GARY - Not Going Back Part 1

For those of you not in the loop regarding Gary, my youngest-of-five brothers, there are previous entries you can access for background information. In a nutshell, he has spent 15+ years in and out of the California State Prison system for incidents stemming from habitual drug use and the resulting behaviors. He did not rape or murder anyone. He was never an abuser of small children. More than anyone, he hurt himself. He was abused. Almost raped. Practially murdered. His childhood was difficult and he ran away from home various times, starting an alternate life-cycle of street-living, foster families, and juvenile facilities. He has struggled with suicidal ideation since he was a boy, never understanding the turmoil within his mind, forever struggling to control it while all the time it gained further control over him.

Last October, he was released from a 12+ year stint. Institutionalized as he was, our efforts and his were not enough to keep him from attempting death-by-police to end the voices and ideas in his head. Observations I made during our two weeks together led me to believe he was suffering from an undiagnosed mental illness of some kind. Subsequent evaluations supported my thoughts: PTSD from his childhood and incarceration along with Bipolar I disorder with a propensity for a mixed bipolar state, whereby he is both manic and depressed at the same time. Psychosis - hearing and seeing things that are not there - and suicidal tendencies are inherent with this diagnosis.

Due to the highly unusual nature of our childhood, our ability and willingness to accept and absorb behavior outside the 'normal' behavioral and social parameters made it difficult for us to discern a root cause for Gary's lifetime of acting out. It took dealing with another family member's tragic bout with post-partum psychosis, including a court trial, media coverage, and placement in a state mental hospital, to bring me to a place where I was able to view my brother's actions and attach a medical significance to them. This pains me on too many fronts to express at this time.

Gary is presently awaiting transfer out of the prison system and into the state hospital system. He's trading out, but we feel he is trading up. This is the first real victory he has ever been handed in his legal history. The past 10 months have been exhausting. I believe we are all yet in shock and a bit numb to this latest development. The actual physical act of leaving behind the torments of prison life and taking on real help in a mental rehabilitation facility seems way-y to good to be true. But, I know it is true. The judge said it himself in open court. It is a decision so rare that the procedures and paperwork are not familiar to the principle players in this judicial drama. Rare. Rare. Rarified air that we now breathe. Our lungs are adjusting.

Excerpt from personal letter to me from Gary:
Friday - August 28th, 2009

Gloria,

It occurred to me earlier this evening while showering: I'm not going back to prison. I'm . . . not . . . going . . . back . . . to . . . prison.

What will my life be like? Where will I live? How will I live? What will I do? Will I get to talk to you all and see you?

My mind can't even wrap around this stuff right now. Just thought I'd share. G'night.

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Excerpt from personal letter to Brother John from Gary
Saturday - August 29th, 2009

John,

Hey bro! Yeah, I know . . . this has been a tough row to hoe, for all of us. When I heard the judge say those words, on the record, it was surreal.

[later in body of letter]
I'm grateful for you coming to court for me. It made me feel good, seeing you there. When the cop was joking, it made me proud, for him to know you're my brother.

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Wednesday - August 26th, 2009 FIRST WRITING FOR THE BLOG by GARY Part 1

This coming holiday season, and my November birthday (#35), will be my seventeenth consecutive away from family and world. All the rest were spent in prison though, and it looks as if this one may well be in a hospital.

In my heart resides almost no will to live. Living has never been any great joy for me, at least not enough for me to want to keep sticking around.

When a racehorse breaks a leg, they shoot it. What about when it's heart breaks? I've been in the criminal justice system a long time now & believe me when I tell you I have been treated with far less humanity than Sea Biscuit. Many times I would have given anything to be taken out and shot.

I've been going into this same courtroom for ten months now and I've seen at least a few people actually try to find some true justice for myself. A completely foreign new experience.

A convict's life is full of 'nevers'; never seen, never been, never heard. You live through stories from news guys, letters from home, TV, etc.

I'm trying to embrace change. Got a mohawk haircut, in honor of my little homeboy in prison; study my Bible every day; share my faith, my story; and listen, listen, listen.

It's not easy to try and find words to truly express so many important parts of me, of my life. For my big sister's effort at this blog-thing, I will. I got different stories and different ways of telling them, but they need to be told nonetheless.

For now, I wish it to be known that, were it not for aforementioned big sis, I would not have bothered to stick around for this new & positive development. It may sound like a cliche-Oscar-acceptance-speech-line, but it ain't. Death, for me, is a welcome end to a lot of pain and disappointment. [Let me, Gloria, insert here that he refers not just to his own allotment in these areas but what he feels he has heaped on his loved ones and others.]

Being told you're actually mentally ill, enough to be sentenced to a hospital by a judge for having a psychotic episode, is a strange thing to assimiliate, much less explain.

You've [just] read a crazy guy's meandering creative outburst. Hah! G'night.

Part 2 can be read TOMORROW: Trying to make it easier on you, dear reader.