ITS A STRANGE STRANGE WORLD WE LIVE IN MASTER JACK

In Alaska the Supreme Court ruled that indigent clients may not make decisions about their appeals. Public defender clients can have no input into their appeals. No due process seems to be the Alaskan way. So, I needed to file an appeal and I had the agency which I needed to file the appeal about writing the thing and of course they aren't going to admit they prevented me from getting due process, let alone railroaded me. This happened on many levels including lying to me to get me to take a plea(notice I did not use the word deal). The other thing is the only information which can be used for an appeal can only come from the original case. No new evidence can be used. They prevented any evidence from being introduced. I told them what they needed and how to get it. On Two different occasions they told me I was going to be my own expert witness and they would call on me. It didn't happen that way. One time this was after I was promised expert witnesses and they decided I would not have them. With the first PD with alcohol issues I was trying to object when she should have and the judge would glare at me and growl "You have an attorney." Are you sure about that? He did not stop me from speaking, but he tried. No matter how I complained about the problems with my attorney verbally or written he did not heed a word I said about her having "a Problem". I was of course very disturbed from the PTSD. When someone has PTSD and then ends up having to deal with a corrupt legal system it makes them very ill. If I was in that court room in Nome now I would fire The public pretender agency and then have a trial, which is what I wanted to begin with. I held out a long time, but they just canceled one hearing after another on both sides making it clear I could not get justice. A trial was prevented by lies and collusion. They wrote two appeals which were both turned down. Boy, that was hard to predict. If I had the evidence the appeal court judges had I would have turned them down also. The third appeal is called Post Conviction Relief. New evidence can be presented and I am writing it myself. There is a law in Alaska that after the regular appeals are turned down the sentence has to be served. So, I had to go back again to serve a sentence.


For that charge my reduced sentence was 45 days. The DOC reduces it to 30 days for good behavior. I figured I would piss them off and be there 45 days, if I survived, what with all my grievances and declarations of violations of my 8th amendment rights, violations of the DOC policies and all. From the time I was released from being wrongfully imprisoned I told them that should count for the sentence. The PDs told me three times it was illegal for the DOC to substitute the time I had already spent because it was unrelated to the other charge. I of course was livid. Of course I thought since they were attorneys and understood the law they were telling me the truth. Maya Angelou said, "If, someone shows you who they are, Believe them." I should have listened to her.

Just before I was suppose to report to serve the sentence I had been living in a cabin in Homer but, I could not afford the propane on my social security and had been without heat, etc. for months. I put my things in storage and paid some bills and had about $70 left. I would have another check before I got out, so I was not worried. I then went to the court house in Kenai and reported to a state trooper.

I had contacted several high ups at the DOC, senators, and the governor about being wrongfully imprisoned and the consequences. I was just blown off of course. Now I was determined to find out what I had to do to get my medications this time. I went on a calling campaign of the commissioner and the people directly under him at the DOC. They told me to bring the meds with me. I also got permission to bring ten books with me from someone at Wildwood as the library at Hiland Mountain had mostly crappy paperback books and I doubted it would be any different at Wildwood. I was in contact with the mental health practitioner at Wildwood and she told me to bring my meds with me too. There are good people at the DOC, their hands are just tied by the backwards system. I also brought letters from health care practitioners and my Handle practitioner in Homer. The Handle Institute is a program for people with developmental or neurological issues designed by a woman who was born autistic and with half a face, Judith Bluestone. It has helped me on many levels. I also brought a list of Handle exercises and Pilates exercises. I had a rather extensive list of politicians, civil rights organizations, prison reform groups and news agency addresses which I was looking forward to using to describe in great detail what was going on in that prison as I had been tortured there before. After soap and dental products I was buying lots of envelopes, paper, pens and stamps with my $70. I had a whole different attitude this time I was going in to do research. I had no pet for them to kill and what little possessions I now had were in storage. I was also bringing my weird sense of humor for entertainment.

