Posted at 09:34 on 19 Apr 2010 by Pandora / Blake
It's hard being in prison. I should know, I've been here since January 2007. My original sentence was only 12 months; in the meantime various misdemeanours must have earned me extra time, because I'm definitely still here. (This is why it's difficult for me to reply to emails, or to update my blog every day - it's hard to keep up when you have to beg or bribe minutes on a contraband iPhone from a cellmate.)
They force me to spend most of my time in solitary, doing stupid menial labour, or in my bunk, hiding from my cellmates who all hate me. Unjustly branded a "thief" in my first week, the guards stood me halfway up the ladder to my top bunk, bent me double over the top of it, and thrashed me until I confessed to stealing the lipstick that had gone missing from a fellow inmates' locker.
I hadn't stolen it. I held out as long as I could. In the end, after one strap had been broken on me and my arse was swollen and purple, I told them what they wanted to hear. I didn't cry, though. I never gave them that satisfaction.
Later, in solitary, I had a long time to dwell on the unfairness of my situation. And since then I've had even longer to plan my revenge...
(Photos from Bars and Stripes via The Spanking Spot)