A day in the life of Jaimie Anonymous

I don't even touch that poor excuse for a lunch they serve the inmates nowadays. In fact I have never considered myself an inmate. I prefer the phrase, "Guest of the Penitentiary". I have a good view of the yard from my room and I am treated well for the years of seniority I've got here.

Yesterday the warden stopped by and laid down a fudge cake under my door. He yelled out,

"Fudge you Jaimie!"

He walked away and my mind began to wander. The warden and most of the people on the outside have pretty happy lives. My life was too. I remember at five years old running through the grass in our suburban house and jumping in the slip n' slide. I remember my dad lifting me up and swinging me around. It was the greatest thrill, better than an amusement park ride.

He would put his nose to mine and rub it together saying,

"I love you little munchkin."

My dad was everything to me. He was the top of the world. I guess every child thinks the greatest of their dad, but my dad was really special. In the kitchen he welcomed troubled kids to our house. He fed them and taught them the truth. Sometimes they stayed in my room for months until they were ready to go out. These kids looked cool to me, but they were kids who were going through a lot of difficulties.

My dad always gave them a place to stay even if that meant I had to sleep on the floor. I didn't mind because I knew my dad loved me the most. The problem was that it all took a toll on my dad. I saw his face looking very tired. He told me never give up when you are tired. He said as long as you can breath then there is life to give.

What he didn't know was that he was in stage three brain cancer. When he found out he switched all of our food to organic food, but it was pretty much pointless. He knew the reality that he wouldn't make it. Even still he invited people to the house and he made sure they ate organic foods. He kept a list of people he was praying for and read their names out loud. My name was there. I remember him praying for me.

"Jaimie to be a great man."

That was his prayer for me but for the past 19 years I haven't seen anything but these prison walls.

After my father passed away I had a dream to be a doctor in cancer research. My mom was a teacher and she reminded me of my dream and told me to study. I tried to study but most of the time I was glued to video games or just slept. I was a mess and soon I got pretty fat. Kids at school made fun of me calling me the blob. I would sleep through classes and pretty much lost all self esteem.

That was until high school when I met Robby. I was a Freshman and he was a Sophomore. He was the one who invited me to the gym. This was the place that made me look like the man I wanted to be. I ran my butt off everyday and lifted more than my body weight. I was pumped. I loved the way I looked and I had a new dream. I would go to Hollywood and become a model and then an actor. For my mom's sack I finished high school first and right after graduation moved to LA to work for a modeling agency.

The modeling agency welcomed me and gave me a room. I was also invited to some slamming parties in houses I could only dream of visiting. These were the high rollers in LA and I was there. Of course people would get high at these parties, but no one told me how quick I would get hooked. Maybe I developed an addictive personality after I lost my dad, but medically speaking no human could do drugs like that without a physical addiction.

Instead of becoming the famous actor I wanted I became a junkie. I couldn't show up to auditions and if I did there was no way I could perform. I began to look ugly and act ugly. I was arrested in LA and my mom flew in to bail me out. This wasn't the only time, just the first.

Back home I quickly got into the drug crowd. I found my mom crying in her bedroom, but all I could see was her empty purse. She pulled my hand with such force and convinced me to sign up for a rehabilitation program. The first rehab was so stupid she sent me to another. It was high in the rocky mountains and so was I after I marched out. There was no way I could stand it. I was on the streets and then in jail.

Every hit promised happiness, but every hit just brought me to this cold cell. This place is called the house of corrections but they haven't managed to correct anything. It's just like life on the streets but with crappier meals. Everyone is getting high here, even the guards but no one is happy. After twelve years my body is beginning to ache. I think I might have a heart attack one night and no one will even care.

The one thing that keeps me alive is that I hear my dad's voice. I remember that once I was loved. Not as somebody's pet but as somebody's son. I remember his unconditional love. Days of withdrawal passed and I'd still love to get high but what I'd really like to do is what my dad has done for so many. I'd like to help kids that are in a mess like I was. I have no kitchen. All I have is my little cell, but when I get out I am not going back to the crack. I am going to get straightened up once and for all.

Oh.... What did the warden put in that fudge cake? This is messing with my brain.

This mess was written according to the inkwell promt from the eyes of Jamie Anonymous who really wants to reform his life and find happiness. This is a fictional story. Any similarities to real people living or dead is merely coincidental.

All pictures belong to @mineopoly.

If you too have a chocolate addiction please call the chocolate hotline now.

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