Letters to Julia - End

Dear Julia,

There must be a better way. Prison has been my saving grace, don’t get me wrong. I came here with a lot of guilt and shame, but here I have learned how to overcome my problems without drugs or alcohol or unhealthy relationships or men’s validation or any vice at all, really. My addiction to drugs and men brought me here. I don’t blame anyone else because it was me who made the terrible choices.

There’s still a problem though. It’s the victims. Not just Bill, but my children and the rest of my family. They have all suffered as a result of my actions and it wasn’t fair to them. Sure, it was my fault, but the fact that my punishment may have been deserved doesn’t help them. Isn’t that what it was all about? Justice for victims?

My long prison sentence created more victims and more work for the state, rather than helping the ones that already existed. I would do anything to make this right for them. My kids are well, thankfully, and I talk to them often. We are healing. I will do anything I can to help them get past this so they can be as healthy and happy as they should be. My mom and sister still seem lost without me and the kids involved in their daily lives. They are able to talk to some of the kids still, and that helps, but it’s still hard. If there was something I could do for my victim Bill, I’d do it. I’m working on a letter apologizing for what I did, and I hope it helps. He may feel good about me being in prison, but I doubt it. I wish there were better alternatives to reduce the impact of crime without creating more victims. I wish the years given to me made sense. I don’t understand why treatment or time off for good behavior aren’t options for me. I think I’d get the most use out of them. Why didn’t I get offered a plea deal or a chance at a suspended sentence which I have seen so many other people get? I heard that my DA was difficult, and that’s why, but that’s not a good enough reason. Other people with similar crimes get those options every day. It should be the same for all. We are mothers, and our kids are out there, and they still need us.

There’s got to be a better way.

Sincerely,

Crystal A.

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - Fall

Dear Julia,

Now it’s time for me to tell you about my crime. The day it happened; I went to Bill’s house to collect my pay for the week. I hadn’t been around much because of the pressure Bill had been putting me under. I’d been staying at friends’ houses, getting high. I had been awake for about 6 days straight. My mind was spinning, and I was in a haze. Thoughts would jump around in my head, and I wasn’t feeling much either. I’d easily get distracted, but I did manage a few chores and I took a shower. Then I went to Bill and asked for my pay. He said he wouldn’t pay me and that he wanted me out of the house.

Not a single rational thought was in my head at that time, but I think, deep down, I felt entitled to my money and I was mad at Bill for trying to control me with it. Bill had never actually wanted to help me out. He wanted to use me. He saw a broken woman and seized the opportunity to get what he wanted out of me, but it didn’t work, and that was the real reason why Bill was kicking me out. He wasn’t getting what he wanted out of me. I was tired of men always trying to use me, even this guy, whom I had known since I was 12.

When it became clear that Bill wasn’t going to hand over the money, I started packing my belongings into two large shopping bags. We continued arguing, and as we argued, I would sometimes start talking about people and things that weren’t even there. Even Bill would later testify to that. When he threatened to call the cops, and started yelling out his back door, I tried squeezing past him to get out the back door and he fell. While he was lying on the ground, I went back and wrestled him for his wallet. I got hold of the wallet, took out the cash, and left the wallet on the counter before I went out the front door.

Looking back, I feel absolutely horrible for what I did. Thank goodness, Bill is okay. He was banged up, but overall, fine. He didn’t need to go to hospital, and from what I understand he is okay to this day. I hope someday to make amends with him. And honestly, I feel lucky. These types of crimes go wrong all the time. He was fragile, and I could have badly hurt him, or worse. When you’re high on meth, you don’t think about what you’re doing. You just do it. You don’t feel any pain or remorse. You have a false sense of confidence, and even feel justified for taking someone’s wallet over money owed to you. Sober Crystal, the real Crystal, would never have done something like that. But that’s what comes with choosing to use meth. You can’t control it, you can’t control yourself, and you will almost certainly commit crimes because of your addiction.

