Two years ago I was broken, frightened, and helpless. I was on my way to self-surrender at my designated federal prison and had no idea what to expect. Sure, people told me I would be fine; I knew I was going to a camp, which holds little danger in terms of stereotypical prison hyperbole, and I had nearly three years to prepare mentally for the experience, but all of that carried little weight. I was simply terrified. I was terrified of losing everyone I love, I was scared my daughter wouldn’t remember our times together, I was afraid my friends would forget about me. In some ways, my worst fears have come true, but I have also found out so much more about myself than I ever knew was there. I have grown more in the past two years than I ever would’ve on the outside. I have persevered through circumstances I would’ve never have imagined myself capable of. I have leaned on the people in the world who have always been there for me the most. Two years is my tipping point. Factoring in halfway house, I should be halfway through my sentence now. All I have to do is complete the time I’ve already done, and I will be free again. Free to hold my daughter’s hand, free to watch my nieces grow up, free to live and laugh and love. Two years down is a major event for me, but it certainly hasn’t been easy. 

I thought my first year in prison was hard. Compared to what I’ve experienced this past year, the first one was a cakewalk. During my first year, I lost 50 pounds and became a star athlete. I was healthy, happy, and surrounded by guys I got along well with. I did lose my two best friends at the camp, but with that came my evolution into a writer and my online persona. In short, I had a very uplifting first year in prison. On April 2, 2020, just after the pandemic that has forever changed all of our lives began, I was caught using a cell phone and taken to the Special Housing Unit.

The Special Housing Unit is what the federal system calls solitary confinement, also referred to as “the hole”. When I was first arrested by the feds in March 2017, I was taken to county jail and spent 72 hours in the “behavior monitoring unit” where I was allowed out for only 5 minutes a day to attempt to make a phone call. I thought those 72 hours would be the worst of my life. Instead, the worst happened when I spent 240 days in a row confined in a cell being fed a thousand calories a day when lucky. Let me make this clear: no one deserves to be locked in a cell for 240 straight days. This solitary confinement is worse than they treat death row inmates, rapists, murderers, child molesters, and even terrorists. Why was this not considered cruel and unusual punishment? COVID-19. That is the only answer we were ever given. I have written about this before, and for those who follow my writing, I will try not to bore you, but being in solitary was a big part of my life. That time has forever changed me. 

It’s easy to say things like, “I could never get through that,” or, “You are a strong person for being able to get through that,” but the truth is that everyone could make it. There just isn’t another option. The bunks aren’t tall enough to hang yourself from–trust me, we all thought about it. I don’t make jokes about suicide lightly, but the truth of the matter is that when a person is placed in an environment so void of hope, it’s natural to have such thoughts, to seek any way to escape. That being said, we all made it through. I made it through. What is different about me is how I made it, why I made it, and what I accomplished through it. These are the things I want to focus on when I look back at the second year of my prison experience.

I made it through the 240 days I spent in solitary, the 61 days I spent in the Atlanta transfer center (which is literally a roach-infested dump that should be condemned as a prison in what’s supposed to be a first-world country), 30 days in Oklahoma, and now catching COVID at another condemnable prison in Fort Dix, New Jersey with the unconditional love of quite a few people. I was lucky enough to receive mail in the SHU from a lot of wonderful people, but there are two people I must take the time to talk about and thank personally for getting me through the last year of my life. I may have survived the trials I was put through without my sister, Joanna Decker, and my editor, Candice Ribkee, but I would’ve never become the person I’ve become nor accomplished anything that I have.

My sister is the most amazing woman on the face of the earth. She took the time to write me every single day I was locked in the SHU. She sent me sports news, world news, and updated me on everything she could think of. She felt empathy for the other men I was locked up with, and she would send information they requested because many of them had no one on the outside to communicate with at all. When I was leaving the SHU, one of the men I had spent all 8 months with wrote a thank you note to my sister where he stated that the world would be a much better place if everyone had the empathy that both her and I share toward all people no matter what their race, sexual orientation, or crime committed is. I know that note meant a lot to her, and it meant a lot to me as well. When I was deemed a felon, a convict, a criminal who owed society 60 months of life, it just didn’t seem fair. I know who I am, I know how much I care about other people, and I know my intentions. I also how my sister and I feel about human life. She and I may not share the same beliefs on religion or politics, but what we do share is a value of human life and a love for people and their individuality. The relationship that came from our daily letters was something I will cherish for the rest of my life. One day I’ll go back and read the stack of letters we sent back and forth during my time in the SHU, and I will remember then what I already know now: that we found a way to beat my oppressors through unconditional love and a belief in the goodness of people. Joanna and I fought together, we cried together, and we overcame together through each written word.

