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.
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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.
