A Father's Lament

I talked to the kids on the phone this morning. On my second call, I had to cut off my time with my son as I had my monthly Buddhist Service. I could not focus on the service, or discussion, as I could only think of my kids. They had been telling me about putting up trees at their mom's and their aunt's (my sister). These were always my activities with them.

My kids were always a center of my life, I could never understand how any parent could "abandon" their kids either physically or mentally. I know I was never the perfect dad, but I tried to be as close as I could. A friend sent me a few more pictures of my "new" son, who I've never met, including one of Jess holding him up and smiling warmly and lovingly into his eyes. I guess there's also a video of him walking. He does not even know I exist, and I feel he's been robbed from me. Even worse, now I'm one of those parents who abandoned their kids. But it wasn't my choice.

So I thought I'd copy a journal entry I wrote several months ago while thinking of my kids. Here it is:

10/26 I've been thinking of my kids even more than usual recently. One reason for this is the approach of Halloween. That was always one of my favorite times with them. I took them most years, whether it was my turn or not. We would usually trick or treat in our neighborhood.

I also usually took them to the All Souls Day/Day of the Dead procession, a huge event in our town that is a cross between the Mexican Day of the Dead and Mardi Gras. It was a big deal with my gang of friends and we constructed elaborate floats on several occasions. I involved the kids in that process as much as possible.

This led me to think of other traditions and activities that I may never have with them again. I used to be "the monster" when we went to any park, chasing them throughout the jungle gyms, up ladders, over bridges, and down slides. They never tired of that game, but when I get out they will be long past it. The same is true for bedtime stories, which we still were doing "when it all fell apart". Of course they were doing much more of the reading then.

Some traditions will still be alive, I hope. "Question time" and "story cubes" were, and I hope will be, a part of every meal. It was a way to create bonding and sharing at the dinner table. I was so very proud when one thanksgiving, and the huge table that included several strangers to the kids, my son stood up and yelled out "question time!"

Another tradition that might live on is "pizza and a movie night" if, that is, I'm allowed to have my own children overnight. Perhaps the movies that we watch will "grow" along with the kids, but I did enjoy watching classic cartoons, and Pixar films, and great kids' movies with them. When I started allowing them to choose, the quality wasn't always of the same caliber!

(Later that day) WOW!! I just got a letter from my daughter. She was telling me how much she missed many of those exact things I just wrote about! She also reminded me about "monster in the theater," where I chased the kids around the aisles after the movie was over and the cinema cleared out.

This led to the unpleasant thoughts about how this punishment of my crime also punishes the kids and has little to do with any recovery or strengthening of communities. It is only destructive. There are so many other productive, constructive, effective and efficient ways to dispense justice, but that is for another day.

Imagine

In pondering and writing about all of the events and circumstances in my situation, I think about the callous and faceless nature of the court system as a whole.

I had very little opportunity to present myself to the courts as the human being that I am. The vast bulk of the process is lawyers dickering with each other, filing motions, affidavits, and petitions. Several of my court appearances were to read a charge and set up another date. Other times, for one side or the other, were to postpone or extend, to set up another date, and so on.

So I wonder, why could there not be a process where a judge just talks with the defendant. The system would probably cry out the courts are already so overburdened and backed up that there is neither the time nor resources for such an endeavor. Yet it seems to me that it would be less cumbersome and time consuming than all of the motioning, posturing, and dickering that goes on now.

I had to undergo extensive psychosexual evaluations, but ultimately they seemed to mean little to nothing to the judge or prosecutor. So why the charade of this procedure? Perhaps as a true component of the judicial system there could be a risk analysis and a treatment proposal that actually carry some weight.

The system itself perpetuates this lack of "cutting to the chase". One should never speak without a lawyer. In most cases the lawyers do the majority of the talking. A lawyer is necessary to navigate the maze and hoops of the system.

But why must it be this way? Ostensibly it is to protect the rights of the accused, but that seems not to be the case. That the courts are "out to get you" should not be the reality, though in my experience and also from listening to and reading about many others, this seems to be so.

I realize that I'm seeing and hearing about only those who have been found guilty and are incarcerated, but the scenarios are both commonplace an astounding. I acknowledge that I can't believe everyone's story, but the truth is that we are already in prison so there's little incentive to lie. Most all that I talk to will readily admit they are guilty, but there are often tales of outlandish assertions on exaggerations that add to the consequences. And relevant circumstances that aid and reduce the offense are dismissed as immaterial. Anything damaging is fact, and anything exonerating is suspicious or irrelevant.

This is certainly true in my case, and I hear similar tales again and again. There is no attempt at real meaningful dialogue in the justice system. That does not have to be the way.

This is also a problem with our whole political system as well. Everyone has an agenda, which is more important than the good of the whole. Compromise, communication, and rationality play little role in the decision-making process.

