Ode to civilization after prison: I was inside for a couple of decades and it ate my brain
Prose-poem by Cathee, performed at the Vines Festival in Vancouver, 2022
I’m confused now. Fortunate entry into unfortunate times makes beauty seen everywhere but in a dream. The dream of being in the outside, outside of the normal, inside of the city outside myself is…too many directions. Side to side if time permits. Up and down? Never.
Serotonin, Norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors are my shoes…allowing me to walk…albeit with a lot of ripping oozing blisters
I’m nervous now. Nervous to know, what will i say, sound like, behave as…who am I other than the inmate, the criminal who did things in places and times…of being another entity? Will I get fired, lose friends, make the paper while not being safer than inside the walls of prison violence, shame, and cloistered control?
I’m blank now. I can’t remember. My notes are my lovers as without them, I’m mute, my life moot, for I just won’t be. My appointments flee my mystery calendar and nothing scheduled is safe. The people I meet…or don’t…can’t rely on my prison-addled grey matter to take the lead and guide my body to its designated task…mostly. Resend that link? What do you mean I WORK TODAY??? I don’t remember why I said that (did I say that?) and if I call the “Piper” the dog “Helen” ONE> MORE> TIME>
I’m scared now. Who will find out what I am, who I’ve done, where I’ve been…if i can remember. No problem. Google will remind me. Thanks google. Always there in times of greed, need, not enough weed and the brain bleed that allows for the liquid emotion to flow…
Down my spine, hidden from the handlers and the government…nevermind…same thing. On to pseudonym #6! Maybe this name will fool EVERYBODY.
I’m dumb now. I don’t know how to do simple things. What’s this thing or that thing? Why can’t I figure out the fucking hand dryers in the public bathrooms? And when I do, they blow disgusting hand water everywhere. It’s added to other vile hand water making a post primordial soup of covidicus maximus that gives me the finger. On purpose. Toilets used to be able to suck down a ham sandwich. NOW…I find myself running, shrieking and faking a seizure to create a diversion away from the toilet I plugged at the mall.
I’m embarrassed now. Why is everyone so skinny? Where did my brethren of fat people go? I’m looking at the 90 year old guy on the bus thinking “This guy would actually like me”. Or would he? I have RBF and a self debasing mind. I am a catch. Oh and also…catch me. I think I’m nothing.
I’m fearful now. Have you seen the stairs at Granville Station? I’m catapulted through time and space when I take escalators and elevators that smell like…well, that concludes the bodily function portion of our journey. Things are different. I’ve kept the security of the prison deep down to pull it out later, in the dark, to cuddle with when I’m wailing to the universe about stories of loss and guilt.
I am peaceful now. I turn my face to the wind and rain and catch the freedom on my lips. I wake with meaning and purpose even though it seems like a lot…it’s a lot of pooling warmth…when I think about it…
I am comfortable now. I have flowing dresses and sweet shoes and an internet full of things to read. I have a squashmallow, Unicorn Kitty in which I can lay my head and talk about the stories of greatness and amazing moments that are prevalent in the world today. I think she agrees. She’s smiling.
I am thinking now. I sit on my bed in the morning and think about EVERYTHING in a way that dissects and analyzes the nature of amazing things, as opposed to how I’m going to survive that day. I have ideas about writing plays and going to school, doing art and re-upping my spotify playlists. I think about dog training and slurpees and my paper on the carceral continuum. My brain lingers on the possibility of seeing my mama and sleepovers and…it’s endless. Ideas, ideas, onomatopoeias, Adidas. There’s no way I spelled onomatopoeia right. My computer is a liar. As is Google maps. I think about that as well.
I am grateful now. I play with my little two year old grandson and wonder what I did to deserve this. Writing this piece and a paper and my journal…with alcohol based pens…
I have a job with dogs and get cuddles from little beings who love, despite everything. I teach them and their eyes glisten when they get it. The rewards of watching Netflix and eating ice cream laying down is indescribable…and the people I know, and love, and cherish, who support me are…present for me, hear me and stand by me. It can’t be true, can it?
I am tired now. Tired in a way of accomplishing the impossible and facing my fears. Tired in the unusual task of navigating normies and transit. Tired as in, “fall asleep when I hit the pillow instead of planning the next day’s survival and figuring out what I need to be careful of”, tired.
I am angry now. What the fuck was the last couple decades about? How did this patriarchal behemoth become my comfort zone, my home, my love, my consistent predictable, inconsistent unpredictable presence. Why did I feel bad if I hurt someone’s feelings who were hurting me…staff and such… and why in the whole vast universe did I bring many of these neurosis and idiosyncrises out with me. I think I needed something to put in the basket on my bike.
I am happy now. Would you look at the colour of this dress! I mean…colours are everywhere and they’re not just dreams…they’re my dream! I have reading glasses (green, yellow) and sheets that are purple. I have an orange bra and the prettiest neon green phone case. The flowers…the flowers are otherworldly and fresh and free! They grow with abandon and I want to hug them. The forests are vibrant and the smells are eternal. Have you ever smelled something so amazing that you couldn’t inhale for long enough? That’s trees, water, nighttime in Belcarra. That’s the spray park at sapperton and running the dogs off leash in Pacific Spirit Park, where the moss is softer than any bed I’ve slept on for the last 20 some odd years.
I am lucky now. Lucky I haven’t taken my own life and lucky I like the smell of exhaust. Lucky I can feel and lucky that sometimes I cannot. Lucky to be able to be outside after 10:00 and lucky to hear live music. I’m lucky to be part of this community and a master at finding the beauty that’s all around me. I am lucky I love people and lucky that I love love.
I am a confused, nervous, blank, scared, dumb, embarrassed, fearful, peaceful, comfortable, thinking, grateful, tired, happy, lucky, person.
I am almost home now.
Danielle Betteridge, 2015’ish
Joint Effort Collective 