Arriving at the prison I was taken inside and brought to a desk. Guess who was there? The crazy vitriolic nurse from last time who made me take both meds at the same time so I threw up and then said I made myself threw up. I gave her my meds. This made her angry and she told me I could not bring them with me. I rattled off the list of the higher ups who told me to do so. She called me a liar and told me none of those people knew what they were talking about anyway. One of them was standing behind her and said she did tell me to bring them. Crazy nurse then picked up the bottles and saw I had Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen. "You can't take both of these at the same time, you're a nurse you should know that." I told her I did not usually take them at the same time, but they can be taken at the same time and it happens all the time. Then I said, "You're a nurse you should know that." The woman behind her smiled. I then explained that I took the antidepressant and seizure meds for pain as well as other reasons. The reason I took them for pain was so I did not have to take narcotics. The woman behind her said, "That is something to be proud of." That infuriated crazy nurse, interesting response.

Then I was put in a holding cell in which a woman already sat. She said she had already been there for 6 hours. Now, I have musculoskeletal pain and can only sit on a hard surface for so long. All this cell had was a metal bench with no back to sit on and there were no mats on the floor. We sat there until about 1 AM, I got to the cell around 5 PM. That means that other woman was there about 14 hours. I was in a lot of pain. While in the cell we could not wear shoes and there was no bathroom(8th amendment violation). To use the bathroom we had to wait long periods for them to let us out to walk to a bathroom in socks. There was no hand soap(8th amendment). The toilet paper was kept on the floor. The next day I had a raging infection in a cut on my finger. Later that night I talked with a nurse who actually knew what she was talking about and her behavior was normal. I was shocked, I asked her how the heck she got a job in the prison. There must have been a mistake. I asked her what was wrong with the other nurse, facetiously. She said, "You know, you're a nurse." I told her yes, actually I do. She then told me I could have my Gabapentin, but the Trazadone would have to wait until the next day as a nurse practitioner had to approve it. I was fine with that, as long as it was true.

At Wildwood they put a lot of the women in the gymnasium, due to "overcrowding". The lights are on 24 hours a day and there are no rules about going to sleep at any particular time. It was nuts. It was like being at a large junior high slumber party. They do not allow ear plugs so I went and got a tampon and shoved cotton in my ears. I immediately began asking for my Gabapentin, which I did not get, so I said. "Let the grievance writing begin." The CO was quite angry with me because I asked for one grievance form after another and filled each one with a valid issue. After I wrote a grievance I wrote another form called a copout and asked for a copy of each grievance, because they always seem to get "lost." To my surprise I never got a copy of any of them, :O, a blatant violation of the DOC policy and 8th amendment rights, I am so surprised. Finally he opened the door and just threw a huge stack of them at me. They flew all over the place. I stood there surrounded by forms and told him, "That will probably be enough, for today."

There was no sleep that night they were having too much fun at the slumber party. The next morning crazy nurse was on. She told me I could not have my meds as the name on the bottle was different than my legal name. Social security uses my former married name even though I sent them my divorce decree in I think 1989. I had a copy of it, but the sociopath in Homer destroyed it along with most of my other paperwork. I told her the Gabapentin was approved and it was overdue. I explained that I had brought in paperwork to clarify the name difference. I had also explained it to higher ups before coming in. She told me to be quiet and leave. I continued to tell her I wanted my Gabapentin and Ibuprofen. She told me if I had Ibuprofen it would cost me $4 for three doses and after those doses I would then have to wait a week before I could have it again. I told her I brought a brand new bottle of them with me. She then flipped out and told me I would be treated the same as everyone else. Which meant I would not get my medications if she had her way. I then asked her if everyone else had trigeminal neuralgia, CFS, autism, PTSD and interstitial cystitis. I told her it was not her role to make the decision to withhold it from me(once again a violation of the 8th amendment and the DOCs own policy, as well as the nurse practice act). She then called over her radio,“Mrs. Harrison did not follow a direct order." I waited a couple seconds and said, "I am not married." Which brought a huge round of laughter from the other inmates which added to the anger she had for me because she looked like an idiot the night before when she tried to make me look like an idiot. Then the sergeant showed up and put handcuffs on me(No, they were not pink), grabbed me by the arm and clearly trying to hurt me dragged me down the hall. He put me in the hole, AKA detox cell. It was the same one I was in three days last time, but this time it was not crawling with spiders.