Of course how can I expect the court system to communicate or to understand me when even my fiancé was unwilling to do so. While the courts might have little or no inclination to understand the big picture, one would expect or hope that their loved ones would. One would be wrong in that supposition.

Is this an anomaly due to individual circumstances? Or is society as a whole buying into a program of condemn first ask questions later. I notice that the media will always sensationalize the negative and condemn well before any attempt is made to see the whole picture, and if that ever happens, it's already too late.

But it's not too late to shift towards empathy, compassion, and understanding. I'm not suggesting to give felons bouquets of roses, but at least give them a legitimate voice in the process and to propose a course of action and a dialogue that has a productive and constructive outcome. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one! Imagine that!

Injustice In Action

I would like to share some more of my experiences with Arizona's injustice system, again with the hope that it might help anyone who might become entangled in the nets of judicial bureaucracy.

When I first was able to view the police reports of my crime (after it had already been leaked to the media) I was completely flabbergasted at the assertion of some 60,000 images of a "dubious" nature. "Known or suspected images of illegal pornography" was the specific wording. A computer program had scanned the computer and external drive and this was the result of that scan.

I realized that there were duplicates of most of the images, as the search included all files that had been deleted for many months. I also realize that it included the vast majority of which were (while I'm not proud of them) of fully clothed or bathing suit images and not illegal.

I repeatedly and vociferously conveyed this to my attorney. She dismissed the objections as unimportant. When the judgment was made at the sentencing hearing, this factor led to an additional 2 1/2 years of prison time. My lawyer made a feeble statement about not relying on a computer to verify this claim.

Upon my initial appeal my new public defender also failed to raise this objection of mine and eventually my appeal for relief was denied for "no issues of factual objections".

Then, I petitioned the court of appeals, representing myself, and I was able to state my concerns and pointed out that this aggravating factor was not "proven beyond a reasonable doubt."

I just received notification that my appeal was denied. Though I really knew it was a long shot, I've come to have little faith or expectation in the justice system, but it still caused some angst, removing yet another layer of hope to an earlier release.

But what really bothers me was the statement as to the reason for my denial: " (the defendant) did not raise this argument below, instead implicitly acknowledging he had possessed tens of thousands of images. Accordingly, we do not address this argument further."

So my lawyers refusal to voice my concerns in court implied tacit agreement. This point cannot be raised on appeal as it was not raised in the trial court, though I repeatedly brought it to my attorney's attention. Even before the hearing she basically had written me off, and was suggesting that I appeal the decision. After the hearing, she again suggested I appeal and that this could be a valid point of appeal. One would think that, as an experienced attorney, she would know that in appealing a hearing, one is limited to the points that had been raised. I suspect that she didn't want to deal with and actually checking my assertion and wanted my case over and done with.

Of course, in retrospect, I should have been more proactive. I naively assumed that the attorney knew what she was doing. I must also point out that I was taken to the courthouse, in cuffs, after being awakened at 3:30 AM. I was not at my mental best, barely able to choke through the statement I had prepared. The prosecutors words and accusations barely penetrated my mental haze.

Would this issue have changed the outcome? I don't know, but I do know that my judge and prosecutor both have reputations of being severe. My public defender told me straight out that with 90% of the other judges I would have had a lighter sentence. Justice is determined by a roll of the dice it seems.

I'd also have the opportunity to raise this issue throughout the appeals process. While I have little hope remaining, I plan to continue to fight and take it to the next level. At least it's something to do.

Resilience and Purpose

Each year, right around New Year's, my "crazy, new age aunt" chooses Angel Cards for everyone in the family. This is something that we should try to work on, focus on, and become aware of in the coming year. Jess and I also " played around" with angel cards.

Well, for the last year (2012), I had appropriately been chosen for "resilience". Though I'm not particularly sure how well I did with it. On the one hand, I'm still here, still alive, so I suppose I inadvertently and ultimately succeeded. On the other hand, however, I did make an honest and conscious effort to take my life, so I suppose I should not say that I really demonstrated resilience.

I've been trying to make something of this shithole of an existence. My dictionary defines resilience as "an ability to recover from illness" and I've been working on growing and healing, but I'm unsure if I've truly recovered from anything.

I was told by my aunt that for 2013 I had "chosen" the card "purpose". Wow... That's another good one! And it dawned on me how interrelated the two really are. In order to be resilient I must have some sort of purpose to my life, and that is difficult here. So much of the purpose that I once identified with has been stripped away: father, teacher, homeowner, and pet owner were roles of purpose that defined me, particularly the first two, but they are not a part of who I am at present. I know that I'm still a father, but the purpose of caring for and raising my children is gone.

I sincerely believe that I have been striving to give purpose to this horrible situation of futility and irrationality. I have committed to the path to improve my mind, body, and spirit. I have completed the only college course available to me here, I exercise more than I have for years, I work the 12 steps of sex addiction, I read, I am practicing Buddhist techniques and teachings, and I'm writing this blog and other works. I must confess, though, that I often feel this blog is little more than a journal, as very few seem to read or comment on it, but it's at least "out there".

