In the dimly lit cell in the “hole” of the Vermont Women’s Prison, I made a habit of reflecting on the choices that had repeatedly led me to the place I seemed to always be sitting. The harsh reality of addiction (before it was considered a disease) and incarceration for many, including myself, is a vicious cycle that becomes impossible to break. I had become a statistic, just one of the many individuals caught in the web of addiction, trapped in a system that perpetuated our struggles rather than offering us the help we so desperately needed. One poor choice led to me becoming “the example” in my small town, and this resulted in the loss of my life because I was forced to do life on the installment plan in that Vermont prison for petty non-violent drug-related crimes like possession. I went to rehab twice throughout those twenty years, and it was my choice to go, not the courts.

In this blog post, I will share some of my personal journey through addiction and incarceration, shedding light on why this cycle occurs and exploring the steps we can take to break free from it.

Addiction and Incarceration

I was homeless in my teens, and somehow, I managed to graduate high school and start college. I was working two jobs as a Licensed Nursing Assistant. When I received my student loans, I was able to get my first apartment with a roommate. It was a dump, but it was home, and homes were hard to come by for me. At this time, I had a habit, but nothing compared to what it became.

My roommate bailed on me, and this is where my ultimate poor choice makes its debut. I was scared. I was barely eighteen, and I knew I never wanted to be homeless again, but even with two jobs and student loans every semester, I couldn’t swing it on my own. Lucky for me, my friend and local drug dealer was looking for a place to stay. As an empath who has been homeless, I was always offering up a place to stay for anyone needing it, including her, and looking back, I never thought twice about this decision.

It Happens When You Move In Your Drug Dealer

I won’t get into all of the details, but I will say that my home was the first big raid that my town had ever had. My dealer had parents with money, and they got her the best attorney in the state. I was a poor kid who didn’t even have anyone show up at court for me most of the time. This is exactly how I became “the example.” We were the first women of a long line that left the state to procure drugs in big cities nearby, and we did this every single day, sometimes more than once. I was a young woman. I was addicted to IV heroin. I sold drugs to support my growing habit. I was Satan Incarnate. No, I wasn’t even close, but that’s how they treated me.

When they busted my door down, they tackled my roommate as she was trying to run to the bathroom and flush the 9.6 grams in her hand. I had a weird feeling that morning, and when I heard the knock, I jumped into my closet and watched the “Vermont Drug Task Force” weave their web of lies while throwing my “friends” to the floor with guns to their heads. They found nothing more than paraphernalia on me or in my room. All they found was that 9.6 grams in my roommate’s hands. Then why did I go to jail, you ask? This is good. Get ready. I spent the next twenty years doing life on the installment plan because… the lease was in my name. I should have heeded the warnings. “Vermont. Come on vacation; NEVER leave cause you will always be on probation.”

Cycle of Hell

Never mind that my old roommate was still on the lease. Somehow, this became all about me. All of the informants were people who dealt with my new roommate. She was charged with four sales and felony possession. I was initially charged with felony possession. My roommate did that first night in jail and never came back. I wasn’t so lucky. I didn’t have parents with money who could afford to relocate me and give me a fresh start. I was stuck. I got bailed out by “friends” who needed me to take a trip and cop for them, and this is where my cycle through hell begins.

The Example

The following eighteen months are a big blur to me now. It was a long time ago, but not only was my face on the front page of every local newspaper, but my own newspaper must have liked the idea of me being “the example” because even my violations of probation made second-page news. They had me on such strict conditions of release that it was impossible. I had to check in at the police department four times a day, meet with my probation officer three times a week, and see the judge in her chambers with my attorney three times a week. Every time I violated the impossible conditions for things like being late for check-in (when I have really bad ADHD and executive function issues), I kept bailing out, and the conditions got more and more difficult to comply with.

Part of my conditions were that I find employment, being that after my current employers saw their nurse’s aid on the front page of the paper as a heroin dealer, I pretty much just assumed I was unemployed. Looking back, I don’t even know how I got the balls to go into places and ask for an application. I was treated horribly during this time of my life, and I honestly don’t know how I got through it. People really believed that my addiction was my choice. By the time I got sentenced, I still hadn’t gotten a job, and it’s a good thing because I was sentenced to 3-6 years, split to serve for that “possession of heroin” that I never possessed.