When I was taken to the SHU, I was completely lost. I had become reliant on the people I was communicating with on Instagram daily, and I’d really begun to love writing. I thought every new friendship and skill I’d started to craft was all over. One of the first letters I received was from Candice, and she not only encouraged me to keep my writing going, but also offered to transcribe every handwritten word and post it for me. Her belief in me was greater than the belief I had in myself at the time. Even with her encouragement, it took me nearly three months to finally get over the initial depression and start writing again. The evolution my writing has taken since that point has shocked me. I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of times when I read back over my own writing, I actually become emotional. Maybe this is how a lot of writers feel, but I doubt it. Candice faithfully transcribed, edited, and posted every single thought I sent her and helped me write my first novel. Without her, I wouldn’t be the writer or person I am today. Without her belief in me, I wouldn’t believe in myself. 

I think we all have a natural tendency to doubt. We think everything is really up to some other person greater than ourselves who isn’t us but thinks just like us. It’s up to them to bring the change in the world we would like to see, and all we need to do is scroll through our social media, watch our television, keep gas in our car, and show up to work most of the time. If we do that, then the changes we want to see in the world will eventually happen. I know that I’ve always talked about things like the legalization of cannabis, prison reform, common-sense sentencing, the elimination of mandatory minimums, but all these things have to be accomplished at a level way above some guy stuck behind a locked door with every form of communication except handwritten letters banned.

What I realized in the last year was that it’s exactly this attitude, that someone else in charge has to get the ball rolling, that will never change the world. This shit has to change. People’s lives are being ruined by a continued and failed war against the world’s most medicinally beneficial plant. People’s lives are being ruined by incredibly long sentences for drugs while much worse crimes are given a fraction of that time. It is my job, my duty, as a person currently living in a world I previously knew nothing about to educate and create change. To give a voice to people who don’t have one. To fight for people who have no idea how to fight for themselves. Has all the change I envisioned happening now occurring because of my words? Absolutely not. Have I wasted my time trying? Hell no. Some people will read this and think I’m a crazy person, but the truth is that I know I will be great. I will be a name that people know as someone who did everything he could to change a broken system. People will know that I starved, I cried, I broke, I despaired, I screamed, I fought, I bled, I wrote until I ran out of ink, I thought, I spoke, I debated, I believed with every piece of my broken body that I could change the world.

I just explained my plans for getting cannabis legalized to a friend, and his response was, “Yeah, but realistically, when do you think that will happen?” The answer to his question lies in what we are willing to sacrifice to make it happen. I know I am willing to sacrifice everything to make it happen. I know I am willing to write every single person I can. I am willing to write senators, representatives, the president, my judge, my prosecutor, and every cannabis organization I can. I have a real plan that I know will work. I just need people to see my vision, to feel what I feel. 

While in the SHU, I wrote a 26-page business plan for a moving company when I get out of prison. I wrote another business plan that has become my life goal, my life dream, because I know it’s the only thing in life that truly allows me to follow the things I am most passionate about in the world. I wrote a 572-page novel by hand that I truly believe in and see becoming a generational type series. I received my first publishing offer for one of the things I’ve written while I was locked away in the SHU. I accomplished more goals in eight months behind a door than I have in my entire life. I have both five and ten-year plans for myself for the first time ever. I created a bond with my sister that is truly special. I came up with a belief in myself that cannot be dissuaded by typical doubt and apathy. I know who I am and where I want to be.

I think the crazy part, when I compare myself to other inmates, is that while I do plan on profiting from my plans, I care little about the amount of money I make for the rest of my life. What I lie awake dreaming about is being a person who is known for change. A person who is known for making this world a better place. A felon, a convict, a menace to society who overcame his circumstances and made this world a better, more loving place.

This is where I am two years into my prison bid. This is where I am after the hardest year of my life. My motto has been that together we can change the world. Well, now my motto is that together we will change the world. Join me. Believe in me. Share with me. Hope with me. Love with me. Make the world a better place every single day with me.

Thank you for taking the time to read my words. I truly do appreciate it.