by JacobUnlimited

The following questions came from readers after posting Jacob’s Project Unlimited story, “I was Too Afraid to Ask for Help.” If you missed his story you can access it here. This is the final post in the series: “Why People Wind Up in prison.” The next Project Unlimited series will focus on Forgiveness.

Disclaimer: The following words are based on Jacob’s personal experience and perspective in the hopes of contributing to a larger conversation of “How people wind up in prison.” His responses should not be taken as professional advice, but rather information to ponder. 

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Everything Wasn’t Okay

What external factors played into your experience of feeling helpless/hopeless at that time?

There were, unfortunately, a lot, which I learned is not surprising. Very rarely does one external incident/factor/moment drastically make someone overwhelmed with hopelessness. Instead, it’s a culmination of events.

Parents’ Separation

For me, it began when my parents separated when I was seven. Their issues exposed me to economic insecurity, the loss of a stable household, role reversals where I provided emotional support for a parent, and feeling insignificant. Additionally, my relationship with my father became strained.

Bullied

Later, I was bullied in middle school and started the sixth grade late because I was in the hospital recovering from an ATV accident. When I returned, it seemed like everyone had changed and cliqued up. Now, being the outsider, I struggled to fit in. It didn’t help that I was overweight and struggled with my budding sexuality. Instead of facing these issues, I hid, waiting for it all to pass. This passivity fed into my helplessness.

Mom’s Illness

To further complicate life, my mom became very sick the summer between my sophomore and junior years. She was ultimately diagnosed with scleroderma. My father, who had moved back into the house a few years prior, didn’t understand how sick she really was. I’ll never forget the day that things came to a head. I argued with him that Mom needed to go to the doctor. Our argument reached the point where I ended up punching him, sending him flying over the couch, and breaking one of my fingers in the process. He stood up, yelled at me, and left for work.

I ended up calling a family friend who helped me trick my mom into the car because, by that point, her illness caused her to hallucinate. If we mentioned the word “doctor,” she would go into a frenzy, telling us that she didn’t want to go and that she wasn’t sick. That was one of the reasons my father didn’t push the issue. So I told her we were going to the beach and my friend and I hoisted her into the car. When we turned onto the road leading to the doctor’s office though, she freaked out. Thankfully, I had called ahead so nurses were standing by to help calm her. 

The Next Moment Seared itself into my Memory. 

We placed her in a chair in one of the rooms, and when the doctor opened the door, he took one look at my mom and said, “I’m calling an ambulance. Those toes are coming off.”

I held my mom in the chair while the nurses prepared her for the ambulance. When it arrived, they strapped her to the gurney and moved her into the ambulance as she screamed for me not to let them take her. That was her last memory. She never recalled the hospital stay, the lead up to the surgery, the recovery and the continued hallucinations, her birthday, anything. Two months later she awoke, confused and in pain.

But I remember everything, sitting with her, clutching her hand as the hospital staff prepped her for surgery and her looking me in the eyes and saying, “Please don’t let them take my toes.” 

“Everything will be okay,” I lied.

But Everything Wasn’t Okay

That summer my depression, despair, hopelessness, whatever you want to call it, consumed me. After visiting my mother one time, I stopped going to the hospital. She was still hallucinating from the pain, and I couldn’t bear to see her degrade.

Instead, I stayed home. I stopped bathing and going outside. I felt so invisible, so forgotten during those months. And so numb that the absence of feeling became a permanent fixture. 

No one asked if I was okay. No one checked up on me. And that, in turn, fed my despair. I felt forgotten, lost. As I would sit through the night, I felt the hours drip by. I saw time move while I sat as an outsider, stuck in one place. And when I was forced back into time to interact with the painful world, I reacted with anger. The day my dad brought my mom home, I yelled at her, “Go back!” 

Go back to the hospital where they (not me) have to deal with you!

Go back to the hospital where they (not me) can do what is necessary to take care of you, to make you better! 

Go back there so I don’t have to face the fact that my mother is no longer the invincible woman she has always portrayed herself as!

That year I earned my first F. 

And, that year I learned that if teachers, my parents, or other responsible adults noticed that I was no longer the same person, they did nothing about it. Or if they did, it was hardheartedly. My experiences my junior year were an extension of the experiences I felt during summer break sitting alone in my house while my mom was in the hospital.

More Lost than Ever

Still, I somehow managed to find my way into college, only to realize that I was more lost than ever.

I had no idea what I was doing or why I was in college besides the fact that everyone in my life told me that I was supposed to go. And I did not know what I wanted to do after college. At the time in my life when I was supposed to be the most free and able to explore, I felt trapped and locked in. 

Because I never dealt with the despair from my childhood and my mother’s illness, I faced the realities of adulthood, finding my way, and the emotional ups and downs of life as a gay man, unprepared.

The culmination of all my trauma and inability to navigate the complex emotional, mental, and physical landscape of life pushed me into where I am now, at Tomoka Correctional Institution. 

Scared of the Unknown

Looking back what could a parent or guardian have done in the past to help his/her child navigate depression and despair?

This is a really good question and one that my parents and I discussed after my arrest. In short, pay attention to what your child is saying and how they act and respond accordingly. Those small acts can help both parent and child develop ways to navigate life’s hurdles.

You’re not Depressed

I’ll never forget an argument I had with my father my junior year of high school when I began failing classes. “It’s because I’m depressed, Dad.” He stopped, blinked, looked at me and said, “No you’re not.”