************************

After I turned myself in a week later, I went through a horrific comedown as I came off all the drugs. I wailed and screamed and cried in my cell, threatening suicide. The officer laughed at me. I punched the walls. I went crazy for seven days there and then went to the women’s jail unit and slept and cried for two months until my trial. I don’t think I was mentally ready for trial, but I just felt done and needed the whole process over as soon as possible.

I felt like my life was over. I didn’t know if there was any hope for me or for getting back to my children. I wished (in vain) that I could get sober and serve whatever time I needed to quickly and then make steps to get back to my children, however I could. The sentence I received for a conviction of Robbery in the First Degree was a mandatory minimum of 90 months. Day for day, no treatment, no ability to earn “good time” to get out early. I was going away for seven-and-a-half years.

My family was devastated, and my kids were in shock. I felt so bad for what I was doing to them. There was no way for me to make it up to them. They had lost their mother, their daughter, and their sister. It crushed them.

I wish I had known how much I meant to them. Maybe I would have made different choices. I’m not sure though because once addiction took hold of me there was no turning back. I wanted to change. I wanted my kids and my family back more than anything. But I just couldn’t stop myself from self-destruction, no matter how hard I tried.

It was hardest on my daughter. She had been planning to come home with me as soon as I got out of jail. She says she also “went crazy” having to let go of her former life, her family and her mom. Neither she nor my youngest son could stay with my mom and sister. DHS came and got them, removing my son by force while he screamed and cried and clawed toward my mom. Removing my son in that way was completely unnecessary. I know my family has its problems, but my kids were safe, loved, and fed three home-cooked meals a day. Sure, my mom lived in a perpetual state of denial, but there is counseling, therapy, and parenting classes that could overcome that. My children are still traumatized by that separation to this day. For months, we didn’t know where they were going to place Jacob. My first two children had their fathers, but both of Jacob’s parents were in prison. Thankfully, he eventually went to my grandfather. DHS would not allow me to be his legal parent anymore. He had to be adopted because of the length of my sentence.

That’s what happened to me. While I’ve been in prison, I’ve had time to think, and next time I’ll share those thoughts with you.

Sincerely,

Crystal A.

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - Spiraling

Dear Julia,

A few months had passed, and Dickey started calling me again. I’d go running back to him with my bag of meth. We’d use together, then we’d get in a fight and he would kick me out, back on the streets again. I was homeless at that time, couch-hopping between friends’ houses who were also users. I went days without sleeping, too busy running from my problems to rest.

Once a week, I was allowed a supervised visit with my children. I showed up a couple of times, but further visits were canceled after I missed two. I showed up late once and fell asleep in my car the second time. Spun out on meth as I was, it was easy for me to lose track of time or even what day it was. After days awake, I would pass out cold for hours on end as soon as I sat down. Sometimes I fell asleep on the sidewalk or by the side of a road. Other times, I would be in a kind of meth-induced psychosis. I would hallucinate and talk so fast no one knew what I was saying. Some of the side effects were really weird, and I don’t know whether it was the sleep deprivation or the bath salts that my dealer cut the meth with to stretch it that caused them. My dealer also laced the meth with heroin to make it even more addictive. He was guaranteeing repeat sales by doing that. There’s no way to predict the effects of getting high on so many different chemicals. I looked like I had lost my mind.

As part of DHS requirements, I tried outpatient rehab, but I kept missing the appointments. It was obvious I needed more, so DHS signed me up for inpatient treatment as part of a plan to get my kids back. I never made it there. I only had a week before I left town for rehab, so with the time I had left I was going to use as much as I could. I was terrified. I didn’t know how to get through life sober. How would I cope with pain and disappointment? Would I ever feel happy again? Who would I be without the drugs? Those were the frightening thoughts I had. I wasn’t sure whether I could be fixed. I felt so hopeless.