My First Time in Big Girl Jail

My first time going to the women’s prison was one of the worst experiences of my life. My initial arrests had always landed me in holding at the Rutland men’s facility. When I was sentenced, I was sent to the Burlington men’s prison, which had a women’s unit. When I first got to Chittenden, there were twenty-five women inmates in the state of Vermont, and I was lucky number twenty-six. Today there are around 119 women incarcerated in Vermont. Believe it or not, this number was significantly higher before COVID. Many of the population, and women I loved, were lost in the ongoing war on drugs. Everyone, including myself, figured I would be one of them.

By the time I was allowed out of the hole and able to hit population, I was excited to just get out of that cell. I remember the walk of shame walking into the unit with a clear trash bag of clothes over my shoulder like I was Santa Clause. I even remember the sound of the heavy steel door slamming shut behind me, stamping permanence on my new home. I have always been a positive person, so I thought that I would be making new friends. Never had a problem before. My eyes met the eyes of a straw red-headed girl who looked a bit like a rat with heavy freckles. She smirked, and I had mistaken it for a smile. I should have paid better attention.

I was a hippy girl back then. Despite my addiction, I tried to be a good person, and I had never been forced to go to the lengths that others are forced to by addiction. I was extremely lucky. I credit my outgoing hippy nature and my high trustability level, which I had earned on the streets. I trusted people to do the right thing because I would have. I learned quickly after the girls in my new home forced me to allow them to chop off my beautiful, flowing down my back, Manic Panic red hair. They did this intentionally and for their own entertainment. I have written about the entire incident a couple of times but picture the worst haircut you have ever seen and multiply that times one million. Yup, that was me. This incident traumatized me on a level that I refused to have any scissors touch my hair for the last twenty-plus years. Recently, my stylists finally talked me into a trim after all of these years of trying. It’s all a part of the healing process.

Vermont Prison Population Statistics

Crime School

During that first bid, I learned how to commit more crimes and more ways to get away with them. I gathered connections, and back then, I had come to call it crime school. That bid that I should have never done schooled me to a level that you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Instead of being sent to rehab, I was sent to jail, where they put all of the “addicts” in one unit with nothing to do. Hmmmmm… What do you think I got up to?

The girls I was incarcerated with talked about drugs constantly. They were constantly telling war stories and were always working the guys in the next unit for the drugs that their (the men’s) girlfriends and wives brought them at visit. Every time those dudes went to chow, it was Wrestle-mania by the door. “Here comes a couple of joints!” and “Oh yeah, those are my OCs.” Then, “NO! No! Girl, those are mine. ________ sent them for me.” Met with, “Nah! Uh-uh! He sent those for me.” It was insane, considering the CO office was between us in the rec room and the door, and only cells 1 and 2 were allowed down the hallway. It was all arranged at the cell “windows,” which the men passed by on the way to the rec yard, and in “bread mail,” which were the letters the men would stick in the stack of five pieces of bread they put on our trays. Yup. The men cooked our food. Imagine that.

Before too long, I joined in the fun. Who wouldn’t? What else did I have to do? As it turned out, I was really good at trafficking drugs into the facility, and this is how I quickly made my way to the top of the prison food chain. This also made me a target, and I deserved this. Not to the degree with which it came, but this is me being accountable.

Keep Coming Back!

In NA, they have a saying, “keep coming back! It works if you work it!”. I guess that’s how my first time in jail led to me doing my life on the installment plan, and I wasn’t the only one. Not even close. Over the next twenty years, I was arrested probably more than a hundred times, and this is not an exaggeration. I have seen a copy of my booking sheets. There were many times I got out and ended up back in jail the same day or the next day. I would often think on the long drive upstate that I should have just stayed because I gave away all of my stuff before leaving.

