Being released from prison is a stressful experience, primarily because almost nothing is done by the institutions in charge of you to prepare you for the transition.
Nevertheless, I thought I knew a few things leading into my release:
- My friend that was coming to pick me up from jail would be bringing me a set of clothes and shoes so that we could consider stopping and getting something to eat on the way back to my house.
- My counselor at the jail would be making me an appointment with a doctor so that I wouldn't have to go off my depression medication while I was trying to figure out life that first week.
- The nurse would be sending me home with either 1 or 15 doses of my medication (depending on when the next two-week shipment arrived).
- One of the DOC staffers would have already submitted my application for Medicaid.
It turns out that I did not know those things. In reality:
- My ex had either not read, misunderstood, or forgotten the message I sent asking for her to put out a set of clothes so my friend could bring them to me. I had to ride home in the pajama pants and t-shirt I was wearing when I was arrested (you can look up a video of my arrest if you're curious). Because I "knew" I had shoes coming, I gave away the clogs I'd been wearing for over a year and swapped my almost new shower shoes for a pair that was falling apart. Then, the deputies who checked me out wouldn't let me leave with those literal pieces of garbage on my feet. I didn't have it in me to argue. So, I had to walk barefoot across the parking lot and got into my friend's truck.
- My counselor either never scheduled an appointment for me or never told me when it was scheduled.
- I wasn't sent home with any doses of my medicine. In fact, I wasn't given my usual nightly does on Saturday Nobody ever explained why. Then, in another inexplicable development, I was given a dose both Sunday and Monday mornings even though I'd been taking my medicine in the evenings since January. I was released on Memorial Day. I had 48 hours after my release to report to my probation officer. I had 72 hours after my release to register as a sex offender with both the parish and the city (this turned out to be harder than it should have been, but I'll save that story for later). It was Thursday before I managed to see a doctor and get back on my medication. Speaking of medical care...
- As near as I can tell nobody ever submitted my Medicaid application. On top of that, the online application was useless. I ended up having to call and apply over the phone like it was 1997 or something.
So, there I was trying desperately to hold it together and fulfill all of my legal responsibilities without access to my medication. I wasn't sleeping. I was having trouble focusing. I had stepped into a house where almost every effort had been made to erase my existence from every room besides my office. Most of my belongings were piled up in my storage unit. I didn't know where anything was.
I'd been really worried about being off my medication for those first few days. I'd talked to both my counselor and the nurse about it. They assured me that I wouldn't have to miss any doses. I trusted everyone to make sure things were OK. But, everybody dropped the ball. I wasn't able to give myself adequate care.
I didn't expect my first few days of freedom after incarceration to be more torturous than my last few days of prison. But, somehow Louisiana managed to make that happen for me.
Things are getting better, but I'm still not OK.
