Doing Time - October 30, 2007

During my final year of graduate school, one of my supervisors, Dr. Evil, thought it would be fun for me to spend a few hours each week in the local prison system. Apparently, mental health professionals were doing single session consultations with some of the inmates and providing recommendations to the penal system. "You've been working with simple anxiety cases all year, and you could some hard-core psychopathology under your treatment belt. Just don't drop the soap, Pretty Boy."

Later that week, I went out to a medium-security jail to help inmates who "were having trouble adjusting to prison life." I couldn't imagine how anyone could adjust to that situation. Ever. But, at 28 years old and having lived in only suburban New Jersey and Ohio, there was a lot about life that I didn't know about.

Most of the inmates had committed crimes related to drugs or assaults. Some of the prisoners developed Major Depressive Disorder from being in jail, and often were being treated with an anti-depressant. I was told that prisoners who were or had become psychotic were taken to the local psychiatric hospital for more intensive treatment, so Dr. Evil didn't get her wish that day.

The prison itself was not as old, dilapidated, or dirty as I had imagined. I had pictured dark hallways with screaming and dangerous inmates sticking their arms out from their cells, trying to rip away my homework from me. Instead, everything was made of off-white concrete, the hallways smelled lemony like someone had poured a bottle of Mr. Clean all over the floor, and there didn't seem to be dust or dirt anywhere. Some of the cells were empty. The guard, a stereotypically big and burly man, with a gun that seemed more like a small cannon at his side, made casual historical references as we walked toward "The Treatment Room." "This cell once had the 9th most treacherous Arsonist in 20th century Ohio."

"How do you rate treachery?" I asked.

"Number of crimes."

"I see. So this person committed the 9th most acts of Arson in Ohio in the 20th century?"

"No, just the 9th most in this particular prison."

"Fascinating. Can I hold your gun?"

"No."

When we reached The Treatment Room, the guard stood on the far side of the door. "Stay put, boy," he said. He peered in the single window in the center of the door, moved his left hand to his gun, and undid the safety. He then yelled, "Clear!" a buzzer sounded, and the door opened.

"Do you get a lot of ambushes coming from The Therapy Room?" I asked.

"It's 'Treatment Room' boy, and you can never be too careful."

We entered the Treatment Room, which contained a small, square table and two chairs on opposite sides it. A faint buzz came down from the florescent light bulb above. "You sit there," the guard commanded. "The prisoner will come through there," he said, indicating a 2nd door on the opposite side of the room. "If you look over your left shoulder," he said, pointing, "there's a button. When you're ready to leave the room, you press it. Now, if you get into any, and I mean any trouble, you push that button and I'll be here to protect in less than ten seconds."

"What kind of trouble could I get into?"

"Did you see Deliverance?"

"No."

"Have a good session."

I took off my tie, just in case the hardened criminal tried to strangle me with it. I rolled up my sleeves a bit, to show how casual, confident and relaxed I was. If I had gang colors or tats, I would have sported those as well. I tucked away my copy of "The Feeling Good Handbook," because that just looked silly.

I could hear the footsteps of two people: the guard and a currently unranked Arsonist was my best guess. When the door opened, I had this fantasy of introducing myself to the most ominous, awe-inspiring and intimidating man I had ever seen. A real prisoner. Our eyes would lock. His brawn versus my brains.

Instead, it was an early 40's woman. White skin like marble, long and black disheveled hair, and a small smile. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and certainly weighed less than 110 pounds.

"I'm Sandra," she said. "They told me I'd be seeing a shrink today. Is that you?"

"Well, I'm a graduate student, but kind of," I said. "My name is Rob."

"Hi. You want to know about my mother or something?"

"Did you kill your mother?"

"No, I'm here for selling cocaine. I thought all you therapy-types wanted to know about mothers."

"Well, some do, but I don't think we need to do that right now," I said. "I wasn't told very much about why we are meeting, and I know that we don't get much time together...maybe you can tell me how you've been feeling?"

"It's prison," she said, flatly. "How would you feel if you were here?"

I briefly thought of all of the female prison films I saw on Cinemax as a teenager, but then remembered The Shawshank Redemption. "Probably pretty awful," I confessed.

"Right. That's how I feel."

