David did something very bad. He killed himself, and I don't know why...
The last time I saw David was approximately three or four months ago. At the time he was living in the E-North cell block where the prison's "Intermediate Care Program (ICP)" is located. ICP is one of two special programs at this facility for those who are mentally challenged, who need individual care and attention, as opposed to those who live in the general population, like myself. During weekday afternoons, however, I work in E-North as an aid. I help care for these men.
I've known David for several years. During this period he and I had countless conversations about everything from religion to legal matters to current events. He was well educated and even served as a volunteer tutor to help his fellow inmates with reading and writing. David also wrote short science fiction stories, none of which he ever tried to publish. It was mostly a hobby with him, and he was working on a book as well. David had completed several chapters of it.
In addition, David spent many a day in the prison's law library fighting his case while he vehemently proclaimed his innocence. He'd been charged with sexual abuse of a minor who was also a relative. Overall he was serving a relatively short sentence for the crime. And David only had a year or two left to do before his scheduled release date.
David was a large man in both height and weight. He was obese. He was weak physically and emotionally. With his fat face speckled with lots of freckles, and his awkward walk as he'd lumber along the prison's corridors, his heavy head tilted either to the left or right, all served to make him a routine target for bullies. Both inmates and some of the staff made fun of him. David, a non-fighter, was the classic "Momma's Boy."
Then, one day, several months ago, David was suddenly removed from his cell in E-North's ICP and abruptly placed into Protective Custody. I think that because of his paranoia, he may have felt threatened by someone.
However, David's biggest struggle was with his mind. Crippling bouts of depression would overtake him on occasion. Whenever this happened he'd lie on his bunk for long periods of time with a blanket over his head. I'd try to talk to him. But he was like a turtle hidden inside his shell. At best David would make a few grunting sounds from beneath the covers to let me know he was still alive. He also experienced a lot of crying spells. It wasn't unusual for me to show up for work to find him sitting in ICP's dayroom with tears streaming down his face. David was a man who lived in a state of perpetual grief.
Yet David was a brilliant and talkative person when not under one of those dark clouds of despair. He wasn't the average convict either. David was a gentle giant. He liked to watch a lot of television as well as play board games like Sorry and Battleship. He was also an avid UNO player.
In many ways, David was like a big kid. Yet as far as the prison's administration was concerned, he was a chronic complainer and pest. David was a regular at the facility's Grievance Office. He'd file official grievances for just about anything. From the kind of pens he wanted that the staff in the package room would not allow him to have, to meals that were cold when they should've been hot. David was quick to protest. I think this was his way of venting pent up anger. Furthermore, around the time of his removal from ICP, David had recently been "hit" for more time by the parole board. His appeal in criminal court seemed to go nowhere, too.
Frankly, I do not know if he was truly innocent of the crime he was charged with, or if he was in denial. But he had a mother who loved him. She was, according to David, eagerly awaiting his homecoming. Both he and his mom thought it was going to be just a "mater of time."
David spoke often about his mother. She was a part of many of his conversations. Being elderly, she needed her son at home. David, of course, never married or even dated. His mother was his life. Now, however, I shudder when I think of her and the pain, anguish and devastation she has because of her son's inexplicable death.
David must have given up hope. At the time of his suicide he was living in an area of the facility where there was no one to talk to or show him any concern. Meanwhile, I and my two co-workers were at the opposite end of the compound far from the isolated Protective Custody Unit. And the prison's Mental Health staff have their heavy caseloads with plenty of other men in need of help. Thus David had to deal with his fears and his depression all by himself.
Now David's dead. His death may have also destroyed his mom. I hope not.
D.B.
I've known David for several years. During this period he and I had countless conversations about everything from religion to legal matters to current events. He was well educated and even served as a volunteer tutor to help his fellow inmates with reading and writing. David also wrote short science fiction stories, none of which he ever tried to publish. It was mostly a hobby with him, and he was working on a book as well. David had completed several chapters of it.
In addition, David spent many a day in the prison's law library fighting his case while he vehemently proclaimed his innocence. He'd been charged with sexual abuse of a minor who was also a relative. Overall he was serving a relatively short sentence for the crime. And David only had a year or two left to do before his scheduled release date.
David was a large man in both height and weight. He was obese. He was weak physically and emotionally. With his fat face speckled with lots of freckles, and his awkward walk as he'd lumber along the prison's corridors, his heavy head tilted either to the left or right, all served to make him a routine target for bullies. Both inmates and some of the staff made fun of him. David, a non-fighter, was the classic "Momma's Boy."
Then, one day, several months ago, David was suddenly removed from his cell in E-North's ICP and abruptly placed into Protective Custody. I think that because of his paranoia, he may have felt threatened by someone.
However, David's biggest struggle was with his mind. Crippling bouts of depression would overtake him on occasion. Whenever this happened he'd lie on his bunk for long periods of time with a blanket over his head. I'd try to talk to him. But he was like a turtle hidden inside his shell. At best David would make a few grunting sounds from beneath the covers to let me know he was still alive. He also experienced a lot of crying spells. It wasn't unusual for me to show up for work to find him sitting in ICP's dayroom with tears streaming down his face. David was a man who lived in a state of perpetual grief.
Yet David was a brilliant and talkative person when not under one of those dark clouds of despair. He wasn't the average convict either. David was a gentle giant. He liked to watch a lot of television as well as play board games like Sorry and Battleship. He was also an avid UNO player.
In many ways, David was like a big kid. Yet as far as the prison's administration was concerned, he was a chronic complainer and pest. David was a regular at the facility's Grievance Office. He'd file official grievances for just about anything. From the kind of pens he wanted that the staff in the package room would not allow him to have, to meals that were cold when they should've been hot. David was quick to protest. I think this was his way of venting pent up anger. Furthermore, around the time of his removal from ICP, David had recently been "hit" for more time by the parole board. His appeal in criminal court seemed to go nowhere, too.
Frankly, I do not know if he was truly innocent of the crime he was charged with, or if he was in denial. But he had a mother who loved him. She was, according to David, eagerly awaiting his homecoming. Both he and his mom thought it was going to be just a "mater of time."
David spoke often about his mother. She was a part of many of his conversations. Being elderly, she needed her son at home. David, of course, never married or even dated. His mother was his life. Now, however, I shudder when I think of her and the pain, anguish and devastation she has because of her son's inexplicable death.
David must have given up hope. At the time of his suicide he was living in an area of the facility where there was no one to talk to or show him any concern. Meanwhile, I and my two co-workers were at the opposite end of the compound far from the isolated Protective Custody Unit. And the prison's Mental Health staff have their heavy caseloads with plenty of other men in need of help. Thus David had to deal with his fears and his depression all by himself.
Now David's dead. His death may have also destroyed his mom. I hope not.
D.B.
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