I'm working as a legal clerk, with the opportunity to learn about the legal maze.

So what else can I do? I know that I must not give up, though I often feel the effort is hopeless. I'm still overwhelmed by emotional suffering. I know that in theory, I must "let go" and not "attach"; that all this is impermanent. I know that I should choose peace over suffering but it often seems I have little choice. The suffering is too pervasive.

Yet I also realize that I tend to feed it. I look at pictures of my children, and I cry. I make an effort to look at the few pictures that I have of Jess with our son, and I cry. I know that is going to hurt, yet I still dig into my box for those pictures. So perhaps I am choosing this misery over purpose.

I don't think that I enjoy feeling hurt. Yet thoughts of Jess arise constantly. Can I make the choice to stop those thoughts from arising? Or perhaps I must allow them to arise and pass with equanimity, without attachment to them. I try, but I'm often unsuccessful.

I'm reading a book by Dr. Harold Bloomfield, called "making peace with your past". He writes: "another source of resistance is an addiction to feeling victimized...you might fear that resolving...issues would leave you nothing to complain about." Is this what is happening with me? I tend to rationalize that very few can really understand the pain that I continue to experience. Yet there are so many in here who can laugh and joke and have fun. Are they just more enlightened than I? It seems like those who exhibit the least amount of respect, reflection, or compassion are the ones most enjoying themselves. Is this just all illusion? Or am I on the wrong track completely.
Bloomfield also writes:

"If you're kicking yourself over a failure or a mistake, shifts the energy of regret to that of curiosity and view what happened in a larger context. Or perhaps it was a necessary aspect of your experience, without which you would not have had certain successes."

Now he's just teasing me, but it gets worse: "ask yourself (of your regrets) what really might have happened had you done things differently:

What experiences might you have missed out on? What people might you not have known? What opportunities might not have come your way? Who might have been hurt? How much love might you have lost or never found? What incidents, illnesses, or other tragedies might have ensued? What job opportunities might not have come your way? What life lessons might you not have learned?

Let yourself imagine the worst, chances are those scenarios are no more unrealistic than the gratifying fantasies that fuel your regrets. Can you accept that in many cases your life might not have been appreciably better if you had done things differently, and in some ways might even have been worse?"

Clearly this advice is not aimed at someone in prison because of their mistakes, having lost everything. Yet I do acknowledge that the ultimate consequences are yet to be revealed, though with probation and lifetime registration, the future ain't really all that bright.

Nonetheless resilience and purpose are necessary for survival. I'll keep at the work.

The New Year Rants Trilogy

Part I - Asinine Antics

Happy Freakin' New Year

As a new calendar year rolls in, I have the auspicious omen of being on lockdown. Well, at least that excuses me of my resolution to do more running, at least for now. So I figured that I'd spend at least part of the day writing about some of the inane practices and policies of the Arizona Dept of Corrections (ADC).

Recently, the head honcho and big cheese, the "state warden" took a tour of our facility. It seems that he was both astonished and outraged at the amount of "stuff" that we inmates possessed. Apparently he was upset with us about they're being the possessions of two humans crammed into a space originally designed for one. Shame on us.

So as an extremely relevant, appropriate, and logical response to our wicked behavior, the ADC created an initiative that restricts the number of religious books we may possess and notified us of the enforcement of the already existing policy of four boxes per inmate.

OK, so each inmate has the theoretical limit of 10 personal books, excluding books of a religious nature, which was essentially unlimited. It might have had something to do with that bill of rights thingy in the constitution.

Anyway, the new initiative essentially includes religious books in the limit of 10. So where does one begin to question the logic of such a move? On a practical level, I know of very few inmates to actually have the full four boxes allowed. I have only two. And there are no limits to the number of packages of refried beans or any number of food items that we may possess, so this makes very little sense as a "space saving" measure.

Then of course there is the "rehabilitative" aspect of such a policy. As already mentioned, there are few efforts or resources directed toward any growth, recovery or rehabilitation of the inmates in this system. The term "correctional" facility is a misnomer. Any real growth must come from personal, internal measures and religion is a path chosen by many as a way to find peace. So, let's limit the opportunities and resources for using that as a tool, even if it does not even cost money to the system.

I myself currently has seven books on Buddhism and yoga, add a thesaurus and a few reference books for the novel I'm working on and I cannot receive any more books. This obviously will make me a better and more responsible human when I finally get out.

This brings me to a second, and related oddity. I currently have two books in "property" that are considered "contraband" as they came (from Amazon) without receipts. This happens with incredible frequency to the point where it seems that Amazon sends a full third of their shipments without receipts. If or when the receipts are mailed to us by the person who ordered the material, we can and then pick them up. If that is, they are from Amazon "proper" and not a third party vendor through Amazon marketplace, in which case we can send them back, or to someone else ( at our own expense), or donate them to our library where we can check them out if they are available.