For the first few arrests, I would always cry on that long ride. I was really hard on myself. After the first few times of going in and out, I was rock every time. No matter what I had lost on the occasion. Apartment, car, another relationship, etc. Most of the time, my best friends (every single one of them has passed now) would already be in or they would arrive shortly after my arrival. I came to be religiously prepared for my trips to “finishing school.” How could I arrive empty-handed and disappoint “my peeps?” Later on, I ended up serving three years for bringing party favors because those same peeps told twenty-five too many people my business.

Good Ole 4 C’s (Chittenden County Correctional Center)

Just to be clear, I don’t think that any of this part of my story is cool or that I was all OG-she up there. It’s actually quite the opposite. It humiliates me, and I am terrified that one day my children might come across some of those newspaper articles, and I might not be here to explain. The only reason I mention this here is to give you an idea of how quickly I became the queen of shit for the simple reason that I was always prepared for school. Coming from a broken, low-income, addicted parent, and single-mother-addicted-to-men-household, I had never felt like I was loved. When I went to jail, everybody was happy to see me, even if for the wrong reasons. They quickly became my family, and whenever one of the girls I got close to made their way back to good ole 4 C’s (Chittenden County Correctional Center, AKA. finishing school, as I like to call it these days), The rest of us shortly followed.

We had a female CO in her mid-forties, and she mothered all of us. Don’t get me wrong, she didn’t take any shit, but she came to care about us and genuinely wanted to see us go out and never come back. In those first years, things were so different from what they are now. Back then, when one of us left, we weren’t left wondering if we would ever see them again. The heroin was heroin, and the cocaine was cocaine. We lost a few over the years, and some even passed away in jail, but NOTHING like now. I have lost more than fifty people I deeply cared for to drugs in the last five years alone. I just stopped counting at fifty. I thought I would have been one of the first to go, and so did everyone else who knew me. I have no idea why I am one of the last girls standing, but I am determined to make it count… For them.

Further Punitive Measures for Being Addicted

When the women’s population started to quickly grow, I was there for their different moves to new women’s facilities, which we would quickly outgrow to ultimately end up right back where we started, back at the Chittenden Men’s Facility. When we went back from the Windsor facility, where our shampoo and conditioner would freeze if we left it on the dressers in front of the windows, they decided to put all of us “drug-addicted women” in one lockdown unit away from the rest of the population. It gets better. For the simple reason that we were addicted to drugs, we were put in a lockdown unit for a minimum of thirty days upon arrival. In this unit, we were not permitted to purchase commissary unless it was to buy medicine. For those of us who didn’t eat jail food, this was really torturous and inhumane, and everybody knew it. Let’s not get into the fact that all of the women who were there for brutal murders or other heinous crimes were housed in the “privileged unit.” Let all of the violent inmates run free as long as the drug addicts are locked up tight. C’mon.

I remember back in 2002, there were some serious issues with sewage. There were always issues with sewage. The place was built on a swamp. his particular visit was a nightmare, and I remember it like it was yesterday. All of the COs were wearing rubber boots to their knees because sewage had backed up through all of the drains in the floors. This wasn’t just water; this was urine and fecal matter. Do you think they allowed us out of those locked cells? Absolutely not. Each cell had either one or two drains in it. By this time, they had cots in cells because they were always overcrowded. The CO would unlock and open our cell doors and slosh over to the toilet, where he would place our stackable trays for us to figure out how to get them!

Felony Fliers & DRs

I was on the top bunk, and in this unit, we were not permitted to have our shoes when we arrived, so all we had were “felony fliers,” which is our name for the cheap flip-flops we were forced to wear. I had to step down to the middle cot, which was someone’s bed, then crawl on the lower bunk on the opposite side, slide down to the metal “desk,” and stretch to reach trays. Getting back to my bunk was even worse and was often unsuccessful. We all took turns. I remember how hard it was to keep our feet in the air while using the toilet. Once, we actually put a folded-up facility blanket down so we could rest our feet. We all got DRs (disciplinary referrals). When it first started backing up, the smell was awful. Never in a million years would I have imagined it would have been something we would acclimate to, but we did. There is so much other stuff, like how there was a square peak hole from the CO office directly into our shower, which had a reflective mirror on our side but not on theirs. As you can see from the headlines of just a few of the many articles about our “home away from home” below. The place was sick right from the gate.