Therapist Rule: When people are reporting "normal" responses, use other people's reactions in similar situations to gauge level of distress. This can help determine what level of care a patient needs.

"If you had to guess, how do you think you feel compared to the other people here?"

She thought about this for a few moments. "I cry more than the other women here, and I don't sleep at night. I don't really have an appetite. The other inmates don't seem to have those problems."

"That sounds hard. I imagine they don't offer much in terms of mental health care here."

She laughed at that. "No, just you today, and someone else came by a few weeks back and offered me some medicine. She said it would help with my mood. Is that true?"

"That probably is true, but I don't know what the medicine is and who offered it to you. Was it a doctor?"

"Yeah, I think so. I don't remember what it was called, but I have a bottle of it in my cell."

"So you may have an anti-depressant. It could really help you."

"One of the guards said that I should be depressed. You know, part of my payback."

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Sometimes I think he's right, and then other times I think that I'm going through more than other people here, and that's not fair."

"Well, I've always considered depression to be an illness, and that everyone deserves treatment for that. The doctor must have agreed because she gave you the prescription. If your heart gave you trouble, they'd help you. I don't think it should be any different because it's your brain."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"I suppose that only you can decide for yourself how you feel about this issue, but I hope you'll at least consider the medication."

"I'll think about it," she said. "You going to shrink my head now, or what?"

Knowing that we only had one session together, we talked mostly about what Sandra wanted to do with her life after she got done with prison. As a convicted felon, she had limited options, but didn't want to be dealing drugs anymore, and hoped to go back to school. I taught her some breathing techniques to help reduce her anxiety, and some muscle relaxation seemed to make her feel less tense.

When the hour was over, we shook hands, wished each other luck, and said good-bye, knowing that my assignment wasn't going to allow for another visit. That was it. No drama, no assault, no disturbing prison stories where she beat a fellow inmate with her lunch tray. In some ways the work was very unsatisfying: one visit, with no real opportunity to develop a real relationship. On the other hand, however, Sandra was very grateful to learn what she did, and it felt great to give her some tools and things to think about going forward. Was it life-altering for her? Probably not. But was it positive? Absolutely. Not bad for an hour's work in the slammer! As instructed, I pressed the button to have the guard come and get me...

Eleven minutes of awkward, casual conversation with Sandra later, my protector arrived to save me. "What the hell?" I kind of yelled to the large man. "You said you would help me if I was in trouble! What if she had been hurting me?"

"If Sandra could kick your ass, you're a poor excuse for a man."

My eyes narrowed to slits. "Fine" I said. "But you messed with the wrong man today. You put my life at risk and I won't forget that. When I'm a huge success, you'll be hearing from me again."

He's still waiting for my call.

Posted by Rob Dobrenski at 10:39 AM

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One time when volunteering for the public defender I had to go for an interview with a 300 pound, arrested for burglary and assault, who was strong enough to break out of his leg irons and could resist a stun gun without flinching. He also seemed to enjoy flushing his clothes in the toilet and wearing the cover of his mattress as a toga.

You don't need a button when they won't let you interview him without four guards present.

Posted by: This Is Why I Don't Do Criminal Law at October 30, 2007 02:42 PM

Interesting story.

Most people have a pre-conceived image of prisoners. If you looked at a picture of my cousin, you wouldn't guess that he'd spent most of the past 10 years locked up in a state prison. He wasn't violent through. Just stupid. Counterfeiting, fraud, drugs and the like is why he lost that time. He'd get released early for good behavior, then get busted doing something stupid and get sent back. My last trip home he had just been released again. This time he says it's for good (again). The difference, however, is he was released because he completed a boot camp and worked to received various diplomas while he was locked up.

As someone on the outside looking in, I have no sympathy. Yes, a person in prison deserves treatment for a mental illness like anyone else. They don't, however, have a right to be angry or depressed only because they're locked up. They put themselves there. I kept telling my brother that too. I refused to take my son to a jail to meet his uncle. I love my brother. He's a smart kid, but he makes stupid decisions. He was depressed and ashamed because he couldn't spend time with his nephew because he was locked up. And he should have been. He did the stupid shit that caused the incarceration.