Of course, there is no record of who actually sends the gifts, so I must play detective by mail to discover the benevolent soul who sent the gifts and then ask them to deal with more hassles. Ironically the two contraband books are both of the spiritual and "self help" nature. "God" forbid I get a hold of such destructive literature.

Part II: Visitation Vagaries

My children pulled a surprise visit on me just the other day, which was of course wonderful, as always. There were also a couple of examples of ludicrous policy that occurred during the visit.

First, I was finally able to get the "Veterans Day" photos that had been ordered more than two months ago. I tried on previous occasions to get the photos taken which are theoretically done to allow us to send them as holiday gifts. The first time I tried, I was told by the officer in charge that the digital camera was out of film. I swear I'm not making this up. The next time it was "too busy" in visitation.

So, this time the camera had "film", and I went to lift up my kids so they'd be roughly at head level with me. Apparently, that is not allowed. Then for the third and final picture --I paid for three, never mind that I expected that meant three copies of the same pose -- we decided to make silly faces. Apparently, that's not allowed. So my son tried to give me a bunny ears. Yep, you guessed it, apparently that's not allowed.

I've spent a good deal of brainpower puzzling over the rationality behind this one. One possible reason might be related to why we must remain clean shaven at all times - to match the appearance on our photo IDs. (Though our hair length has no such restrictions.) So if I were to escape, and someone might see me, they'd look at the picture from visitation (yeah right) and say, "well, that does look like the guy I seen, 'cept he didn't have no bunny ears so it couldna been him."

Or perhaps it might be considered a sign of irreverence or disrespect to all our powerful ADC overlords. It all seems rather nonsensical and mysterious.

The other incident during visitation with the kids occurred after they had decided to make a giant face in the dirt in the outdoors area of visitation. This is something we frequently do when they visit, I'm not sure why, but they like it and that's all that matters to me.

Anyway, this time they decided to fill in some of the facial features with the pebbles that are piled along the perimeter. There are signs posted to remain 2 feet from defense, which are generally ignored by all, including the kids as they gathered pebbles. Eventually, the visitation officer came out and asked us not to do that anymore as he didn't want to get in trouble. OK, fair enough. But then he asked us to return the pebbles to where they came from, which meant going back into the "forbidden danger zone". Perhaps there should be an investigation into the "guiding philosophical nature of the ADC". Descartes, Aristotle, and Socrates combined could not make sense of it all.

Part III: Medical Mayhem

The last of my rants for the day and is far less amusing, and really quite tragic. It has to do with the incredible lack of care, concern, nd common sense of the Medical System of the ADC.

As previously mentioned, at present there is a class action suit against the state for failure to provide basic, adequate medical care. I could fill an entire book with stories that I've heard, but I'll limit myself to a few scenarios that I have experience with myself, so I know them to be factual.

Since the lawsuit's genesis, the ADC has "farmed out" its Health Care to a private company called Wexford. I suspect that decision is related to the lawsuit, but I really don't know for certain. Anyway, the incredible result is even worse access to basic, adequate health care.

Within the class action suit are several instances of dental malpractice. I have recently been experiencing a toothache and decided to go to dental, to see what they said. I submitted a Health Needs Request (HNR), and amazingly received a pass to the dentist within a week. I had to take a day off of work only to have the dentist not show up and all appointments canceled. A week later, I got another appointment. The dentist looked in my mouth and banged on a tooth with a sharp pointed solid steel implement of destruction and asked if it hurt. "Well, yes, it does," I replied. He informed me that that it needed to be pulled. I suggested perhaps a filling instead. "No, no, it's too deep for that, on the outside you could get a root canal, but we don't do that here." Now I've never heard of dentists making such a prognosis with a 2 minute peek and a rap on a tooth. I said I'd like to consider my options, not relishing having a tooth ripped out of my jaw. "That's fine," he said and made me sign a "refusal of treatment" form, effectively relieving him of any and all responsibilities or consequences.

Another all too common scenario that seems to be escalating in frequency is a sudden and inexplicable cessation of medications. I receive meds for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and an antidepressant. Last month, the cholesterol meds were not refilled. A new policy in place since Wexford took over is that we cannot talk to the medical staff about any medical issues, we must submit an HNR. So, after two weeks of no word on my meds, I sent an HNR requesting either a refill or an explanation as to why they were discontinued. The letter came back with a nurse's initials, I assume to confirm it had been received. But there was no explanation, plan, or even a comment on the content of the letter.

In speaking with other inmates, this too seems to be fairly common. One good friend has had his heart meds stopped for two months, he has sent three HNRs and has not gotten a reply to any of them. Others have shared such tales, and even more ludicrous ones, of doctors blatently refusing to see patients with legitimate health concerns. Blood tests are frequently given, but the results are never shared, nor are any problems in the lab work actually acted upon. The staff seems to go to extremes to avoid actually addressing concerns. It seems that Wexford offers more training on avoidance than on medical treatment.