Seven Days took a particular interest. They spoke with us and wrote an article called Controversial Program Locks Down Drug-Addicted Female Inmates. Click to check it out. I am in there telling the world about how women would purchase cough drops and they would eat them by the bag when they were hungry. Those cough drops had a severe side effect, but I won’t go into that here. Seven Days wrote about the women at Good Ole 4 C’s many times over the years. I will list a few of the many articles still available below, and looking at the titles, I am sure you get the idea of just a few different kinds of circumstances that we were raised in. Side Note: I am currently writing a book called ‘Life on the Installment Plan,’ where I go into all of this stuff in more depth. For this post, I just want you to get a general idea. That facility violated us for years in unspeakable ways. They treated us so badly that we became convinced that was all we were worth.

Some of the Headlines Over the Years Regarding Our Home Away from Home

• Guarded Secrets: Claims of Sexual Misconduct, Drug Use Plague a Vermont Prison for Women

• Claims of sexual misconduct, drug use in Vermont prison

• No charges against accused corrections officer in prison sex abuse case

• State Seeks Federal Probe of Vermont Women’s Prison

• ‘Everybody Knew’: Guards Say Higher-Ups Ignored Serious Misconduct in Vermont’s Prison

• Report documents pattern of sexual abuse at Vermont’s only prison for women

• Tip of the Iceberg: More Trouble at the Vermont Department of Corrections

• Court Rejects Claim That Women’s Prison Showers Are Unsanitary

• Governor Orders Investigation of Prison Allegations

• Former Vermont corrections officer charged again

• Vermont Prison Probe Finds ‘Disturbing’ Number of Sexual Misconduct Allegations

• Vermont jail guard charged with sex with inmate

• Former inmate: No consequences for abuse in Vermont prison

• State’s Attorney Declines to Prosecute Chittenden Corrections Officer

• Review finds rampant sexual misconduct at Vt. women’s prison

• Time to Close the Women’s Prison for Good

• Vermont House considers reforms to troubled women’s prison

• Human Services Secretary to Take Control of Troubled Women’s Prison

• George Seeks Release of Women Incarcerated in Troubled Prison

• Vermont Has Endangered Transgender Prisoners. Change Is Coming — but Is It Enough?

• Former VT corrections officer acquitted

Click the titles to read the actual articles.

This is where those of us that were addicted to drugs were sent from 1998 – current (for me 2017) to be punished for our addictions. This is where all of us young girls were trained in the art of crime. I refer to it as crime school because with every visit we were taught more and more about how to commit crimes and not just by fellow inmates either. This crime school ultimately shaped all of our futures for more… Crime.

Treatment Was Never an Option for Me

It didn’t help that the State’s Attorney had made it very clear that she didn’t like addicts back then. This woman was so cruel to me every single time I went to court that I started thinking funny. One time a woman I worked with came to court with me for support, and this state’s attorney took it upon herself to get her alone and to tell her that she was “wasting her time with that one.” (referring to me) She is and will continue to be a lost cause. Save yourself the trouble and think about it.” When the woman later told me about this incident, it hit hard. The State’s Attorney proceeded to do things like this throughout my entire time in corrections despite the fact that she had never heard me say more than “Not guilty, your honor.”

Even worse is that it took its toll on me. I began to allow how this woman felt about me to determine how I felt about myself. I must be a worthless human being if this professional woman is going out of her way to talk negatively to another professional woman about me. I started to really believe that prison was where I belonged. I never hurt anyone or anything in my life except myself. I never stole from my parents or any of the other things that often come with addiction. I stopped defending myself. More times than I would like to admit, I went to jail for crimes I seriously never committed. I got sober seven years ago after finding out I was pregnant with my daughter, and in all those years, I went to treatment twice. Only twice, and both times, were situations where I chose to go, and the court had no say. I remember watching girls leave to go to rehab for their twenty-something time. Treatment was never an option for me. Right to jail and do not pass GO. As I mention below, the court attempted to contest my pre-min release to the Lund Home so I could finish my min with my six-month-old daughter. They said that programs were not an option for me. I was a program failure despite the fact that I had never been to a program. They refused to acknowledge my severe mental health issues as well. I would get put in jail and have to detox off my many meds. Try having insomnia in prison. It’s not pretty.