I was very happy to get away from the slumber party. It was quiet and cooler in there. The sergeant kept coming to the door to tell me I was going to stay in that cell until I thought I could behave. To which I would say things like, "Well that's never gona happen", or "What would I have to do to stay here permanently?", or "It is a violation of the 8th amendment, the Doc's policy and the nurse practice act for her to withhold my meds","The Geneva Convention says all I have to do is give you is my name, rank, and serial number." He also told me there would be a hearing. I said, "Good, I would love to tell this story, will the superintendent be there?" Can my punishment be to go in that room that has a sign that reads, don't talk to the person in this room? The CO behind the desk kept cracking up. I sang "Master Jack" for the sarg. I requested toilet paper and a cup to drink out of several times and was ignored.(As well as a grievance form and a pen). I tapped on the door, then knocked, then started kicking. It took me a long time to get to the point of kicking just like last time. The sergeant then came up and said, "You just are not a very nice person are you?" I then told him that I had spent my life in the service of others and was known to be a very nice person. I started listing all the organizations I had volunteered for, which is quite long. He put his head down and sighed. I then said, "What the Hell is wrong with that nurse?" He looked up at me and took off. The other guy gave me toilet paper and a cup, then I meditated, did exercises, sang and generally loved being in the hole. Very shortly the other CO who was still laughing, told me I was going back. I said, No, I wanted to stay, "No, I think you're too nice to stay here." He did not put handcuffs on me. I told him he should as I was a dangerous character and perhaps he should put ankle restraints on too and rough me up a bit on the way back. He said no, he thought I was too nice for that. Then I told him that he was not helping me come up with good material for my book. Don't you people have any Tazers? I asked him what was wrong with that nurse too and he just smiled.



When I got back the other inmates were expecting me to be upset, but I was smiling. I told them I had fun and hoped I could do it again the next day. They seemed puzzled. At lunch time I got my meds. HMMMM...interesting. I also got them that night. When I sat next to my bunk mate I said something about that nurse being nuts and should not be practicing nursing. Two young women close to us heard me and one of them said, "She is on crack." I laughed thinking it was a joke. She said, "No, she really is, we're both on crack and we know her from the community." I asked her if she was serious, yes she was. I knew that nurse was chemically dependent and it was bad, but I never suspected crack. They told me she had also been having an affair with the sergeant she called to drag me down the hall and they had just broken up. That explains a lot. "It's a strange, strange world we live in Master Jack. No hard feelings if I never come back."

So, here I am imprisoned for taking drugs to kill myself due to PTSD from the psychological terror from my job and the crazy nurse in the prison turns out to be nurse crack head. No wonder she had a negative reaction to me. I represent the trouble she can get into and at the same time I am everything she can't be because I am in recovery successfully. Now I know why the woman at the front desk made the comment about my not using narcs for my pain being something to be proud of. Someone in the community told me the same story about her and said it was well known. (This is information from other parties, I have only observed the behavior and appearance which lead me to suspect she had a problem. I would normally have been reluctant to write about a person with a chemical dependency problem, but I am making an exception for a couple of people who have gleefully tortured others. I also want to expose the crazy personnel issues at the DOC.)

I got there Friday evening. On Sunday morning a CO called my name and told me to pack up. I figured I was going somewhere they could keep me in administrative segregation for using a dangerous weapon against the staff, words. She said, "You are out of here" which I did not take as leaving the prison. They had to tell me a couple times before I understood I was being released. I said, "Oh, you can't take me any more?" The Sergeant was close by and yelled angrily, "That is not how we do things." Then when they were doing paperwork they said I was being discharged for the time I served before and it was "good time." I said, "No, it wasn't." The Sarg spoke up again and said there had not been a hearing yet so they couldn't count what had happened the day before. He repeated, "That is not how we do things." Yea, the DOC does everything by the book, aha. I told them I only had $70 and had moved out of my cabin as the PDs had assured me they could not use the wrongful imprisonment time for this sentence. A female CO who was always very nice and professional gave me the number of the women's shelter.

As I walked out I said out loud to myself, "I don't even know which way to turn to walk to town." Apparently they heard me on some device and sent a guy in a truck to point me in the right direction. Pointing the direction to walk when you leave prison in Alaska seems to be the bulk of their rehabilitation program. The first call I made was to Quinlan Steiner the director of the public defender agency. I could only get his voice mail as usual. I simply said, very loudly, "YOU F***ED ME AGAIN" and hung up. Then I managed to call the women's shelter just before they jammed my cell phone.