Where Was My Earl?

2012  thus far not been stellar, and that is an understatement.  Besides the fact that I  began the year with burning my hand and having a pity party because I felt lonely, I now have added a new experience to my life.  One I had hoped I would never have.

Last  night I was arrested.  I have never been arrested and the only things I know about it are from TV shows, movies, and a few people that I know that have also had the misfotune of experiencing this.

Does it matter what I did?  If I write my guilty deed is that all anyone will take away from this?

Does it matter more that I was demoralized and humiliated or that nine years ago I did something I fogot about to have it randomly pop up last night?

I sat in Central Booking with my hands behind my back in cuffs that were digging into my wrists.  I wacthed everything around me.  I watched the officers make fun of just about every person brought in.  At first I was mad about this.  I felt anger that the officers felt so superior to everyone else.To me.   Then I thought they are doing their job.  I wanted each person to be treated indivudually and  not seen as just a criminal.

They did not know what I did, or what the woman next to me did, or didn't do.  They only knew we had warrants were caught and now in their fishbowl.

Still as you stand with your legs  being kicked apart for the fifth time and feel a strangers hand run up and down your entire body touching even the most intimate of parts, you want to scream.  I violated a law, which gave them the right to violate my body, violate my privacy and make fun of me to my face.

Jail also smells bad.  The fact that the girl I was cuffed to was drunk and throwing up did not help much.  But this same girl who sober in the morning and shaking as we walked down the cold hall grabbed on to my hand when I asked if she wanted to hold it.  I whispered to her that it would be okay and to just hang in there.  She held my hand all through seeing the judge, walking back down the long corridors, up the elevator and until we were released from each other by the click of a key.

I did not ask her name, nor she me. But I hope she felt better having a hand to hold on to and let her know somone saw her as a human.

I sat in my cell and wrapped the itchy blanket around me.  There was plenty of graffiti for me to read and try and decipher.  I was surprised most of it was about God.  I guess people can find God pretty quick in a small cell after the door is slammed shut and locked.

I did not seek out God.  I saught sleep.

What I got was a lot of thoughts.  Twice I was asked a number of questions, the same ones.  One of the questions was, "Do you hear voices in your head that arent your own?"  The first time I was asked I laughed and said, "no."  The second time I just said "no."  In the cell I silently told the truth.

"Of course I hear voices in my head that arent my own.  I can hear my brothers dissapointment of me.  I hear my mother's worried voice with tears, I hear my boss telling me I wont have a job anymore.  I hear my children, some worried, some pissed off at me. I hear some friends calling me a dumbass and others expressing love and concern.  Yes I hear the voices."

People are supposed to have great epiphanies in jail.  I spent much of the time pondering why they still use black and white striped uniforms to make everyone look like they are in a 1950's cartoon.  I listened while other people talked and did not add to the conversation.  I wondered how long I could actually keep my extreme claustrophobia away with all the constant slamming doors and buzzing locks.

The only epiphany I had is that I am not such a great person.  I am not the person I want to be and need to be.  I suppose that does actually count as an epiphany. 

When in a hallway a man going through the same process of booking as me looked at me said, "Looking good baby."  Without thinking I said, "Shut the fuck up scumbag."  The man lurched toward me and guards were on him immediately.  It was after that I decided I should just be quiet.

I thought about how I would write this.

If I would write this.

Has this been a pivotal experience in my life or just a blip on the entire spectrum?

Have I been able to laugh about it already?  Yes.

But I also have not slept, lost track of time, friends, and dignity.

In 2004 I went to the grocery store and wrote a bad check.  Did I know I was writing a bad check?  Maybe.  I can't recall.

In 2012 I tried to find sleep in a jail cell and for half of one day I was seen as barely human.  I have been judged by strangers, family, and friends.  No one can judge me worse than I can do myself.

Am I a good person?  Am I a good parent?  A good friend?  A good employee?

When I ask myself these questions they now hold a hgher importance.

The answer has not always been "yes."

I accept my faults, my mistakes, and I will do what is within my power to rectify each and every one of them.

Tonight when I find sleep in my own bed under my own blanket I will think of only ways I can be a better human.

I will extend my hand out not just to a person who happens to be handcuffed to me, but to everyone.

Mostly I will extend my hand out to myself so that I can answer the questions above with a yes.

First I will try to repair some dignity, as I cry out the shame that remains.