Hopefully, with the help of psychologists (even students), you'll be able to recognize and help the people that are locked up that never could have received the help before. Although my family is just stupid, there are some people out there that do stupid shit without reason, as per my friend Adam. He's an acohol induced schizo. He knows that, and he still drinks. He came out of a black out once and was pinned to the ground by a police officer, several more surrounded him with guns drawn, and yes, even the cop chopper was whipping up above him. I wish there was someone around that could make him realize the shit that he does and somehow make it better.

This comment went no where didn't it? Ah well...

Posted by: Amber at October 30, 2007 03:33 PM

I'm sorry but I think the American prison system is fucked up. Americans put people in jail for the stupidest reason and no one seems to see this nonsense. We're conditioned to think crime = jail, period. Shouldn't we think about it more deeply than that? For example: Why put someone in jail for possessing drugs. A fine maybe, but prison? No.

We all have personal responsibility when it comes to our bodies. If someone wants to fuck up their body, why put them in jail for it? We need to educate these people properly, not punish them. If they want to continue doing it, then that's their own business. Selling or giving drugs to children is a completely different story, however.

Many Americans are happy leaving homeless people homeless or poor people poor, saying it's their own responsibility, but when it comes to prostitution, or drug use, then it's everyone else's business and they need to be placed in jail.

Prison doesn't help anyone. If anything it makes the prisoners worse. The majority of people who go to prison, go back. Either that, or no matter how minor the crime, the person can never hope to have a serious career again, even if they're a completely changed, reformed person who learned from his/her mistakes.

THE PRISON SYSTEM DOES NOT HELP US GET BETTER.

Posted by: Alicia at October 30, 2007 11:42 PM

Despite what the politicians and activists say, I think we all know deep down that prison isn't to help them get better, it is to keep other people safe. I agree with you, we should legalize (and regulate) prostitution and drug use, if your only real talents are those involving your genitals, is that a bad thing? If you want to kill yourself with drugs, is that my problem? At the same time, I don't believe it is the fault of the prisons that most prisoners return, I think it is due to a lack of work ethic, responsibility, mercy, or compassion in most criminals. I have a brother who has been in jail once and on probation or trial numerous times for breaking and entering, possession of drugs, and dealing drugs. I don't frankly care if he wants to kill himself with drugs, but robbing people (including his own family) is something that I don't think any amount of hugs, therapy and pills will fix.

Posted by: Charlie at November 1, 2007 07:51 PM

If we had a fine for drug use, it would just prove that upperclass gets special treatment. And what happens to people who couldn't pay the fine? Jail?
They should put more effort into educating prisioners. I think that would really help. Also I think every prision should have a full time shrink who was there everyday to develop a positive relationship with the prisioner.
Maybe you can make a difference, Rob, and that would be your big contribution to the world. :)

Posted by: Jenna at November 1, 2007 10:50 PM

I come from the policing side of things, so bear with me, please. I will never accept or apply for a job in a prison. I've endured moderate depression once, and I do not wish to subject that to another person. At the same time, there are people who, despite the idea that humans are human and people make mistakes, really need to be stuck in a hole and never remembered again (and know that they're not remembered) - a few of the big 8 come to mind. I recently was party to the recorded conversations of a person suspected of raping and killing a 12 year old girl, and the suspect was 'dirty' as hell (talked about cleaning up his trail, 'stuff' he couldn't explain) - he needs to die the most horrible death; one akin to what he inflicted. However, I also know that techniques for controlling social compliance founded on the attitudes I expressed only make things worse. I wish the best of luck to you and your kind for improving society by making what turns out to be the appropriate concessions to imprisoned people. Appropriately treating an inmate does improve their chances of reform and decreases their chances of future contact with law enforcement and the criminal justice system. This ultimately leads to a reduction in crime; especially violent crime. Good luck to you

Posted by: andy at November 2, 2007 03:38 AM

I love these entries. Your writing is fantastic. Please keep it up!

Posted by: Graham at November 7, 2007 03:53 PM

I would agree with some of the people about free choice but what they dont realize is that people who are doing SERIOUS drugs do get behind the wheel and hurt others. "Well if they overdose its their problem..." When they overdose and get taken to the hospital, its the staffs problem. Ever wonder why it takes so long to get seen at the ER?

Posted by: DocD at November 8, 2007 07:59 PM