As the number of inmates and the sentences of incarceration continue to increase, the logical place to cut costs is by neglecting basic medical care. After all, we are nothing but a bunch of monsters, whose lives are of little concern or value to society as a whole. Refraining from medical treatment is a cheap and easy way to make room for the next batch of prisoners. Though it would be even more efficient and quicker to just put us in a gas chamber. There's a policy that would make some sense.

Giving Thanks

The vast majority of my writing and thoughts tends to be on the negative side. Given my current life circumstances, I reckon that is both understandable and forgivable. Yet it really serves no constructive purpose and certainly does not change my situation.

In honor of the season of giving thanks, I would like to look on the bright side for a change, and count my blessings. This may be a short essay. OK, here goes... The end.

Just kidding, I do have things that I am thankful for. First and foremost, are my beautiful children. They give me a reason to wake up each morning, and they keep my hope alive in a dark and dreary situation.

I am thankful that they are relatively happy and healthy children. Well, at least two of them are, as far as I know. I do know (from pictures) that my new son is extremely beautiful, but I know nothing about his health, mental state, or his level of contentment in life.

I'm thankful that they are all well loved, by their dad and their moms. I'm thankful that they have a loving parent to fill the void left by my incarceration.

While I certainly do not believe my sentence is fair or appropriate, I'm thankful that it's not worse. I should be out before my oldest graduates from high school.

The conditions here may not exactly be plush, but I'm thankful I have food and a "bed." I'm grateful that I was able to swap my "magazine -thin" mattress for a "phone book -thick" one. It may only be a Fargo, North Dakota area code thickness, but it's better than nothing.

I'm thankful for my health. In fact, my weight is the lowest it's been in some 20 years, and I exercise more than I ever have in my life (with the possible exception of high school football). I'd like to believe that the 6 1/2 years of my life that are lost will be made up on the tail end.

I'm extremely thankful for books -- many times in life I've lamented having such little time to read. That's not a problem I face right now.

I'm thankful that I have seen and experienced so much more of the world and most people have or will in a lifetime. I'm thankful for my education, from school, from family and friends, and from life.

I'm grateful for the support, love, and faith from my family, who still believe in me despite my mistakes. I don't know that I could survive this ordeal without that belief.

I'm thankful for the handful of friends who have not abandoned me. Such an experience as this illustrates the very best (and the worst) of humanity. I'm thankful as well for those in here who give me encouragement and a shoulder to lean on.

It's frequently said, in here and out there, that "it could be worse." It's easy to forget that here, but it's very true. Yet by the process of elimination, there must be at least one person who cannot say that. I'm ever so thankful that this person is not me.

Happy Holidays to all!

Hodgepodge of Thoughts

 There was a racial brawl on the yard the other day. One guy went to the hospital because of it. As a result, we have been locked down in our buildings for the past two days. Even for meals, which have been brought to us.

So, I figured that I'd take the time to jot down to a few passages from my journal/autobiography, which will be available someday, somehow, I hope.

I was listening to an NPR show about the war on drugs and the lack of funds and energy aimed at the rehabilitation of addicts. The situation with sex offenders is even worse, as it's something society has yet to really talk about. The following quote was made: " if a friend came to you and said they had an addiction to alcohol, drugs, sex, or even shopping, would the first thing you do be to call the police? Of course the answer is unequivocally no." Yet this is what the woman who supposedly loved me did. With no effort to talk about it, to understand it, or to work through it. Therein lies the primary source of my utter confusion, frustration, despair, and sense of betrayal.

That the "justice" system of this country makes no attempts to understand, aid, or dispense real justice comes as little surprise. That the woman I love did the same is much harder to handle.

It dawned on me that here in the prison culture, the only thing more reprehensible than a sex offender is a snitch. But this thought brings me no consolation, no solace, and does nothing to change my fate nor help me understand things.

On a different topic, I read this in a book: "... Someday soon a woman will truly love you. Whether... you and she lived together all your lives or that you not be united until a long time after your first meeting, you will grow older and so will she. I cannot predict whether you will grow feeble and bent, or gross, or bald, or ugly, but it will not matter. This I can say with certainty: she will see you always as you were when you met. To the end of your days. Or hers."

To me, that means with true love one will see past the blemishes, imperfections, and impurities to recognize the beauty within. Perhaps I don't deserve that, perhaps my transgressions are too much to overlook or to attempt to work through, but I do know with certainty that I would do anything for Jess. I'd have worked with her as much as I could. Even now, I tend to focus on the beauty, strength, and spirit that she possesses. I cannot ignore what happened - what she did to me, what I did to her, what I did to me, and how much it hurt. Nor am I foolish enough to believe that love needs to be reciprocal, I think most of us have found out that this is rarely the case. I did, however, foolishly think that I really had found that so very elusive, so very rare scenario that might lead to a "happily ever after." Now I have little faith that such a thing exists outside of storybooks.

