Hope

For the past few weeks as I have stuggles against myself I have at times turned inward in anger that I need permission to move north to take care and spend time with my father. Had I of not made the decision I made to hurt and harm another human being nearly 17 years ago now, I wouldn't of had to wait, still waiting for final approval that I can live with my Dad. I hate being out of control over something that seems so brainlessly the right thing to do. They, the parole department, still has the ability to tell me no eventhough I have moved all my stuff, been up here for two weeks today, and gave up my pad. That was its own fiasco.

Last night after several phone calls to my po I began to feel sick inside that I hasd somehow made things even more difficult, in attempting to make them smoother and easier. I was beginning to loose a little hope that this situation was going to work out.

I barely slept as my mind went over this, then over it again, then over it again. Then this morning, I decided to watch a movie I havent seen in years. I used to watch this movie once every six weeks as a part of the curriculum for the re-entry program at VSPW. Mr. Adams showed "Rudy" to every class as an example of a man who never gave up on his dreams. Rudy's dream was to play football for Notre Dame, the beset team in the country at the time. It took Rudy 28 years to get on the team as a walk on, then in the last game of his senior year he played the last 24 seconds, making him an official member of the team and his dream realized. The movie chronicles all the obstacles he overcame to get to that moment. I meet Rudy Reutiger several years ago, had a personal conversation with him. It took watching this movie to remind me that each painful moment passes in service to higher good. It is these trials that make me into a more compassionate young women.

I am reminded that it is my intention, my focus and my ability to navigate the world as a Samurai warrior. Willing to take on all learning trials, not in order to alleviate the fear enabling me to move forward, but rather to walk through the fear to learn everything I can from every situation. Most of all, I learned this morning, that each moment is the 24 second, and by goly, I am getting the opportunity to play. So play my entire heart and soul I will!

The sun continues to rise...

After three days of feeling lethargic and useless, all the emotions I have ketp bottled up inside came burgeling up to the surface where I could no longer deny their existence. There is a reason I am not in relationship with anyone else. None, not one as I mentioned earlier compares to He whom shall not be named. Once you have tasted the sweet nectar of Twin Flame love, everything else is like a $2 bottle of wine. I had made the decision that I was worth this amazing love, therefore, sentencing myself to being alone. He whom shall not be named is unavaiable, so by choice I choose to be alone.

Last night, after a little too much wine, I let the tremendous love I have for him come out, the pain I carry that I can not be with him, the fear that I will never find anything even close to this again. I skipped a dear friends memorial because I was already sad and depressed enough, and then I skipped two other dear friends birthday party because I would have been Debbie Downer for sure. I was just right for my own company. Me, myself and I had a lot to work out.

One thing being the loss of the dream I had that my life was in los Angeles. I have amde the decision to move back up north. even as I write this I know this is the perfect next move for me. I think the last three days have been about putting certain male ghosts to rest, so that I can find the happiness I deserve in my present!

There will come a time

there will come a time under heaven when all things will be brought into the light or revealed. there will come a time when loves will emerge and loves will vanish. A certain man is heavy on my mind for the past week. I work so hard to lock up this love and pretend that I am not fully, wholly in love with the man I havent seen in over 5 years. I wonder why no relationships have manifested for me. Yet in those silent moments when I am alone, and dare to be honest with myself I acknowledge that because no one, not one comes near the love I have for this man. Or what this man means to me. He is a Correctional Officer and therfore forbidden. Untouchable, something that needs to be forgotten, but the heart doesn't work that way.

On a cold winter's night I had the opportunity, the one opportunity to tell him how I really felt, and I chickened out. As I walked away from him that night, tears ran great rivers down my frozen cheeks. the last thing I wanted to do was the right thing, yet it was the very thing I chose to do. He was married and I had made that mistake already. How long would it take for me to learn to keep my hands to myself, no matter how perfect it felt to be near him.

Isn't that the perfect punishment. To find, to come upon the one person in life that is electric for you, only to have the choice to be selfish and get all of that love you can, or remove yourself because it is the mature and right thing to do. I think my decision to walk away from him, my abundent love for him tucked in my chest, barely behind my lips, was ultimately the thing that set me free.

I gained my physical freedom, at the cost of my heart, my love. I heard for years from the other woman how they were going ot get a piece of ass as soon as they got out. It has been almost three years and I only want one piece, his and I am willing to admit that now. the men I have been attracted to all had an aspect of Him, as I would get closer I would realize they are not what i am looking for.
I would rather be real and wait for this to manifest again, than hop into bed with the first nice man that walks my way.

am I crazy?

