self isolated. I refuse to associate with the people that are considered as my “peers.” I refuse to fall in line with and become part of this prison culture... and so I am alone.
Despite understanding this, I still couldn’t shake the discomfort felt outside of my solitary confines. I did speak to someone in mental health and worked through the discomfort, for the most part. But recently I’ve caught myself, in mid-motion, turning down my radio to better hear what neighbors are saying about me.
I berate myself. I know that this isolation is the cause of this distress. I equate the feeling to someone who has a real mental disorder ― a man with Alzheimer’s who, in his clear moments, feels terrible because he knows about his bad moments, unable to combat it. I have no real treatment options. They do not do therapy here in the common sense. They medicate ― a slippery slope. I do not believe I need medication. I feel paranoid, I am at times anxious. But both are created by my circumstance. Being released from this isolated cell would remedy these issues. I am witnessing, in person, the deterioration of a human mind... mine.
After nine years, I no longer belong in solitary confinement. I learned long ago that rehabilitation begins in the heart and I am a new man, if not completely, on my way to being one. I have had just two minor disciplinary infractions in my 3,300 days ― both for covering the 24/7-on light in my cell... so as to sleep. But, alas, they just continue checking the box that keeps me here.
The unmonitored use of isolation damages as many people as it was meant to improve. We will one day be neighbors to those in the free world. Society has a direct interest in advocating for reforms to the irresponsible use of solitary confinement.
Jeremy Robinson is housed in the Allred Unit, an administrative segregation prison within the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. He has written a yet-to-be published book about his experiences during his nine years in solitary confinement. A donation link can be found at www.PrisonLives.com to assist with publishing expenses.
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