Maybe... Just maybe... I'm completely full of shit.

Incarceration Inequality

I had a discussion with another inmate recently. We were talking about how inmates on minimum security yards are able to work on the "outside" for minimum wage. This is around 15 times more per hour than we can possibly earn on this medium security yard.

Sex offenders (SOs) can never move "up" in security clearance regardless of crime, or behavior while incarcerated. Yet, the vast majority of those here are convicted of non-violent crimes, and many, like myself, have "non contact" charges as well.

Many correctional officers have admitted to me that the SO yards are far less violent than the general population (GP) yards. The Arizona Dept. of Corrections will periodically switch the designations of yards, and swap inmates around so that the SO's can "clean up" the messes left behind by the GPs.

So how is it that the "system" recognizes this on the one hand, yet continues to subdue this class of felons on the other?

I think about how, had I stabbed, robbed, or beaten someone, I'd be able to provide more for my kids, ex wife, and ex-fiancé than I can at present. It's sad that the families of SOs are subject to the similar inequalities and persecutions as the inmates themselves.

Of course it can be said that I should have considered that before downloading illegal porn. That I did not realize the inequities of the correctional system is a paltry excuse, and I regret that decision every moment of everyday. But is that any less true for someone who decides to knock off a liquor store? The kids and families are no less innocent, or no less important in either situation, yet the consequences for them are quite different.

The inconsistencies and inequalities seem to be capricious and unfounded. These topics need consideration, research, awareness, and publicity.

The Slippery Slope of Porn

Never in my wildest dreams or nightmares did I think I'd be locked up in prison, labeled a sex offender with a lifetime probation. Yet here I sit. I'd like to share some of the facets of my situation in the hopes of preventing others from a similar fate.

When I took a polygraph test, as part of my psycho - sexual evaluation, the examiner outlined my story or "scenario" with amazing precision before I ever said a word about it. So it seems that my "decent into debauchery" is not so very uncommon.

I've had a powerful attraction to pornography all of my life, since finding my dad's "stash" as a kid. As I grew up, I would occasionally go to adult bookstores to look at videos and would sometimes trade porn videos with friends. It was never an overwhelming obsession, perhaps because it was not readily accessible.

The Internet really changed that. In a relatively limited sexual marriage, I would find myself spending more and more time on the computer. I read erotic stories, found pictures and videos, and went on nude "chat" sites. My then- wife was aware of this and really only objected strongly when I began to pay for such sites.

After my divorce, the frequency escalated dramatically. I had no one "looking over my shoulder" so to speak. I might spend an hour or two a day on computer porn. Eventually, "standard" stuff became boring, so I would find kinkier content. Some was a turn on, some not, but all eventually became uninteresting. I inadvertently (really and truly) stumbled upon younger content while searching for "schoolgirl" themed porn, with adults posing as schoolgirls. I was intrigued and attracted and began looking for more. I was not intentionally looking for illegal, or very young images, but when I turned to newsgroups for free content and found an image that was appealing, I would download an entire directory, unseen. Some of what I found was extremely inappropriate and illegal. Even if it wasn't a turn on, I never bothered to delete it. There was an attraction to the forbidden nature of it. A collection grew over time. I would look through the images, some enticing, and many not, but I kept them all.

I always "mixed it up" in terms of porn content, I was never fixated on "young stuff", but it was part of my pattern. Eventually, I grew bored with this as well. I also found erotic "taboo" stories (incest and school girl themes) to be exciting, but had no interest in acting on such ideas. Again, it was the taboo that excited me. Eventually, I stopped downloading such content, but kept them "just in case."

I had no interest in "cyber stalking" or to seduce or be with any kids at all, ever, but in a fantasy, anything can happen!

When I fell in love with Jess, my interest in all of that ceased. I deleted my entire hard drive, yet much of it had already been backed up on an external drive. After she moved in with me I realized I had to delete that too. In this effort I was looking through the images, some never seen, most unseen in years. There was still an attraction, more like the feeling of saying goodbye to an old friend, but well.... That's when my secret was discovered.

She left with no real discussion on this topic. I sent her an apology and a confession, and urged her not to overreact. In my mind, that meant not breaking things off. I never even considered police involvement, yet the letters, computer, and hard drive were all turned over to the police. In retrospect I suppose I was rather naive!

So now, I'm trying to better understand what led to this. I began seeing a therapist even before I knew of any police involvement. Primarily, this was to deal with my intense heartbreak, but also to help identify my actions. I discussed it with the psycho-sexual evaluator, and I've since attended sexaholics anonymous meetings in prison. I've read what I could on sex addiction and have spent countless hours meditating on the subject.

I cannot identify a primary cause. I've read that childhood abuse is often a factor, though that never happened that I recall. Through my work, I've had many insights to potential factors and I'd like to summarize these. Perhaps it will help others who might have a problem.