By this time, I was living with an old family friend named Bill. He had been our landlord when I was a teenager, and my dad did some mechanic work for him. My mom had been in touch with him and asked him to rent me a room at his place because I was homeless. I took his offer. Before I signed up for rehab, I thought this might be my only shot at living in a sober environment and getting clean. I was doing it for my kids and, besides, I had no other options.

As soon as I moved in, Bill started coming onto me. I didn’t know how to take it at first. He made suggestive comments like I was “giving him something good to look at.” As time went on, his advances became more blatant. He wanted to have a sexual relationship with me. I told him no, many times. He claimed he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t have sex with him since I was a drug addict and addicts want to feel good all the time, and sex was the best feeling in the world. It was awful and it embarrassed me tremendously to have all this coming from a man who was a friend of my dad’s. I realized Bill never had good intentions in helping me out. He just wanted to use me.

Bill and I made a deal that if I worked on his property and cooked and cleaned for him, he would give me $100 a week. I’d show up during the day but would eventually leave because I felt so uncomfortable. This place was supposed to be a clean environment to help me get sober, but I continued to use and refused to stay the night.

That wasn’t all that happened between me and Bill, but I’ll tell you about that next time.

Sincerely,

Crystal A.

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - Losing everything

Dear Julia,

When I think about why I kept finding myself in these relationships, with these men, I can’t explain it. I never thought I would be with men like this, but it was almost like I was looking for my father in them. I thought I could fix Dickey. Then maybe, in some way, I would be fixing my dad and my childhood, and I would be okay. But I was not even close. Everything went from bad to worse. I got worse. My addiction got worse.

The last few months of our relationship were the most violent and argumentative. Dickey had been working at an auto wrecking yard and at first it was good to have him earning a paycheck. But his behavior completely changed when he started working at another shop with an old friend. He previously balanced the abuse with affection and compliments and small favors to keep me around, but now he was just angry all the time, and his mood swings were extreme. I really had no explanation for it and was at first confused. I would later learn that he had been using meth after he brought it home one night when I made a joke about the sex we could have if we ever did it together.

I did it too. In a way, I used meth as a way to reconnect with Dickey. I was grasping for anything to make our relationship last. But of course, it didn’t help.

From that day on, we used meth every day. I was able to stop taking my pills and meth was cheaper. It didn’t take long to lose everything. I lost my job and, before Dickey had to pay a month’s rent, he left me. The kids and I moved in with my mom, my sister, and her boyfriend. They knew something was wrong immediately. I kept leaving at night and sometimes didn’t return for days. I stopped caring about anything. I lived in a daze. I was out to destroy myself, convinced I meant nothing to anyone. I knew my kids deserved better, but I had reached the peak of my addiction and I couldn’t go back to the way I was. I didn’t want to feel anything. I honestly didn’t really want to live anymore. Meth took me to new extremes where I didn’t have to face any of the reality of life, and I was completely gone. I was addicted to it almost immediately.

One day, I was missing my kids and went to pick them up from my mom’s house. My mom and my sister wouldn’t let me take them. We all got in a fight and the cops came. They asked if I was using meth and I admitted it. DHS came and told me I couldn’t have contact with my kids anymore. This is when I completely spiraled out of control. Instead of getting clean, I got worse. I was full of shame. I had loved my children so completely and unconditionally, how could I have lost them? I couldn’t accept reality or the pain I was in. I drowned myself in meth. My world was getting darker and darker, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Next time I write, I’ll tell you about how Dickey started to reel me back in, using my addiction.

Sincerely,

Crystal

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - The New Man

Dear Julia,

For the next two years, I kept doing what I had before: pushing all men away until my loneliness overwhelmed me. Then, just like last time, I let the first man to come along into my life. I met Dickey at a friend’s house. He was always sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. He didn’t work, but he was really good to talk to and showed me the attention that I always craved. He was kind to me and my kids and it wasn’t long before I let him move in.