The Losses of Incarceration

It wasn’t enough that we were losing apartments, cars, credit scores, etc., but we had to be put in a lockdown unit like the one they use to punish us as a result of disciplinary referrals, and we had to be taken off all of our mental health meds and maintenance meds. Kinda making sense why we begin drug seeking now, isn’t it? Some think that when you get out, it’s all uphill from there, and that is definitely not the case. I was released close to a hundred times, and going back is the easy option by far. In Vermont, we aren’t released on parole upon the completion of our minimum sentences. Nope. If they decide to let us out, we are released on house arrest or FSU, which we have come to call “Fu*king Set UP” because that’s what it is. We are expected to account for every second of our day two weeks in advance, never be late for anything, and not miss a group even if we are sick. Who can do this?

I can tell you that during the time I was incarcerated for petty possession charges, I watched people who hurt kids come in, and I watched them go out. All while I am still sitting there, never getting treatment and never getting out. Getting administratively segregated by myself, in the hole for six months straight, for suspicion of getting drugs, like suboxone, in the mail. What did we do to be treated this way? I mean- I get it, but why? What made them treat us like we were the lowest form of life out there? What made them think they could proposition us for things like a cigarette? Why were our sentences so freaking harsh? I love hearing men say that women get off easy because I am here to tell you that nothing about the twenty-plus years of sentences for petty non-violent drug-related crimes was easy for me.

Felonies That Aren’t Even Felonies

Now, over the years, I managed to pick up five felonies. This part is good. So, my first felonies were for two bounced checks over $500—two felonies for bouncing my checks after my account was closed. These kinds of charges are no longer felonies. My next two felonies were for Escape. The first one was because I went to the grocery store when it wasn’t on my approved pass. I had just gotten out of jail, and I had no food. I figured I could run quickly to Hannaford. I was on GPS, and from my experiences in the past, I knew they never checked them. Things had changed while I was away. They checked, and I got caught.

The second escape happened after I had my daughter and was sober. I went to Hampton Beach for my birthday. Just for the day. I wasn’t permitted to leave the state. There are probably fifteen thousand people on the beach that day. Don’t you know a correctional officer from Good Ole 4 Cs saw me in the ocean and had her mother take photos of me which were sent to my PO (Probation Officer). You would think they would have taken it easy on me because I was finally out there killing it, I had just gotten an apartment, and I had even held a job for almost a year.

Most would have gotten thrown on a GPS. Not me. I turned myself in the next morning, and they ripped my six-month-old daughter from my arms and sent me to jail for my second felony escape. I was sentenced to nine months for this one. Nine months I would have spent away from my daughter had I not been able to get into the Lund Home. I was able to get out pre-min to a program I didn’t even need, so I could have my daughter. Get this- the state’s attorney tried to fight it. It was the hardest time I had ever done in my life, and I truly didn’t deserve it—two felony Escape charges when I had never even gone on escape. Escape from Furlough- not only is this no longer a felony, but it’s no longer a charge, but best believe they are still on my record.

Bonk Sales Charges

My third felony was for Obstruction of Justice. This one was charged all wrong. I got this for writing fake letters to the court from doctors saying that, in their professional opinion, I should not go back to jail. They weren’t mad because I wrote the letters; they were mad because they worked and managed to keep me out of jail for almost two years. In my opinion, I should have gotten a fraud charge or something like that. Obstruction is given when people hurt or harass witnesses and is typically a violent crime. I did get it amended, so it was reported as non-violent. I served three years for this and had six years added to the back of my sentence.