To his credit, it was 2010 and depression and mental health weren’t talked about and understood as they are today. After my arrest he admitted that he should have taken to heart what I had said. 

Sheltered

Essentially though, I was sheltered, and depression added to this as it kept me from trying new things. If I told my parents that I didn’t want to do something, they obliged. I was raised to be a passive consumer of the world instead of an active producer and participant.

For example, my parents never had the “college talk” with me, or took me to different college campuses, or explained the differences between colleges, or any of the other minutiae that teens need to understand before applying to college. Instead, they expected that I would understand what to do because, at that time, I was still a good student.

It was almost like I was a toy car that someone pushed down a hill expecting to reach the bottom, only I hit a rock and flipped over, and no one noticed. This is when my depression took over, and ultimately, I didn’t tour or apply to any colleges. When my mom finally realized this, I had already begun my senior year. She was livid. And failed to ask why I was procrastinating. I imagine her sickness played into all this.

Regardless, I needed experiences to help me discover things about myself by going outside my comfort zone. I truly believe that parents should do this for their children, especially if their child doesn’t cope well with certain ideas or gets upset or angry when certain topics are broached. It may be because they’re scared of the unknown. I know I was. In those situations, I would advise parents to help their kid engage with the situation and not avoid it.

Exploring Therapy

Finally, before I was arrested, I began therapy and my mom would ask time and again, “When are you going to call me in so I can talk too?” At the time it made me mad because, in my mind, she was trying to make the situation and therapy about her. Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I realize that she wanted to help in her own way. But her method involved invading a space that I was still trying to understand while, at the same time, attempting to focus the space on her struggles because of my issues. Even though you may be affected by what’s going on, don’t make your child’s therapy about you. 

And when working through therapeutic goals set boundaries but allow them to be malleable. There may be instances when your child needs to be left alone. But there also may be times when you, the parent, need to work with the child, not against them, to implement those goals. 

I know this was a long answer, but I hope this helps if you find yourself in a similar situation as my family and me.

It Gets Better

What would you say to encourage young men feeling unable or afraid or too alone to ask for help?

I’m going to steal a line here, but it’s apt: “It Gets Better.” 

Keep taking one step in front of the other; and seek help. You’re not alone in your struggles. Even those people around you who seem to “have it all together,” don’t. They struggle too. Asking for help doesn’t make you unworthy, broken, or anything less. And sure, you might not be perfect (whatever that means). But no one is. Growing up we’re taught to exemplify certain aspects or people. But those aspects and people are dynamic, with their ups and downs. We just see the ups, rarely their downs.

Ask for Help

A good friend of mine makes a lot of money, raised a beautiful family, and is beloved by many people. If I simply looked at him the way I learned growing up, I would say I should be just like him. But if I want to be just like him, then I should also be going to therapy, just like him. Yes, even someone as successful as him goes to therapy, and has been going to therapy for years now. Why? Because he needs guidance through difficult times.

People—real people—will not judge you when you express yourself. Whatever is within you, whatever your issue is, whatever is causing you pain, there is someone who understands. They may not have lived your same experience, but they’ve struggled too. And you will feel better once you start talking and working on yourself. It won’t happen the first day, or maybe even the first few months. But one day, if you keep at it, taking one step at a time, you’ll realize that you have changed, and that things, even small things, have gotten better.

Keep Getting Up

Finally, never stop trying. I failed a lot. At times I felt like I took one step forward up a mountain and then slid back to the bottom. That’s okay. And it’s okay to feel sad (mad/frustrated/disappointed/confused) during those times. But you CAN get up, brush yourself off, and push forward. Even if you keep sliding back down to the bottom, keep getting up. 

Keep going. 

Get to where you want to be.

Mentoring Matters

Is there anything you can identify that would have empowered you to make different choices? (e.g. what efforts would best support youth in similar circumstances?)

I believe having a mentor to help me engage with the world, provide stable support when making decisions, and helping me discover what I wanted to do would have empowered me to make different choices. 

When I was arrested, I had zero control over anything in my life. I didn’t pay any bills, work, or do anything that would help me prepare for living life as a single adult. I’m embarrassed to admit that I only discovered how to access my bank account at age 20, two weeks before my arrest.

And I wish I had known someone who could have helped me find a foothold into the music industry. I possess zero musical ability, but I love music. Even if I didn’t choose music as a career, I would at least have had the experience to help me know what I wanted to do. In college I tried to decide what I wanted to do, but I didn’t know because I had no experiences that could help define myself.

Ultimately, had I had someone to help me experience and navigate life starting at an early age, I believe I would have had the tools capable of more successfully navigating adulthood.

Thank you for reading.

Here’s the full series: “Why People Wind Up in Prison”:

• “I Didn’t Know How to Ask for Help” by JacobUnlimited
• “Edmund, a story about drinking” by MichaelUnlimited
• “I Should Have Just Been a Kid” by KennethUnlimited
• “It’s Not Hard to Wind Up in Prison” by RobertUnlimited
• “What is Prison?” by BrianUnlimited
• “Time to Get Smart About Ignorance” by RomanoUnlimited
• “Through the Window Pains of Change: Incentivized Prisons” by DebbyUnlimited
• “Incentivized Prisons: an Insider’s POV” by RomanoUnlimited