After months of being tormented, there was a riot on my tier one night. My neighbor earlier that day splashed a cup of his piss and shit in a female guards face. I felt so bad for her. All but me covered up their plexiglass windows with wet paper causing “The Goon Squad” to show up. Policy states if you can not be seen, or accounted for, they must come in and do a cell extraction.
Standing there watching the troops come marching in, shock shields in hand, beanbag guns at the ready, and big black cans of what I would soon experience, called O/C spray. It was chaotic, loud, and hostile. Immediately after the angry inmates didn’t comply, the guards sprayed that god awful stuff all over them. I dropped to my knees clutching my throat, nostrils pouring snot, eyes burning. I couldn’t breath.
Suffering through this moment to moment, I distinctly remember my disposition. My heart ached for the very tormentors that threatened my life every time I heard them scream for mercy while being sprayed. The empowerment I felt as I forgave them, was the very beginning of a new healing process. I was determined to be rehabilitated, seeking reconciliation in every area of my life.
Hours after things calmed down I received another big surprise. A staff member slid a chain bag under my cell door, it read C.B.C.C and walked away. Clallam Bay Correction Center! Heard all about that place, and the reputation it carried. “Gladiator School”. So despite the fact that I was being delivered from one incredibly dyer situation, I would be exposed to attacks shortly after being removed from “The Hole”.
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