With my initial therapist, through a process called EMDR, I made a connection of equating kissing and cuddling with cousins and friends (when I was very young) to a sense of security and "escape" from feelings of abandonment. This may be significant in light of the fact that this problem developed just after a divorce.

My psycho-sexual evaluator are suggested that my "child brain" was not actively linked to my conscience or "adult" brain. He used clinical terms as well, but I don't remember them and don't want to use them incorrectly. Basically, the child part of the brain associates with pleasure, with no reference to time, age, or morality. There's no segregation as to the cause of pleasure. And it was identifying past experiences with pleasure.

In my own process of introspection, I recalled a young girl on my paper route flashing her privates and asking to see my "weenie." I lost my virginity in strange circumstances at 15 or so. Two "older women" (maybe early twenties?) invited me to their hotel room and got me high for my first time ever. One of them seduced me while the other was on the other bed. It was not really a pleasant experience, but I was certainly not forced to participate.

I've always had a lack of self confidence with women, due to being overweight most of my life. I'm sure this is a contributor to my seeking satisfaction through pornography. After my divorce, this was exaggerated, as well as my being angry and mistrustful of women in general. Perhaps there was an attraction to the "honesty" or "innocence" of younger girls (though I know that in reality kids are often dishonest and not quite innocent!).

Also, as previously mentioned, I've had a rebellious nature. Not only in sexually related matters, but in life in general. Drinking and drugs were a part of my life and I've had a pronounced disregard for "the law".

I sometimes wonder if the fact that as a teacher and parent I spent the majority of my waking hours with kids had a subconscious influence on my psyche. Though I did have an attraction to schoolgirl themed porn in Japan, before all this happened.

My father had an attraction to porn, as well as difficulty with monogamy. This has made me wonder if there is any genetic disposition toward sexual "deviance". Some have suggested the possibility of karmic influences from previous lives as a possible contributing factor. Though I have some trouble with that idea, I do not discount it completely.

The point is, I don't know why. I'm sure that it's a combination of all these and more. I know it would never have escalated beyond "fantasy" and I know it's behind me. While I may never understand why, I must continue to be aware of thoughts and feelings, and continue to grow and heal.

I struggle with the question: "Am I a pedophile?" I've read varying definitions of the term. "A person who has sexual relations with children." That's not me. "A predominant sexual attraction for children." For me, it was never predominant. I was always only interested in age appropriate relationships. But, "an attraction toward young (women)" -- yes, I admit that is true. I know that "labels" are relatively meaningless, but I must come to terms with this.

Through sharing this blog, I hope that maybe someone in a remotely similar mental state might avoid the devastation I'm going through. If you're having any thoughts of looking at anything illegal...DON'T. If you have already, delete it! If you think you might have any tendency toward anything like this, seek help!

But herein lies another problem. A counselor, therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist is required by law to inform authorities if a crime is revealed to them. This obviously would prevent people from actually seeking help, or from being honest about such things. But of course, there is public opinion on such topics, also contributing to a "bottling up" of thoughts and feelings.

In fact, my therapist turned evidence on me over to the police, but only after receiving a letter from Jess and knowing there was police involvement. A mutual friend, while trying to help, had revealed my therapist to Jess in hopes of aiding my therapy. In spite of my therapists' assurances of nondisclosure, she passed information to the police.

This obviously poses a barrier to seeking real assistance in dealing with a potential problem. This and public abhorrence forces people to hide and conceal things, which I believe is not altogether healthy.

In retrospect, while I know I would never have acted on my attractions, I also recognize that countless females (and males) of all ages have undergone unspeakable atrocities due to the sex trade. Any contribution to this system, intentional or otherwise, is wrong. It's so very easy to disconnect electronic sequences of binary code to living, breathing humans. But that is a huge mistake. We must be aware of, and responsible for the implications of our thoughts, impulses and actions, and we must act accordingly.

Struggling To Accept "What Is"

I am obviously still struggling with the acceptance of my situation. The other night, I saw a news report on a woman who was released from county jail for some silly driving offense. That same day, she left her six year old daughter alone in a McDonald's while she went to do "something". When she returned, she was arrested for abandonment. This woman had previous charges for child abuse. The reporter said she could face weeks or months in jail..

And here I sit, for 7 1/2 years for a crime that did not directly harm or endanger anyone. Here I am, with lifetime probation, and lifelong registration as a sex offender.

I am not innocent of the charges, yet I cannot escape the thoughts that I am far less dangerous to society than this woman who has repeatedly endangered her own children.

I realize I do not know the whole story, and I know firsthand, all too well, how the media is not always accurate. But something is just not right about it.

I know, I know... Life is not fair. I realize I messed up. I also know that I am absolutely incapable of harming my, or any kids, in any way whatsoever. Of course, others may not know or believe that, but any investigation into my life's history would corroborate that assertion.

