I’ve been confined a total of 4 times.

Twice in county, & twice in TDCJ. My first time in county was a short term stay for suicide watch because I punched a wall so psych said, “I tried to hurt myself.” They the officers had me strip down to nothing, & gave me a lime green velcro gown that resembled a full body bullet proof vest. I never used it as a gown, instead I used it as a cover. My stay didn’t last longer than 24 hours. During the stay I only remember them removing the matt so I slept on concrete shivering from the a/c. After being cleared they the officers wheeled me restrained to a wheel chair back into general population.

The second time was about three weeks I was labeled assultive because of a fight with an officer. I tried to plead my innocence even with multiple witnesses stating she was harasing me & threw the first blow I just fought back in self defense. Regardless though I was now “agressive” and a “danger to them so after being cleaned from the pepper spray I was placed into the cell I stayed in until I pulled chain to TDCJ. During this stay there where times I thought I wasnt going to mentally be okay. Only seeing a face of an officer during a routine walk & a visit two times from my stepmother. Other than that I was completely isolated. In county there was no such things as short of staff and people behind bars werent given razors to keep for their own property. To limit us from pysically harming ourselves. The only type of harm you could endure was mental. And man was that tough. 

Days started feeling shorter & shorter. When I was population I believed there wasnt enough books to keep me sane. In confinement though I found that contradicting as they became my release from the five by ten cell I was housed at.

After recently expeircing one of the hardest years of my life with the death of my daughter, my other children placed in foster care & me freshly starting a fifteen year sentence I never truly got to grieve as I constantly stayed involved in something to keep my mind from wandering to those dark places. Now being placed in solitary with nothing but time trauma quickly engulfed my mind, coming to surface.

I remember having the craziest thoughts like “what if the night my daughter died, did I die too?” & now Im just living in my own personal hell? Then to thoughts of me giving myself brain damage so I wouldn’t have to remember all the pain and trauma from the last six years. Being confined like an animal, no I wouldn’t wish that on nobody else and honestly looking back I honestly believe if it wasnt for Tarrant County’s strict guidelines I would have ended my life then. In my cell I know the pain I was expeiricing emotionally. The next cell to me though I remember a lady snapping screaming “I can’t take this anymore.” And she began to scream for a spell that lasted what felt like 6-8 hours.

    An officer during that time peeked through my door with a grin on her face as she asked “You in here losing your mind too.” with no response on my end she walked away laughing I realized our pain was their human. It was a game to them. Like being placed inside of that cell I no longer exsisted to the outside world. In jail, inside of jail with my mind trapped deeper than behind these walls. Looking back now I wish psych would have helped more. Down there for punishment, or not I believe I should have be educated on what I was to experience & how to cope. I shouldn’t have had to ask for it either. Instead I was out of sight, out of mind.

The day I was told to pack up, that I was catching chain pure anxiety felt like I was about to combust, or even throw up. Eventually being reunited with the world catching chain to TDCJ. The suffering was over, or so I thought.

Once I arrived at my home unit Lane Murray, I was mishoused and placed once again in solitary confinment. A building called J2. Lane Murray was obviously accepting more women they could house thus leaving me in J2 for six days. Completely uneducated on this building, the people, and the unit I was again anxious & nervous all over again I talked to no one other that the guards with trays, and rank to see UCC to get classified on the unit. Honestly the days went fast, although I was dealing with  severe tooth infection causing pains to radiate from my face to my chest. Each guard that passed I begged to see medical and would brush me off. The next day I’d believe was the day I would be rehoused. Feeling defeated. I am a G2 general population so why accept me, if you cannot properly house me. On my last day around 8:00pm admiting defeat for yet another day I laid back on my cot & began to drift back to skeep.

Interrupted with, “Potts pack up, you’re leaving. Here is your new housing assignment”

Another small victory won. Suffering once again over.

After moving a few months had passed roughly three. It was a few days before Christmas I was told I was given a job change & needed to start immediately. I was told to go to J2 the solitary confinment building. Following instructions I found myself standing back inside the building I spent my first week on this unit mishoused.

Meeting my new boss, The Srgt of the building. She gave me the run down with the do’s & do nots of my new job title. “J2 SSI” in other words a Janitor for Solitary Confinment. My first day was overwhelming. Quickly introduced to 128 diffrent women from all over texas. I learned with building housed women under “pre-hearing detention.” others in transit over-flow like I was myself when I first came to this unit to some for CDO which is suicide watch. A revolving door of diffrent women. Than you have what I call “The regualurs” which are housed women who are housed for two plus years here in seg. J2.

That first week I learned my duties which were cleaning the entire building that was a cellblock with three pods. Cleaning the guards restroom, the rec cages, preparing and separating diet, and regular trays, including gluten free.

Some days were good. Others were extremely long. Working for the officers had advantages. Like their trust, free world food, cleaning supplies. Small things that were huge to people behind bars. The number one no-no was traffic & trading. Which was like passing a letter between two diffrent cells to other bigger things lke passing commisary item.

Everyday I tried to practice telling the ladies no, that I didnt want to get into trouble. Even joking that God gave me this job to give me a backbone, 7 teach me how to say no. But I just didnt have it in my vocabulary. A fun fact about me is I have a dad that spent most my life incarcerated. During his stay he was considered affiliated with a gang and remained in solitary confinment for 5+ years. So in my eyes if I treated anyone of these ladies negatively, it was like I was treating my father in that manner. To me we are already in prison, and these ladies were inside prison inside of prison. Any any point in time that could be me so I remained humble. To this day I still tell myself I was to human for that job.

Most officers would pass if you caught them on a good day. Heck they were “going that way anyways”. Yes working with the guards had its advantages. It was a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours if you do as I say”. Always keeping in the back of my head that no matter how cool they were it would always be me before it was them.

Working on that side I seen the most. Some guards worse than others. Sexual remarks, dashing the women behind their locked celldoor with water if they pissed them off. Offering an extra roll of toilet paper if you “showed your titties”.

Then you have the power hungry laws. If you run into a incarcerated female that made them angry in the past or that day, the guard will give you outrageous orders like “if you give them a tray, I got a cell right next to them for you” or “Cell 28 gets no toilet paper understood? Giving you a stern look until you nod in agreement. In my head reciting “It’ll be you, before them” A reminder I am to human for this job.

The pain I felt wasnt just for myself it more so became about the women there. All my life I’ve dealt with suicide attempts until one day I was so hurt when I found one girl clinging to life. Even though we aren’t suppose to stop at their cells I found one girl asking for help tha she couldn’t feeling anything & couldn’t move.

I quickly went an got help. Being told to clean herself I’m not even exaggerating there wasnt any part of the ground in her cell that wasnt covered in a puddle of blood because within the last few hours she spent trying to cut her way out of this world & out of the never ending battle of depression she was dealing with. That night I didn’t notice how effected I was until I went to sleep that night dreaming about the blood. We think why didn’t she get help it wasnt until my last attempt I realized it isnt until its to late never knowing you need the help.

With the corruption, & lack of mental stability there is so much more I wish to speak about but the fear of speaking out because I am still an “offender” to them & my life, safety, & freedom is in the palm of their hand & retaliation is real.