Prison Camp: Daily Life
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
Excerpts From My Prison Journal
I’m continuing to publish excerpts from the journal I kept during my time in federal prison camp. These entries were written in real time, without the benefit of emotional distance. Today’s excerpt is about the adjustment to daily life.
Daily Life
Ralph, the self-appointed boss, said, “The days go slow, but the weeks go fast.” It took a while, but he was right. You find your lane, your routine, and coast. Mine was the kitchen, the track, my log, my books. After the adjustment, I settled in and turned inward. I didn’t help the new guys. I don’t know why that was. So many helped me when I arrived. I just didn’t, unless they were in obvious pain, and then I’d help, and there were those. Vince was one: a Spanish guy, but not from the clan. He sat at his bunk the first day, head down, dazed, lost, and afraid. It’ll get better, I told him. Because it does. It doesn’t get good. It just gets better. You overcome the trauma. Like everyone else, you push it down deep and just keep moving. It got better for him. Better than I thought, actually. Certainly, better than me. Last I saw him, he bunked on Northern Boulevard, the camp’s only mixed community. There were neighborhoods in prison. He was smiling, joking even.
I had friends, things I looked forward to. But the dread never leaves you. No matter how much weight I lost, I was always carrying more. On the track, I’d stumble around, my legs like jelly. And in a community, living with so many people, you’re even more alone. I didn’t care who liked me, who didn’t. Plenty of both, none who made a difference except Steve. But he was gone early on, and I went back to being the ghost.
I wrote letters. Never sent most of them. To the Judge (never sent it), to my enemies (to one or two: never heard from them), to those whom I betrayed (I think I did; probably didn’t), to my children (never sent any of those), to my wife (only cards, too much of a coward for more). I received many at first. I didn’t want any. At least I thought I didn’t until they stopped, and they do.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
Up Next on White Collar Journal:
Wednesday (Justice Notes): Criminal Justice Reform
Thursday (Notes from Exisle): Log/Verse: Daily, fragmented reflections
Sunday (Prison Camp): More Stories from prison
If you’re new to White-Collar Journal, you can read earlier chapters and essays on incarceration, justice, and reentry at whitecollarjournal.com.
Thank you for reading White-Collar Journal. Subscribing is free, and I hope you’ll continue with me as I explore stories of incarceration, justice, and redemption.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
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