Changes

Hello All-

It has been far to long since I have posted anything. I created this blog as a mouth peice for my book: Trash or Treasure: The Power of Forgiveness. What I am lead to know is to actually use a blog for what it is supposed to be about. A forum to get out what I have to say.

For the past three months I have been scampering about trying to manifest a job that would support me in the beautiful city of angels. I spent hours everyday sending out resumes and talking to people on the phone. Securing an interview was never the problem, I acheived 23 of those in the first three months. The problem was no one wanted to seal the deal and actually give me a job. I think that this was juxt as much my problem as it was the employers. I had competing intentions. I was searching for a job because that is the way a good citizen lives their life out here. And God knows that I wanted to prove that I was a better than great citizen that deserved her place out here in society with all of you marvelous people.

I finally secured a job as an Optician at a high end optical shop in Manhatten Beach. Io be honest I didnt think the interview went that well. Mike called me at 8:30 on a Friday night and asked me when i could start. I started on Sunday. From the very beginning it just didn't feel right. Who I am now, didn't fit in. I had problems hard selling people and manipulating them into buying eyewear that they really didn't need or could find at a cheaper price. It only took me a few days to figure out this was not the job for me.I had made the decision to put my all into it. When he started handing me pamphlets for all the manufacturer's he carried and all I was to take all these items home, study them, bring them back so he could test me on them. I made it clear that he didnt pay me for my off time.

So, on the tenth day I walked in and told Mike that I was incredibly grateful for the opportunity of working with him. I was also clear that I was not the perfect fit. I was given my first paycheck, I walked out of the brightly lit store, got into my green car, drove my ass directly to the bank where I quickly deposited my check.

When I got home I created my own business that utilizes my own skills. Intuitive Cousneling by JoAnn. I am a trained Psychic, Medium and I talk to angels. So many friends have commented about not knowing I had these skills and I answer, I was laready enough of a freak. the prison girl, did I really want to be known as the prison girl who sees dead people?

My answer now is yes, befor a resounding no. I already had a big enough hill to climb. wouldn't you say?

Pricetag-what I sold myself for the attention of a man

The celebrating happened as soon as we got back to camp, the animal was hung and skinned, butchered right there in camp. The alcohol was passed around to adult and kid alike. I was fifteen and had as much tequila as the men. My Dad so happy in his celebration that he passed out where I was supposed to sleep and Roger was in the other bed so I was now out of a bed. Chris offered his tent and he would sleep outside the tent door. He had an extra sleeping bag so I took him up on his offer. Roger offered to make room for me in our camper, but I honestly thought the tent was a better option. I went into the tent and told Chris he could sleep inside the tent because it was really cold outside. I climbed into the sleeping bag with Chris in his beside me. It wasn’t long before we were talking about how sore we were from the day and he offered to give me a massage. I was nervous but it was just a massage and he was married he was just being kind. I knew I wouldn’t let it go too far because I had my lower stomach wrapped in two ace bandages to make it flat. I was not about to let him see that. I rolled over and he began to massage my back. After a minute he commented that it would be easier if I took off my shirt which I did, still worried that he would discover my ace bandage secret. After a few minutes, he stopped and laid down next to me, I was so relaxed and still flying high on all the tequila that I was glad when he finally kissed me. At least I was in control this time; I was making the choice to have sex with this man.
What a powerful feeling! I slipped out of my camopants, red shorts and teen undies. I prayed that he didn’t notice the ace bandages I didn’t have time to unravel. It didn’t matter his hand touched the coil restricting my middle asked me what it was. I told him it didn’t matter and on we went. What I learned from that night was how different the experience was when I made the choice to participate and not be forced into participating. I fell in love with him in my fifteen year old way, pretending that he was Patrick Swayze in dirty dancing and I was his Jennifer grey. I just knew he loved me because he had made love to me, soon enough though I realized this was not the case. On the drive home he behaved like He barely knew me, not touching or talking to me, my already broken heart broke a little bit more. I had daydreamed for a day and half that this knight would save me from my step brother, but this was not to be the case. In fact, I never spent a minute alone with Chris, even though he became an employee at my parent’s archery shop two years later.
The next morning I emerged from Chris’s tent and headed to the showers. It was early, no one else was up, I needed to wash his long shooting cum out of my hair and re wrap my middle for the day’s activities. As I emerged from the crude bathroom all cleaned up the ranch managers son a boy two years older than me was stoking the fire, gave me a strange look. I knew that he had heard what occurred between Chris and I the night before.