It seems ironic, to say the least, that while I am labeled a sex offender for life, that I feel as though I'm the one who has been screwed; by Jess, by the media, by societal preconceptions, and especially by the state of Arizona.

Is this, however, just more mental manipulation to victimize myself? To avoid responsibility for my actions? To blame others rather than myself? Perhaps so, yet I never claimed innocence for my actions. It happened. I know that I am responsible. Is this an attempt to minimize the severity, or is there validity in my assertions?

I know that there is really no true black and white on this or nearly any topic -- just muddled shades of gray. I do feel terrible about it and how it hurt Jess, my family, my students, the unknown victims of abuse, and especially my kids.

I think, however, about some of the various concepts I am learning. We are responsible for, and can only control, our own reactions to external phenomena. So did my mistakes directly hurt Jess, or did she chopse her reactions to the stimuli she discovered? I'm so sorry that it happen, yet her reactions were, in fact, her own.

Yet those reactions landed me in prison. I had no control over that process, though it was ultimately my own karma, coming back to haunt me.

Who are the ultimate victims? What are the direct causes? The indirect causes? Does it matter that my actions occurred in the past? Before and independent of Jess? Does it matter that I was moving past them? It certainly does not change the reality of where I am now, but these thoughts, questions and feelings keep circulating through my very imperfect ego -clinging mind.

Permanent Probation

I recently read a science fiction novel where there was a class (or caste) of society called "permanent probationers" (PPs). That status is determined by psychological tests that deem them to be potentially dangerous to society. They therefore have significant restrictions on movement, employment, and residency.

This is exactly what is happening to the majority of sex offenders in this country. Arizona typically includes lifetime probation as a sentence in these cases, in addition to the lifetime sex offender registration prevalent in most states. There is little to no consideration of the actual offense, whether there was actual sexual contact, whether there was violence, or consent, or even the age of the perpetrator.

Ironically however, as opposed to the science fiction scenario, I underwent a psychological exam which indicated that I was highly unlikely to act out on my attraction or to re-offend. I have no idea how such things can be determined mathematically, but the profile assessed a 0.05% chance of re offending or acting out. Yet I was given lifetime probation.

I do not believe that this lifetime probation is being assigned to any other class of felons. I have heard that it was challenged in the courts as being unconstitutional, as " cruel and unusual punishment" but was upheld by the Federal courts because each state has the right to administer its own penalties. So much for the "supreme law of the land." Of course we have seen constitutional violations becoming commonplace in many areas of society in recent years.

An obvious question to me is how bad do things have to get before they get better? Everything passes through cycles. Time and place seem to be a random determinant of circumstances. Had I been born in another time or place, with the same charges, I would not be facing the same penalties or persecutions. Of course, I could have been a slave, or worse. I think about how in another phase of my life, these factors worked to my benefit. The fact that I was able to travel the world, and to make good money merely for being able to speak the language I learned from birth, always struck me as an incredible stroke of fortune, based also on time and place.

So perhaps what goes around comes around. I find it, though, an interesting anomaly that morality, legality, opportunity, and even spirituality are so influenced and dictated by geography and chronology. I suppose that this is the nature of the cosmos, all is impermanent. Except of course, "permanent probation."

Jeers for tears

 As a convicted felon, and a prison inmate, I'm obviously a bad ass, hardened thug. OK, that may not be entirely true. I have not a single tattoo, and spend several hours a week with my head buried in my pillow, sobbing.

Needless to say, it's not so cool to be caught crying like a baby in prison. I must go to great lengths to conceal my tears and have taken extra long showers just to have a place to cry, uninterrupted.

Since this has all begun some year and a half ago, I must have expelled my body mass in tears several times over. So why am I still here? Shouldn't I have dissolved away by now into a slightly salty puddle of water?

I have lost a significant amount of weight, but I suspect that it's more due to small amounts of crappy food and exercise than to the plethora of tears that I have shed.

And what is the point of crying anyway? I'd like to think that my tears are "cleansing my soul" or purging toxic chemicals or negative emotions from my body. But the truth is I rarely feel any better after having a good cry. This doesn't prevent the tears from coming back again and again.

I think, perhaps, that I may have a future in acting, as the "man crying like a baby," as it's quite easy for me to turn on the water works at will. It's a little harder to turn it off and thus far impossible to prevent it completely.

My brother suggested that there is some value in crying, particularly when crying with someone who loves and supports you. To be fair, there may be some merit there, I actually felt better after crying in his presence.

But there is a significant shortage of "loving" and "supportive" individuals in the "joint," and my tears seem to create little solace.

They seem rather useless and embarrassing. They don't change a damn thing, yet they continue to flow like the Nile through the desert. Perhaps they can be captured to irrigate this parched land in which I am incarcerated. Maybe I can make some money for them. But overall, it seems like a rather pointless endeavor and a useless commodity.