Note: This is a re-post from 2011. As I explained briefly just recently, we are dealing with a criminal cyber-stalker who is also a burglar and a vandal. The person/persons/ have stolen everything that we have ever written, and had also stolen bank information, computer passwords, router passwords, virus protection passwords, medical information, social security information, credit card numbers, and debit card passwords, even cards and letters and pictures from family, as well as other person files. The person made copies off everything, left us with the copies, and stole the originals, including a family heirloom German script book, from the 1700s. The home invaders are over-focused on my legal case, and with each home invasion, I am left with nothing except ever-more altered and self-serving copies of bogus notes from my trial lawyer.
So, this is a re-post, as we try to deal with this crisis is our lives.
Ruthie Gets New Felony Charges
Author’s note: Frog Gravy is a depiction of daily life in jails and in prison, during the years 2008 and 2009, in Kentucky, and is reconstructed from my notes.
Names are changed, except for mine, which is Rachel (This post is from jail, before I was known as Bird Lady. I never saw a bird when I was in jail.) ‘Twin Oaks Road’ is a changed name of a real road.
Frog Gravy contains graphic language.
McCracken County Jail, Cell 107, April, 2008
Ruthie’s 49-year-old mother just died. She was obese, like Ruthie, and she chain-smoked. She lived alone in a trailer. No one checked on her the entire weekend. She was found Monday, sitting next to the air conditioner, with an inhaler in her hand. The air conditioner was off, so the skin on the body split open and turned colors; the funeral will not be open casket.
Ruthie sits next to me at a steel table with a no-shank pen and paper. She starts to write a letter to a treatment center:
I’m writeing to see if I could get into your program
Im really own drugs bad especily crack cocane I started using when I was 12 years old and it was pot then I started dranking at 16 then started snorting cocane at age 17 then about 19…
“How do you spell snortin’?” asks Ruthie.
“s-n-o-r-t-i-n-g,” I reply.
She thanks me and continues:
…then about 19 crack cocane I stop using drugs there for awhile when I found out I was pregnet I had 2 little girls did good for awhile unlike the father of my kids, my old man, went to jail for about 2 years at first I stayed clean about 4 months after he got locked up.
This is the first and only period in the letter so far. She continues:
then things got hard for me, like paying bills, supporting my kids, just life in general, and everyone around almost did crack cocane, so I look for that for an axcuse, to start back smoking crack-cocane, I started smoking crack-cocane for about the first 6 months then started doing it all almost, But I never really been addicted to pills, like I’ll have a crack pipe and a meth pipe goin at the same time and my old man wuz sellin dope and doin weekins in jail…
Ruthie giggles and says, “A crack pipe and a meth pipe at the same time, that is high, don’t you thank that’s high?”
She continues writing:
…my reasons I looked up to my sister when I wuz a child is my sister took care of me when my mom wuz in and out of jail and on drugs.”
Ruthie never knew her real mother, the one that just died, until Ruthie was 18, and they met each other here in this jail.
Until that time, Ruthie had a last name and a social security number given to her by her foster parents. Then, her real mother gave her a name and a social security number, since the foster parents had been sexually abusive.
I ask, “What about your father?”
“Oh, he was murdered,” replies Ruthie. “I got a tattoo of him right here, on my arm. Yeah, he was murdered. It was in the news.”
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“Oh, it was over money. They done hung him with his own belt buckle. This man and this lady.”
Terry says, “Well fuck me runnin’.”
“They tried to stuff him into the trunk of a car, but he was too big, so they done drug him back into the house. I saw his body. He’d been dead for a week. He was split open, and there was maggots everywhere. Seein’ that changes you. I ain’t been right after seein’ that. Don’t you think it changes you, Rachel?”