The Only Skill You Need to Survive in Prison
Original version appeared in “Cell Count”, Fall 2018. “Cell Count” is a quarterly newspaper with content created by and for prisoners, ex-prisoners and their families, nationwide.
When I told people I would be going to prison, people were absolutely shocked. And worried. Very worried. In fact, I think they were more worried than I was. Upon hearing the news, they usually issued one of the following somewhat predictable concerns: "So you must be so scared!" or "Eeek! What if you get beat up!" or "So, do you like, know how to fight?"
Contrary to what many people believe, you don't need to know how to fight to survive prison. Did it cross my mind? Of course it did. But even then I wasn't really scared because the majority of people have only been influenced by the media and other sources of entertainment about what really goes on in prison. Going in, I prepared for just about anything because I was also one of those people. I took self-defence lessons. I became friends with a former inmate who gave me the run down on the things I needed to know…what to say, what to do, and how to act. I knew it was going to be a challenge regardless, but I welcomed it. If there was violence there was violence, and I would have to try my best to avoid it in any way possible. If I had to fight, I knew I was feisty enough to defend myself, but I would not consider myself physically aggressive. As I am nearing my day parole date, I can safely say that although I witnessed many stereotypical prison culture behaviours, by no means do you have to be subject to it. The only skill you need to survive in prison is the capacity to adapt. If you can adapt, you will be jussst fine.
By definition, to adapt means to "put oneself in harmony with changed circumstances". In other words, you take what you have and make it work for you, not against you. Lucky for me, by the time it was time to turn myself in, I had already spent a lot of my adult life adapting. Whenever I would go to a new school, I would adapt. Whenever I would move to a new city, I would adapt. Whenever I would start a new job or quit one, I would adapt. Whenever I would begin any new kind of relationship, I would adapt. When I moved to Indonesia and lived with a Muslim host family for 8 weeks, I definitely had to adapt, but I absolutely loved it. My zest for life and endless desire to explore the different parts of the world forced me to adapt to wherever I went. I saw prison just another life event that required me to adapt. Prison is like a country in itself, with its own citizens, laws, and languages. Once I familiarized myself with the institutional policies and the infamous “Con Code”, it was relatively easy to adapt. I observed four major (yet very simple) rules to abide by to avoid getting into any possible altercations: #1) don't rat, #2) don't steal #3) don't get involved in other people's relationships, and #4) don't talk shit, period. To me, those were easy. I didn't do that anyways. It was common sense. I came in with the goal of getting out, not getting involved. Much to the disappointment of every single one of my male friends, I had no interest in becoming "gay for the stay". Sorry guys! Keep dreamin’.
As long as everyone follows those four aforementioned rules, they won't have problems. I didn't need to put on some act and pretend that I was some ruthless hard criminal, because I wasn't. I didn't care much for the jail drama, I cared about my own goals, and I cared about the girls that I had gotten close with. I had nothing to prove to the other inmates. I had things to prove to the Parole Board, my family, and myself. That was it. Those were my main points of focus, so I adapted my behaviours to align with reaching those goals. People often confuse adapting with fitting in and doing what everyone else is doing. That's not adapting, that's copying, and they are two very different things.
Had I wanted to get involved with the more reckless activities in the prison sub-culture, I could have, but I didn't want to. This was definitely not a permanent place for me, but whether I liked it or not it was my place for ten months. That's it. No more, no less - well maybe slightly more because God knows when space will become available at the halfway house…fingers crossed. I was offered cigarettes and pills more than once, but turned them down. I did not want them and I wasn't tempted whatsoever. I knew turning down such "normal" jail activities made me stand out, but I didn't care. This display of not giving a f*#k what people thought about me combined with the fact that I wasn't trying to be someone I wasn't allowed me to gain respect on the compound. People trusted me because I never inflated who I was, and everything I said about myself I could back up (or was backed up by Google, when people inevitably Googled me, that's just what people do here).
I spent most of my time in the library, building my budding venture or exercising. Most people were excited for me and supported it, but there were some disgruntled by it because they didn't understand how I could be getting so much accomplished and they grumbled at the fact that I managed to be cheerful most of the time. Because I was a seasoned veteran at adapting, using what I had to make my time go as productively as possible wasn't as big as a challenge for me as most people would expect. I've always had a knack for building things out of nothing and improvising when I had to. Other inmates have also been helpful in sharing their jail survival 'hacks'. I have always asked for help when I needed it. I never felt ashamed to be honest with people when I was struggling with something. I got to know the various mental health resources on the compound to help with the transition. If my shoe broke, I would fix it. If I needed to sleep better, I would make myself a sleeping mask. Even the most ridiculous rules and regulations I learned to adapt to over time. You get used to the glacial pace of just about everything. You get used to the plastic crunchy mattresses, the flashlights shining in your eyeballs throughout the night, the denied visits, the incomplete paperwork, the missing mail, the high-priced phone calls, and the lack of structured days. It makes it easier to adapt if you keep reminding yourself that this is not permanent. This is not your home. This should be no one's home. It's just a temporary stop, so don't get too comfortable. You just adapt.