At first, I thought he was amazing. He helped out with household chores and watching the kids while I worked, which saved me a lot on childcare. He drank on the job but, since he was still decent to my kids, I let it slide. He would cook full-course dinners. I though I had won the lottery and found a good man.

Dickey, of course, had issues too, and they were the kind I gravitated towards. He was an alcoholic. The wonderful things I originally loved about him slowly faded. He stopped showering me with compliments and started calling me names. I blamed the alcohol, not him. He’d still do chores but would be resentful about it later. He’d still watch the kids but got increasingly irritable at their “neediness.” He started to distance them from me, saying that I doted on them too much. I had been accused of spoiling my children before, and he convinced me that I needed to teach them to be more independent. He wouldn’t let me go to them when they called for me; instead, he would deal with what they needed himself. He made them rely on me less and less, giving me “alone time,” something I wasn’t used to. I thought he was caring for me, and that this is what it must be like having a father around.

The first time Dickey hit me; it came out of nowhere. He’d been drinking at his friend’s house all day, and I hadn’t said a word to him since he came home. I came around the corner from the kitchen and felt a hard punch directly to my jaw. Everything went white for a second, but I came to just as quickly, only to feel another punch in the same spot, then another, each almost knocking me out. I was completely shocked at first, thinking: “Why is he doing this?” Then, as a sense of urgency came over me, I flew to the phone and called the police. He ran away, and when the police showed up I denied everything. Later, I begged Dickey to come back, thinking I must have done something wrong to deserve it.

The hitting happened periodically. I don’t know why I tolerated it; except I would always seem to justify his actions by saying “it must be the alcohol.” I thought I must have done something to cause it.

He broke me down, and I became less of myself and more of what he wanted me to be: under his control. I started hitting back, trying to have some control in what was happening, but it changed nothing. He had control over my emotions and made me feel unworthy and of no value. Each time he knocked me around would make me hold onto him tighter since, if I were to lose him, I would never have anyone to love me again.

Sincerely,

Crystal

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

LETTERS TO JULIA - THE WRONG MAN

Dear Julia,

About a year after my dad died, I went through my second divorce. I felt rejected, and like I was a complete failure. My dependence on the pills became worse. They became a daily necessity. When I took them, I instantly felt better.

Despite the hardships I was going through, I was still able to get up, go to work, and take care of my kids and household chores. In a way, I felt like supermom. I thought I could do everything required of me – so long as I had the pills. But the longer I put off dealing with my problems, the worse they became. My tolerance for the pills grew as well. I needed more and more as time went on. If I went even one day without them, I would be in immense pain and violently sick to my stomach. It was unbearable, unlike any pain I had experienced before. My need to get more pills was out of control. I felt this frantic urge to find more pills as soon as possible, thinking I might die if I didn’t.

Sometimes, I was unable to get out of bed. The very thing that had kept me going for so long was now debilitating to me. I started to feel inadequate because I couldn’t do what I needed to do for my children, even though my love for them was my reason for everything I did. I was scared that if someone found out what a horrible problem I had; I would lose my kids. Mothers aren’t supposed to be addicts. I was too ashamed to ask for help. Anyway, if I did go to treatment, where would they go? Who would take care of them? Would social services place them in foster care? Would I ever see them again? These were the thoughts I had. I couldn’t imagine putting my children through any of that. So, I kept going the only way I knew how. I was stuck, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.

A few years after the divorce, we moved into a one-bedroom apartment for a few months while I was between jobs. Down the hall lived a guy who would always meet me in the hallway whenever he heard me and the kids coming. He would offer to help me carry things and made chit-chat. Something about him made me uncomfortable. He seemed stalkerish, always listening for me to leave or come home. He was big and intimidating. He started asking me out. Even though I would say no and try to blow him off, he never got the hint. I finally agreed to go out with him when my mom and sister suggested I should start dating again. I guess he convinced them to talk to me about it. I thought maybe I was being too hard on him. Besides, I was feeling lonely anyway. I started to date him and, about a month later, I became pregnant.