Time keeps on slippen...into the future

The Panel has reviewed all the information received from the public and relied on the following circumstances in concluding the prisoner “IS” suitable for parole.
Me: did you say is? Oh my God you did.
Uh huh, and would not pose an unreasonable risk of danger to society or a threat to public safety if released from prison. You can breathe. Go ahead and breath. Were you expecting a denial?
Me: I didn’t want to..I hoped for the best and expected the worst.
Do you need a Kleenex? Now what I’m going to talk about here is our justification for this grant. And I don’t ever want anyone to think that we don’t have a victim or victims. That this crime did occur. It occurred as stated and it was a horrible crime. I just - - because what we’re going to talk about from here on out is going to what you have done to earn a date to get out. But we never want to forget the fact that we have a victim here. And I want to make a note also, in the initial board report that Mr. Waddell read out of in talking about the victim who wrote the letter of forgiveness, he didn’t read the whole thing. And I am going to read the rest of the letter from the victim. She said: “when I wrote the letter I also wanted JoAnn to know that I don’t’ hold any animosity towards her for her actions. And even though I forgive her, forgave her, and continue to forgive her for her actions I understand that it does not negate her actions. It only opens the door for someone who could step through to change. I’m gratified that she did that, that she’s taken those steps. Whether you grant her parole or do not grant her parole is your decision.”

Flash Floods and Mud Slides

My scheduled date was for release on the 1st of November. I was up at 6am to shower, blow dry my hair, make sure my clothes were squared away. All my jewelry was off, nothing in my pockets except my id. One more trip to the potty, wash my hands, and put Vaseline on my lips. 8:50am the phone rings and I walk up to the cop shop knowing that my name is one of the first to be called. Tammy stayed overnight at a motel in Chowchilla. I grab my pass and race out the door, walking as fast as I can to make the gate before the yard opens. Thankfully, a copper was at the gate and I breezed right through. Life is going perfectly, and this is just a celebration of that. I get to spend this beautiful fall day with my best friend.
I get through the pre visitation search quickly and hurry into the visiting room. I locate Tammy standing up and headed in my direction as I check into the cop shop which is required before you can go to your family.
Tammy and I collide in a huge hug. Immediately I notice that something is wrong. Her face is not radiating the joy we feel at my going home; rather it is the face that precedes bad news. True enough she says, “Lets go outside”
No
We need to go outside
No, nothing good happens out there. (Going outside means that she needs to tell me something serious and that is the only place we can get a little privacy. It is were she told me that Grandma died, that I had lost my 9th circuit appeal, that both her boys needed surgery, that the woman who raised me had died, ect.) Great Grandma died right?
It may seem bad but this was a better alternative than something having gone wrong with my date.
Tammy started to cry and my worst fears were confirmed deep down in my chest.
I said, “I’m not going home am I?”

Time keeps on slippin...

There is a common misperception that prisoners have nothing but time on their hands, that they are handed everything for free. In fact when a convicted person is sentenced it is called being given time. The girls ask, How much time to you get? Then the comparison starts of who got screwed and who got lucky. On October 31, 1995, I found myself sitting in a dirty beige room. A wood enclosed Bench at the head of the room. Two more desks sat in front of the judge’s bench. Ten feet in front of that were two regular wood tables one to the left, the defendants table and one to the right the prosecutors table. Further to the right was the now empty jury’s box. The jury of my peers (the youngest being 49) is gone to sleep at home instead of the cozy box. To my left is another desk that is the bailiffs, from here he keeps a watchful eye on me and my family. A railing runs across the room behind me. Behind that the room is nothing but rows of chairs and a giant eagle hung up on the wall like the sentry of all that is good and holy. On this day the honorable judge Wayne Westover, dressed in his black robe was handing down my sentence.

God Who?

My faith has been built over this twelve year struggle. God knows everything right? Is in control of everything, therefore he knew I was going to be hurt and left, and that I was going to hurt and love, yet where was his compassionate loving hand through the first twenty plus years of my life? Would I , hell could I love a God who allowed my life to play out as it has thus far, believing that it is for the best? You see either God is in control of everything or he is not! He is not just in charge of the good things and all the bad things I did and was done to me are the work of people or the devil. God the god in the bible is the alpha, and the omega, the beginning and the end, either I was going to trust that he had all of this fucking shit under control and it was going to work out, or all the people myself included where full of shit and stupid for believing in God who picked and choose who he would help out!

God Who?

