Boredom in prison is boring. In your head you can conjure up the perfect prison release story and live happily ever after; but it never quite works out that way. Prison is a place that offers nothing and when you step your foot out of it; there's only two roads to follow, ones left and the other is right. Right is a good one to follow; but both end up being left if you are released to no home, no job and no family. It doesn't make any odds which road you take; the same shit is at the end of both of them which is usually someones tatty sofa, and a sleeping bag, if you're lucky! I did OK in prison though; I learnt new skills and in my head I was determined to get to the "And he lived happily ever after" page; but the page was always missing. Never mind though, in my head whilst banged up lay on my bed; I was going to make it; turn my life around, stop being a pillock and make something of myself. When I had a toot of gear (heroin) boy I became an entrepreneur and the legal money making straight-head schemes I had going on where better than Richard Bransons! But it was all in my head. I didn't have a pot to piss in when I got released so the pipe dreams soon burst!
I won't tell you how many prison sentences I have served but every prison sentence was always my last. I dreaded being released from prison. Days leading up to it I'd be awaken all night and envious that my pad mate had another 6 months left. I loathed release day because I was being set free back in to a society that I didn't understand. I never understood the outside because I'd never lived in it how people should. Both my parents were smacked up junkies, dole dossers and theives. Normality is alien to me. What's normality? I was raised believing that coppers were scum, only posh people had jobs and probation officers were tossers! My Dad had a few jobs though; according to my Mum. I remember her taking me to visit him in a large building where he worked as a security guard. Like other parents he never came home at tea time and sat down to a meal. He worked away for months on end, sometimes a few years - in a prison workshop for the Queen!
Mum wasn't faithful and I had a number of "uncles" whilst Dad was banged up. They smoked the same "cigarettes" as Mum off a piece of foil too! Funnily enough, when I was 15 I tried one of Mum's "special cigarettes." That's where it all started. But fast forward it to now. I'm 37, and I am beginning to understand society, thanks to my probation officer. It's a long process and it's terrifying but baby steps. I hope one day in the future the book is in tact and I can turn the final page. From Ian ex offender