Once I was pregnant, things changed. He seemed to drop the act, because suddenly he was a different man. Here’s what I found out about my partner: I learned he was a former meth user and had just done 18 months in prison. He drank beer every day. Most of the people in the apartment complex were afraid of him because he had threatened them and intimidated them at one time or another. He was known to be violent and a bully. I probably should have found this out sooner, or at least trusted my gut instinct in the first place. Instead, I chose to numb myself so I could have somebody.

I quickly realized I had made a mistake letting this guy into my life. One day he started acting erratically and as though he was feeling suspicious about something. I don’t know what it was. All I wanted to do was take a nap, but he kept pacing around and acting strangely. As soon as I lay down with my daughter, he came bursting into my apartment, yelling, and hitting things, with his brother right behind him.

I flew out of bed and sent my daughter into my son’s bedroom with instructions to them both to stay put. I started arguing with the men to get out of my apartment, telling them I would call the cops if they didn’t leave. They kept yelling and threatening me, and I just kept yelling that I was going to call the cops. After I repeated it several times, they left. I grabbed the kids and a few bags of things and left. I only went back one time to pack the rest of our stuff. That was after I had filed for a restraining order to protect me and our child. I guess he got mad because I wasn’t giving him attention.

For months, he stalked me. He finally left me alone when a judge threatened to put him back in prison. He went back anyway in the end for killing a man. He’s due to get out the same year as me. I had started a rumor that my unborn child wasn’t his, but D.H.S. established paternity with him when I came to prison. Now he wants to have a relationship with our son. To be honest, that terrifies me.

Sincerely,

Crystal

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - A Mother and a Daughter

Dear Julia,

Last time, I told you about my mom and dad, and my childhood. Well, that all came to an end when I was 16. I left home and started living on my own. I worked almost full time, so I was able to take care of myself and finish high school. Life was good for a bit. I married my long-term boyfriend when I was 19. I had my first child when I was 20. My husband was a good guy, but he drank – a lot. The emotional and mental abuse eventually became too much for me, so I left him when I was 21.

I was also drinking and having fun (mostly on the weekend), sometimes smoking marijuana, especially now that I was single. I dated a little. I was always attracted to alcoholics. I married my second husband a few years later and had my second child.

During this time, my dad and I reconciled. He quit drinking after I left home. I told him I would have nothing to do with him unless he did so and that he was one step away from losing my mom and sister if he didn’t. It was a struggle for him, but when a doctor diagnosed him with social anxiety and helped him get on medication, he succeeded.

I had some good years with my dad after this. I began to trust him again. My family started to heal. We had good holidays and Sunday night dinners, together, as a family. For the first time in a long time, my dad was there for me. He saw me through some hard times and showed me how to pick up the pieces when I failed and continue on. He encouraged me to go to college and watched my kids so I could do homework. He showed me that it was possible to stand on my own two feet. My father was present at the birth of my first two born children and showed up for every sickness and hospitalization and school production they had. I was able to forgive my father, and I finally got to see the man he was meant to be.

Then he died.

My dad had been struggling to stay sober the last few years of his life. He had become addicted to prescription pain medication and had been to rehab a few times. He died of a heart aneurysm, but I often wonder if the pills made it explode. I tried to revive him that day for 15 minutes until the paramedics arrived, but they determined he had gone instantly.

Around this time, I had also started used pain pills, mostly because they were there. I told myself it was just for recreational use, but pain pills don’t work that way. When dad died, I used them as a means of escaping reality and the pain. Just like him. My family did not have good coping skills and I really had no idea how to deal with this. So, I did the only thing I knew.

