This is Comrade Pitt calling in from Red Onion Prison in the state of Virginia. This commentary is about mental health, titled, “Mental Health: Breaking the Stigma by Sharing Our Stories of Vulnerability” and I want to start with a quote by Mumia Abu-Jamal: “Prisons transcend what people who are not behind the wall can imagine. The U.S. is setting a new standard for desensitizing society to inhumane treatment, especially with regards to solitary confinement, because it methodically kills all that is human within us–our most basic need for social interaction–and drives prisoners to the abyss of insanity.” That’s by Mumia Abu-Jamal.
So, I’ve been incarcerated for 14 years, and out of those 14 years, eight was spent in solitary confinement. That’s a majority of my incarceration. It was spent in isolation. While I was in solitary confinement, oftentimes I would go outside recreation, escorted by dual guards, handcuffed and shackled. Once outside, I’d then be locked in an individual dog cage, as were my peers, where we talk about what was going in the units, sports, politics, TV shows, etc. Mental health wasn’t a topic to discuss, despite all the facts that those conditions of confinement we’re subjected to were explicitly to deteriorate our mental health. It’s hard enough for one to be incarcerated in prison general population. For those in solitary confinement, each day is a fight to maintain their sanity.
The conditions of solitary confinement are well known to create or worsen ones anxiety, depression, paranoia, irritability, withdrawal, hallucination, hypersensitivity, self-mutilation, thoughts of suicide, etc. Given all that is widely known of the negative effects of solitary confinement, it begs to raise the question, why do prisons continue such practice, which has been deemed cruel and unusual punishment? The answer is relatively simple. Such brutality is not only consistent with the history of America, but it’s as American as apple pie. Other than solitary confinement, another example is the death penalty. A lot of innocent men and women have been wrongfully convicted and murdered by the state and federal prison system, while many continue to languish in death row, despite all evidence proving they’re innocent. Case in point, Kevin Cooper in the state of California.
In my personal experience, the worst part of being in solitary confinement was year after year going by without ever knowing when I will be released. Upon my arrival at Red Onion Prison in 2012–which is Virginia’s supermax prison–I was reminded that I’d never again be general population. So, as the years went by, inevitably, I started to believe it. Nonetheless, after eight years I was finally released. When I got to general population, it was first time in nearly a decade that I was around so many people, movement in all directions, the noise and the chaos of a prison environment. Instantly I noticed how uncomfortable and overwhelmed I was around so many people, to the point I was self-isolated and withdrawn. I was constantly anxious and sporadically depressed.
In the midst of my attempt to readjust to my being general population after such an extensive period of time, my grandfather passed away. I was under tremendous stress, yet even though I was no longer in solitary confinement, what I was subjected to continued to harm me: the assault by 13 guards while I was in handcuffs, the electric stun gun, being strapped down and left immobile for days, deprivation of meals outside recreation, shower, and violent cell extraction, incommunicado from family, friends, and comrades; vivid images of when I observed a peer’s lifeless body being cut out of the cell after he had committed suicide.
All of these things, plus more, were taking a toll on my mental health. Because I didn’t want those closest to me to worry, I would suppress my vulnerability and what I was going through, and dealt with it on my own. You know, I externally project an image of someone who is strong, but deep inside I was suffering in silence. It’s a terrible feeling to suppress, even deny your own pain and feelings. You constantly worry about what would happen if you release and share what you’re going through. You worry about your vulnerability being seen as some form of weakness, or you worry about people’s perception of you may change. Whatever it could be, none of it’s worth the psychological toll it takes on you.
At the risk of sounding contradictory, I also fathom why most people, specifically those in solitary confinement and/or prison general population, are fainthearted to seek help for their mental health. I understand in many cases, talking to the prison’s mental health professionals, and I use this term “professional” loosely, can be used against you in some capacity at some point of one’s incarceration. Therefore, this legitimate hesitancy to not discuss all mental health with anyone is really a survival mechanism. I’ve long learned that talking to those closest to me about my struggles has been cathartic and therapeutic in many ways. Anxiety and sporadic depression is something I deal with. I acknowledge that solitary confinement has had an impact on my mental health. No one subjected to years in solitary confinement comes out of it unharmed.
Here’s what George Jackson said about this: “There are only two types of people released from these places, the rebels and the broken. The broken are so damaged that they will never again be suitable members of any sort of social unit. Everything that is good when they enter the joint is gone when they leave. It brings out the very best in a person or destroys them entirely, but none are unaffected.” It certainly brought the best out of me, but I wasn’t unaffected either. Whether incarcerated or not, we all go through things in life. Some events create wonderful memories, whereas others leave us traumatized, and prison is traumatizing, but it does nothing to ameliorate one’s mental health, but merely exacerbates it. I share my story in hopes to encourage others to share theirs, to know that mental health isn’t some taboo conversation. We’re all in this struggle together. I share our stories and educate the public and break the stigma on mental health.
All power to the people. This is Comrade Pitt, the RIBPP, Revolutionary Intercommunal Black Panther Party, Minister of Labor, and also with the DC IWOC [Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee] and IWOC steering committee. Thank you for your time.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
