They told us to cell in immediately. Didn't tell us why. I guess the guy in the cell next to me had kept a razor. He was trying very hard to cut his throat. They rushed in and tazed him. They were there for a bit. I could hear him saying over and over, "just let me die. Just let me die."
He was in for domestic abuse, but he was one of the jails good'ol boys. Everyone seemed to know him and love him. At least the thugs in the "in crowd". They treated him with kid gloves from then on. He would push people around, blow up over a card game, whatever. Deputies mentioned an incident that almost ended in him beating up some kid like they were standing by hope they could watch him do it. Six foot something. I heard him say once, "... she's MY wife. I should be allowed to do what I want to her.". I heard no objections.
Passed the interview with flying colours. Impressive first day. Went from there to the other job. Got a call at the end of the night.
-You seem like a good person and you're an excellent worker, but someone said something and I am letting you go.
He "forgot" to pay me for the work I did that day. Three years later, I reminded him.
I was a perfect candidate for their job training until the last second. Because jobs change lives. And we can't have that.
Recovery is a long and difficult road. On days where I'm all Aces, I'm still disqualified. One space forward. Three backward.
Sometimes if you are the barrier to my recovery, I write your name down.
All we have is time.