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YourHub.com \\ Burbank \\ Stories \\ Valley Voices

Life in a Halfway House, Part I of Halfway There

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Contributed by: CH McCleod on 10/5/2007

I spent two months at a halfway house in May and June of this year. I have never been to prison, nor struggled with drug addiction, but was genuinely curious about that segment of society even those closest to us, and maybe even ourselves, have the potential to at some point become in life. I was also rather bored with industry-type roommates and living with people who have absurd dietary restrictions. So I became a resident at a place where I could observe the human struggle and people trying to transition back into society after prison and rehab.

First, I will not break the anonymity of anyone I came into contact with nor reveal any specifics about the particular place I was at ---only to say that it was in a residential area of the San Fernando Valley that blended in very well with a middle class neighborhood.

Second, having struggled with alcohol in the past, I could relate to many people there in a unique way that allowed me to understand them and myself better. I am not trying to exploit anyone nor profit from this in any way, I just want to share my insights on people whom society has, for the most part, written off.

Third, it was indeed a risk and I would not advise anyone to do this unless they are prepared mentally and emotionally as many of the things that happened were very frightening at times.

I arrived on a Saturday night in May. Many of the residents were at their respective 12-Step meetings, but a few were at the house when I arrived. A young woman named Amy, about 22 years old, helped me unload the contents of my SUV and took me to my room. Her boyfriend, Bill, helped me carry the heavier items into the house. He had the "f-word" and "you" tattooed on his knuckles and a shaved head. Over the next several weeks I would witness first-hand the trials of their mentally and physically abusive relationship fueled by alcohol and jealousy in addition to the challenges of securing employment with a prison record and little education.

In the beginning I had one roommate, a guy named Dan. He had spent the last 10 years in federal prison for violating securities laws as a day trader. Dan was a very strapping specimen of a man, good looks and an amazing body. But did not look dangerous. The Star of David tattooed on his forearm put me at ease. Trying to rebuild his life after spending all this time in prison, he was haunted by the death of his mother who died while he was in prison and he could not attend her funeral. Dan was in a lot of pain and the only way he knew to deal with it was by slamming (injecting with a needle) crystal meth into his arms.

He told me that injecting drugs with a clean needle was the safest way because smoking caused horrible damage to the lungs and snorting harmed the nasal cavities. He told me he was not high when I first met him. I would later learn he was using the entire time we were roommates. The fact he spent much of the days staring at dollar bills, looking for secret messages encoded into our currency as part of some joint-government alien conspiracy should have tipped me off. But I had not been around anyone slamming meth before so I didn't know what to look for.

But Dan did tell me the rules of the place, those not in the housing contract I signed. He told me to watch out for people and not let them manipulate me. "These people have been in and out of prisons and rehabs their whole lives, they know how to play people to get what they want." He was intelligent for sure, using meth or not, I had a great deal of respect for this guy, especially knowing he survived 10 years of federal prison with this symbol of his religion clearly emblazoned on his arm.

I also met Ronnie this night, Ronnie was a career junkie. In his late 40s, he had 2 grown children and 2 teenagers all of whom he was in many ways estranged from. A survivor of cancer, I could see the consequences of his drug abuse clearly reflected in the collapsed veins in his arms and legs, the result of a heroin binge that lasted several months. He was also in and out of the hospital for sporadic heart attacks directly tied to his drug abuse.

I got there that night and I was scared to be honest with you. I had left a comfortable place in a nice area of town. There was no privacy here, 14 people sharing two bathrooms and four bedrooms. But I was excited.

After I got settled in we went to the grocery store. Amy and Ronnie helped me find some calming tea to soothe my nerves for this first night here. They offered me words of encouragement as I told them about how my battle with alcohol had landed me here, but that I was grateful that it was not worse. These two people, the types my coworkers and friends would probably be afraid or ashamed to associate with, were sympathizing with me and trying to help me my first night in a halfway house.

When we got back, Bill, who lived at similar type of house not far away, asked if we wanted to see a movie. So he put in the DVD "The Devil's Rejects," a Rob Zombie flick. It is indeed a film I would not have watched under my own volition, but found it mildly intriguing, but definitely not artistic in my opinion.

Amy hugged me after the film and told me everything would be all right. Ronnie and I smoked a cigarette and I went to my room. Dan was already in bed, counting the stains on the wall. He told me good night and turned the lights off, his bed was closest to the switch and I said the same. I remember looking up at the ceiling that night and noticed that someone before me had placed these adhesive stars up there that glowed after the lights went off. I counted them and made new constellations in my mind and fell asleep.

This was my first night in the halfway house, there were 60 more. I can tell you that while the experience was not easy, I learned more about human nature and the challenges of rebuilding a life while coping with addiction and convictions than I could have ever in a class room. In Part 2, I will talk about how prisons cultivate an insidious institutional mentality that does not recede with parole and makes adjusting to society very difficult, especially with regards to race.

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