I had had problems with depression since I was a teenager, but now the depression deepened, and the anti-depressants didn’t seem to help. I never took them correctly, though. I would take them for a couple weeks and then forget. The pain pills, on the other hand, worked instantly. Right away, I would feel no emotional pain and could easily forget about my circumstances. Although I had forgiven my father while he was still alive, I still had internal damage from the domestic violence, and growing up with an alcoholic, that had not been addressed. I was about to find out that avoiding dealing with my problems would not work forever.

Sincerely,

Crystal

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - Raising Crystal

Dear Julia, 

I guess the place to start with telling you my story is with my childhood. Specifically, my parents and how they raised me.

My mom and dad had me when they were 14 and 17 years old. Their parents didn’t approve, obviously, and there was talk of adoption. They left their dysfunctional homes and childhoods behind to raise me. 

My mom became a waitress and my dad worked on cars in our backyard. Life was a constant struggle for us. We were poor. We went without sometimes, but always managed to make ends meet. I often felt inadequate compared to kids my age. I didn’t have nice clothes or lots of toys. When I asked my father about it, he dismissed it as unimportant. He told me what mattered was what I had inside. 

I had to go without a lot of my father’s time and attention. He was emotionally unavailable. I think my father was dealing with a lot of his own issues of feeling inadequate and having low self-worth. I always sensed he had a lot of pain buried deep within him.  

It was also clear to me at an early age that my dad had a serious problem. He would go out most afternoons and stay out all night. Sometimes he would come home, throwing things and acting violently. I don’t remember him drinking much in front of me, but he was an alcoholic and sometimes his moods were impossible to predict. 

My mom was very loving and kind. She did her best to take care of both of us. Most of her energy was spent working, taking care of household chores, or dealing with my dad. I became very self-reliant at an early age. I often felt forgotten. My parents loved me, but they seemed to forget that I needed attention, stability, and security. We moved around a lot because of our financial instability, and there always seemed to be problems that needed attention more than me. I could tell my parents had problems I couldn’t really understand. They tried to shield me, but that doesn’t work. Children see everything. 

As my father’s alcoholism grew worse, I strived to be a “good girl” and tried to make sure I never made mistakes. I got good grades and hardly ever got in trouble. I became a people-pleaser and would do my best to make my dad happy. But the results were fleeting. I would get my father’s attention and acceptance for a short time but then he would go out, get drunk, and return home angry or sad.  

When I became a teenager, I stopped trying to please him, and started getting angry at him, especially when he started hitting my mom. I started smoking, drinking, and hanging out with older boys. I got really good at hiding my rebellious behavior because when I did get caught, I got punished, and sometimes hit as well. 

As you can imagine, this couldn’t go on. Something had to change. Next time I write, I’ll tell you about how I left home at 16.

Sincerely, 

Crystal 

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.

Letters to Julia - The Beginning

Dear Julia,

It’s not easy telling you my story. It feels like I’m opening the doors of judgement again. It didn’t go so well for me the last time when I was judged for the crime I committed. This story goes beyond that. But my story isn’t about me, it’s a cause. I used to look down on women like me who were addicted to drugs and got themselves locked up. I honestly never thought it’d happen to me.

But here I am, in Coffee Creek, with hundreds of women. After four years, I have realized that they are just like me: moms, wives, daughters, and sisters with loved ones who desperately miss them and need them home. It’s really, really hard on those families. The state must be forking out millions just to house us. I just can’t help but wonder – is there a better way? We all have very similar stories: the wrong man, the bad choices, the hard circumstances, and drugs. We were not necessarily bad people. Lost, confused, broken, but not bad.

I think we need to tell our stories. I believe it’s part of our responsibility to the public; a way to give back to the community. I hope someone benefits from my story. The biggest reward I could get is that it stopped another woman from making the same wrong choices I made. But I wish that my story can continue to educate and inform those may not know any better and help them understand that we are all just people, and together I pray we find a better way.

Sincerely,

Crystal.

Crystal A. is currently incarcerated at Oregon’s women’s prison, Coffee Creek Correctional Facility.