They tried to get sales charges on me for almost twenty years with no success until after I got sober, and it was and is a bonk charge. I went to probation when I was six months pregnant, doing great, and had built a whole new life. This happened before my last escape charge. Suddenly PnP (Probation & Parole not Progressing Not Perfecting, but yes, it was intentional) was flooded with the police, and they cuffed and stuffed my ass. I was charged with sales and conspiracy from seven months prior, which was a joke. I was forced to take the sale to keep my baby’s dad out of jail. After I was released one week before my labor was induced, I found the paperwork in my glove box. They had no wire because it wasn’t working. They had no marked money. They had nothing. The kid who did the sale had sold us the same stuff that he purchased back for the sale. C’mon. Not to mention I was across the park while my baby’s dad did the sale. That’s how we began. I had hired him to run my stuff because I was put on GPS. Romantic, right? I tried to warn him away for two months, but he wasn’t having it. I told him that I was the last thing he needed and that I would go to jail and he would feel more powerless than he ever had before. I tried to warn him.

Moving Forward

This is how it always went with me. There is nothing I can do now. My entire early adult life was thrown away in those jails. The cycle was the worst because I would always hit the ground running. I always planned on staying sober. I wasn’t able to drive because it wasn’t allowed back then. You can also go to jail in Vermont for Lack of Residence, which is a joke. This means you will also not be released unless you have an FSU-approved residence. Keep in mind that FSU officers are correctional officers in the community. They were given way too much power in that regard. I had residences denied for things like “lack of night lighting,” dogs, and for having a fire escape off the window of what would have been my room. They would deny these residences until six months later when they needed beds. Suddenly my residences were approved, and out I went.

Getting out to an FSU apartment was tough, to say the least. They would give us our own tiny roach-infested apartment with nothing in it but a phone. Gotta be able to reach us. Not even a roll of toilet paper. Keep in mind that upon release, we weren’t allowed to go anywhere, and we couldn’t have any visits. We were told that we had thirty days to pay the rent. I tried so hard. I would go to the same places that had denied me for years because that’s all there was. I put in the work every single day right up until day twenty when I realized that even if I had gotten a job, I would get paid in time, and it surely wouldn’t be enough money. I would talk myself into making just one trip and doing one flip, and I wouldn’t get high.

I always bought myself a little time, but as you can imagine, I always ended up getting high. It was all so hard and depressing. I tried many times over the years to talk to them about this cycle, but nobody cared what I had to say, and I doubt anyone cares now, but when I think of other young people getting sucked in and failed by the criminal justice system, it breaks my heart. I was worth so much more, but they made sure I didn’t see it. When I finally realized that I was worth more, it was too late. I had lost most of my life in a Vermont women’s prison, learning how to commit bigger crimes.

Again- The Example

The worst part about it all was that everybody knew that they treated me unfairly, even that my sentencing wasn’t just, but nobody did anything. Over the years, I have worked with the Department of Employment & Training, Vocational Rehabilitation, and other community agencies. I worked with other state professionals, and every single one of them knew that something wasn’t right, but they figured that there was nothing they could do. The best part is that the State’s Attorney is still holding her position. Not only that but this woman who scorned addicts and never believed for a second that addiction is a disease conveniently has a photo of herself sitting with an addicted person on her website. I have been trying to get in front of the Vermont Legislature for a few years now with no success. Why would they want to hear what such a horrible ex-drug-addicted individual has to say about her experience in the Vermont Criminal Justice System? Hmmmm…

From Someone Who Knows

So, how could we go about changing a failing system that nobody will acknowledge is failing? I am going to tell you. The moment I had purpose in my life, I put down drugs for good. The moment I had purpose and a professional career, I managed the confidence to begin building my empire, and I worked hard and purchased my own 350k home three short years after I left my place and checked into our local homeless shelter with the clothes on my back, a 450 credit score, and a correctional GPS around my ankle. I think that this is important in regard to a new successful system. If I had found purpose and been given a chance sooner… We will never know. Now I want to go over my thoughts on how we should proceed from here.

As we all know, addiction is a formidable adversary, one that can consume your life just as it quickly consumed mine, turning you into a mere shadow of your former self. It’s a battle fought not only within but also against external forces that push us further down the rabbit hole. The criminalization of addiction is a significant factor that keeps this vicious cycle spinning. Trust me, I know.

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The post Addiction & Incarceration: Breaking the Silence and Giving a Voice to Addicts in the Criminal Justice System (Slice 1) appeared first on The Sober Curator.