Christmas Day

Written December 25, 2008

Well...today is Christmas. I am still in jail. I have done pretty well to not get too depressed today. That is kinda why I have been dreading writing today. I don't want to write too much because it will cause me to think more about today, thus becoming depressed. I have known all day that as soon as I started writing, I would inevitably write more that I wanted to. That's part of the reason why I have done everything else I possibly could today (which isn't much, believe me) before I finally sat down to write today's entry.

I will complete The Count of Monte Cristo today which took me a whole four days to read. I will continue where I left off reading The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. By the time I leave here in January, I will have read every short story ever written by Ernest Hemingway and Mark Twain, and will have completed about 17-20 books in their entirety.

But, oh yeah, it's Christmas. Well what can I say? I am in jail! It sucks. I wish I wasn't here. There is nothing about being here that I wouldn't trade to be with my family. It's the same deal today as it was last month on Thanksgiving. I tried my hardest to not think about it and just sleep through it, but that only works so long. I have to think about it. I have to remember that the only reason I am here and not with my family is because of my drug abuse problem.

I have a problem with drugs.

It hurts me to say it, it hurts me to write it, it hurts me to think about it. But if I don't remind myself on days like this, Christmas, that I have already lost so much to drugs, and the only "promise" in using drugs is that I will lose more, than I may forget. I wish I could forget parts of my life. I wish I could forget things I have done. Geez, I wish I could forget the four months I spent in jail once I leave, and to a degree I can.

But if I don't remember some things, things like today, things like my Dad's and brothers' birthdays spent here. Things like Thanksgiving. Things like the look on my mother's face as I walk into a jail visiting room so she can see her son for thirty minutes. If I don't remember these things than I can just as easily say they didn't matter or didn't have an impact.

If I forget about the pain then I learn nothing. I may (again) forget that I have a drug problem down the line and wind up back here or dead.

I can't miss another Christmas because of my drug use. I can't do this again. I have to remember that even though I am the one sitting in an 8'x10' cell without my family, hungry, lonely, with nobody to talk to, (except Rico who is like talking to a mumbling piece of wood) wishing I was with my family, I am not the only one who my actions affect. I may have suffered, but it's selfish of me to think I am the only one going through some kind of hardship.

This is already way more than I wanted to write, and now I am upset and about to cry and I am still stuck here. So yeah, they gave us a good lunch today with pineapple ham, breadrolls, some kinda candied yam type something, vegetables and a piece of dutch apple pie. It was good enough to still leave you hungry later.

I am going to start in on the Hemingway after I read the last 20-30 pages of The Count of Monte Cristo. Then I'll try and sleep once the lights go out. Merry Christmas everybody. One more day down, one more day closer to home.



P.S. And if you tell anyone that I was about to cry I am going to be pretty pissed. So that's our secret okay?