God skipped the first twenty or so years of my life. How can he of been present when My mother chose to kill herself. Where was he when I was being beaten to a bloody pulp. Where was he when Tom started touching me. Where was this all knowing all powerful lover and protector of my soul when tornado dad was beating me down physically, mentally, emotionally. Where was God when all the kids at school hated me choosing to spend their lunch hours chasing me around the play ground trying to jump me. Where was God when I heeded my dad’s yelled directive to get the fuck out because I had a boyfriend. The first I had brought home up to that time. Where was good when I made the decision to plan and carry out the attempted murder of an innocent woman I liked. Where was God in this deep pit I have found myself in. This tiny room with one window if you could call it that. About 6 inches wide and two feet in length. Covered in a dirty yellow grate that allowed a modicum of sun in, but to see out I had to put my eye up to the dirty grate peering through one of the holes that punctured the protective covering. How many hours I have sat on my bed a hard metal bunk with a slim 1 inch plastic mattress placed upon that. Covered in threadbare sheets and scratchy dark wool blankets. The grumbly toilet less than a foot from the edge of the bed; the sink and mirror a foot from that and the door a foot from that. I laugh to myself at all the old tv shows I saw where the prison paced back and forth as a way to manage there time, yet that is not a reality here. In one possible two if you take small steps you reach the other side. Able to touch one side of the room with your left hand and the other side of the room with your right. How did I end up here? What the fuck?

Time Keeps on Slippin...

My world trembled a little bit when I heard the first words come out of good old Wayne’s mouth, 25 to life. The next words from God in heaven were “Stayed”. On and on it went until for what seemed like hours. On the news that night I was told by pretty little reporters that I could be expected to see freedom once again anywhere from 5 to 25 years. Not one was accurate about how much time I would spend in the big house. Hell, as I sit here writing this remembering what it felt like to have my time given to me, the relief I felt that I could finally get moving toward my future whatever that was going to be.
For the past year and 9 months I had seen amazingly great and amazingly horrible reactions to the issuance of time. Some women came back onto the module and they were happy beyond measure that their attorney had found some loop hole and they were being released that night. Others, one red head in particular was so destroyed by her sentence of thirty days that, that evening when we had been released for day room. She walked up to the top tier, almost directly over the cop station, climbed over the rail, and jumped trying to kill herself. I was on the top tier on the other side of the module and was too far away to get to her to stop her and could only watch. Jumping off the tier was a quick trip to the hospital, pain meds and escape from their current reality. Of all the women who used the leap of the tier as their method to escape their time not one of them succeeded. They simply added a broken back of broken feet to the already complicated situation. Also they usually went to the psych ward which was even more restrictive than E module, causing their movements to be scrutinized even more, less freedom.

Storm Shelter

The only benefit of being the oldest girl in the children’s shelter is being allowed entrance into the children’s storm shelter baby room. Each of the babies in this room had been abused or mistreated by their caregivers. I could understand that right? One day I was in the baby room, which was markedly the sunniest place inside the storm shelter. There was one little baby boy, his skin was dark, whether by birth or by the burns his mother had put all over him, I don’t know. My inner sun felt pulled to this squalling bundle of pain. The nurse in the room cautioned me that any touch was severely painful to this little boy, yet my heart was pulled to him. I gently bent over his stark white crib, he seemed so tiny, fragile, and lonely. Everyone seemed to steer clear of him in fear of causing him pain leaving him abandoned to human touch. I slid one hand under his scarred head and my other hand slid around his body as I picked him up. I brought him into my chest, holding him next to my heart, all the while humming to him softly as he screamed in pain. Within a minute his heart wrenching screams subsided as his inner storm passed. I held him all day long, and hated to put him back down. I fed him that day, pouring my overabundant and under given love to this beautiful little boy.

Storms

Storms take all shapes and sizes. My beginning was a storm of failed gender and Mom giving up on her life. This storm blew out as they always do and right on its heals the next storm blew in. This storm was young too, had fire red hair and an even redder temper. This storm blew across my nose in the form of her fist because I had forgotten to brush my teeth before preschool. Something a wise four year old should have remembered to do. Her storm raged even redder as she saw the blood mixed with tears running rivers down my tiny face. How dare I make her feel guilty for making her unleash her storms ferocious power on me to correct my erroneous ways. The enraged red headed storm finally blew out when the sun’s rays found a crack in the storm shining light into my darkness. The sun came to me in the form of a nosy neighbor, Laura, who spoke the light of truth in the face of the red headed storm making the red headed storm flee. Yet, just like every other storm she left destruction I her path. Her winds magically carried away every possession within the house, but the house remained only an empty shell. Her winds managed to pick up my tiny clothes, tiny toy trucks, and my tiny little girl furniture. Tornado Dad took off after the red headed storm like a mad storm chaser he finally catches up with her. Only to be given one more wallops as all storms do, in the form of a hard ceramic coffee mug meeting Tornado dad’s cranium.