Jail Mail

Mail in jail was like gold to a miner.

It was something to look forward to each day besides Sundays and holidays.

The anticipation of receiving a book, a letter, or pictures normalized me.

It made me feel human again.

It was always exciting to hear my name called for mail.

Then the anticipation of, is it what I am expecting?

Is it from someone I haven’t heard from yet?

What is it?

Then the loving feeling you get when you see what it is and who it’s from.

The other women in the pod circle around and ask to see the book, or the card. They ask who the letter is from.

It was a time of the day when I didn't have to feel jail. Feel the emptiness and misery of the concrete walls.

I always smiled when I saw a long letter. A longer letter meant a longer time I could escape my reality. More time I could spend responding to it.

I had so many cards the first year I was there that they filled my entire cell. The top bunk, the table and stool, the floor, the walls (with toothpaste as glue, or a sticker from deodorant as tape) all were full of beautiful cards.

We got shook down (officers ransack your cell looking for contraband) one time and the deputy from the sheriff’s office came back after everyone else had left and yelled “If your cell looks like a fucking card shop then take that shit down or you’ll be locked down”. Meaning I would be locked in my cell for 72 hours.

It was like he didn’t want me to feel loved, to be proud of the people who cared. I took them all down except the ones from my mom.

Eventually I put the cards in my property (a bag with your name on it held in holding that someone picks up or you take home) because even having them in manila envelopes in my cell, they were still considered contraband since there were so many.

I was only allowed 2 books and a religious book (Bible, Quran, etc.).

Even if they were books mailed directly to me, I could still only have 2.

If I had more than 2 books during a shakedown, the extra books were confiscated without a choice on which ones I got to keep (depending on which CO searches the cell).

The books mailed to me also turned into county jail property once received by the jail. Which meant I couldn’t take them with me when I left, nor could I put them in my property.

They used to allow books to be mailed from a person's home to the jail but before I left, they changed it to Amazon, Walmart etc. directly to the jail. Which meant that books used from home or thrift stores weren’t an option any longer. Absolutely no dropping books off at the facility either.

Whenever someone got a book in our pod, we made sure everyone in there that wanted to read it got to read it before it ended up in the county jail library where we would most likely never see it again.

We women shared the library with the men and there were way more men detained than women. They often used books as weights for workouts.

Letters always made me joyful. There was a lady that wrote me who used to send me pictures of vacation spots so I could “go there”. I went all over. Belize, Greece, Aruba, you name it, I went there…

in my mind.

I remember my first card and letter from a lady who ran the Bible Study at the jail. I was in the suicide cell. I couldn't write her back, so I had my mom write her back for me before my mom passed away. I talked to her throughout the entire 3 years I was detained. Once the mail went to scanned, we started emailing. She even came to my sentencing which was so sweet. We still chat here and there. Hopefully we can do coffee soon.

Another person wrote to me who wanted to help me with my case, he was also incarcerated at the same time as I. He always made me feel like a person and not a monster. He said he too knew what it was like to face a lot of time, so he wanted to make it a bit easier for me. He drew my name in graffiti, sent me things he had researched about my case, sent me new laws etc.

He was truly helpful. A bit of an asshole but I’m an asshole too sometimes so it worked. He later died outside of prison. I will always cherish those letters.

A 92-year-old farmer sent me a book about grace and wrote me often. His wife had passed away and he sent me the verse Jeremiah 29:11. He also wrote me the entire 3 years I was detained. I have no idea how he is doing now and if he sees this I hope he reaches out as his "hugs coupons" always made me smile. He'd be 97 this July. Hopefully he's still around making someone else smile.

Two other ladies reached out to me after my mom died. One said God told her to. They both sent prayers, and positivity. They both sent me books. I still speak to them. I am grateful for both. They made my dark days a bit brighter.

Even though I didn’t get to keep the books (I had nowhere to take them anyway because I was technically homeless when I left the department of corrections) I’m cool with the books being used by detained people who truly need escapism.

Jail is a depressing soul draining environment. Reading fiction and nonfiction in there makes days go by faster and a bit easier.

I used to read at night while everyone else was asleep because it was quiet so I could really “escape” to the book.

Eventually they took the physical mail away. It wasn’t even sent directly to the jail anymore. It went to a whole different state who scanned it under our accounts, and we could see it on a kiosk. It was nice to receive mail still, but it wasn’t the same.

We could only see our pictures during the day, not at night when we lay in bed and need to see them the most because the kiosks were in the day room. We only had access to the day room from 5am-10pm, which is a long time but there's nothing like having the picture or physical letters in your hands.

Especially when you're feeling sad or lonely at night when all is quiet, which for me was every night.

Then when the scanning happened there was no anticipation of my name being called. Not to mention, it made the correspondences less personal.

Not long after the mail started getting scanned, we got chirpers which could text people outside of the jail.

Of course it was expensive. I don’t remember the prices, but it doesn’t matter because they vary from jail to jail anyway. Just know it costs to breathe in jail.

Once I got a chirper I didn’t care about the scanned mail anymore. We could not get any pictures on the chirpers, but it made communication more personable, faster and easier.

This reminds me, please don’t forget about your loved ones who are detained.

Any type of communication lets them know they are cared for and gives them a reason to move forward.

A reason to keep their chins up...

The support I received helped me in so many ways.

I will forever be thankful to each person who reached out to me in one way, shape, or form while I was detained.

Much love to all of you!

~Natasha BYTS