FROM BEHIND THE OBSERVATION GLASS

As I was checking my email in the recreation director’s office overlooking the gymnasium, a fairly large inmate under the immediate supervision of a psychologist decked another inmate and stomped on his face … repeatedly. Friday mornings, I had learned, were not a good time to be in that area; mental health staff held therapy sessions for five block then, and by the looks of what went down—one older prisoner with shoe imprints and blood all over his head—I’m not sure I wanted to be anywhere near what I’d like to call the criminally insane. From the office window I observed the corrections officers escorting the attacker from the gymnasium. What had been so disturbing about the incident wasn’t so much the perpetrator’s non-emotional response toward his violent behavior as much as the blank expressions of the other mentally disturbed prisoners. It was as if they were incapable of making a connection with what had just happened. “Hey,” a person with most of his faculties might think, “that could’ve been me! I could’ve had my head squished like a tomato!”

I’m not sure how those therapy sessions work. How does mental health staff suppress the inmates’ demons, when do they say, “So and so can function in the general population,” and who is held responsible when those demons are unleashed on staff?

Currently I have a rather unique student, an older gentleman, in one of my morning classes. He’s been riding a roller coaster of emotions since I’ve met him; one minute he’ll tell me that I’m the best teacher he’s ever had; the next minute I’m the son-of-a-bitch keeping him from getting his education. There’s no middle ground with this guy. He’s scheduled for med-lines three times a day and has admitted to having psychotic episodes. I’ve learned not to joke with him anymore because he’ll engage me in laughter; he’ll say something funny and laugh himself, and then at the drop of a coin he’ll say, “You think this shits funny, don’t you? I’m not here for your entertainment!” And I’m thinking where the hell did that come from? It was his joke. It’s not always easy navigating the land-mines of the mentally ill, but I’ve learned to acknowledge their fears and frustrations and to do it from more than one arms length away. I’ve seen how quickly someone can suffer head trauma and I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure it isn’t me.