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Incredibly, I am sometimes forced to swallow my own feces to make myself feel less queasy. I’m diabetic, and when I’m forced onto psychiatric drugs my blood sugar crashes — sometimes down to 45–48 on a glucose meter — or spikes as high as 180. When I bottom out, I feel like I’m going to vomit. Eating toilet paper, toothpaste, or antacids doesn’t help, but swallowing feces does. I am not given snacks to help with hunger, pain, or the flu-like symptoms I feel when my blood sugar crashes.

I also lost my prison job. Lieutenant Armstrong (a Black officer with Jamaican roots) believed another inmate was at the highest behavioral phase, when in fact he was at the lowest. Because of this mistake, I was bumped from my job, which paid $30 a month — money I used for basic necessities. I honestly believe racism and favoritism were involved. I had the highest behavioral merits and the lowest points for rule violations, yet I lost my position.

Today, the humidity is 90% and the temperature was 115°F.

I tried to be kind to Nurse Practitioner Maria Conejos, but she doesn’t understand my background. She is sadistic. She forces me to take the highest doses of psychiatric drugs, which have caused permanent eye floaters in both eyes. I’m also forced onto high doses of Depakote, which is causing painful pancreatitis. Conejos insists the “benefits outweigh the risks.” I’ve shown her medical material from Stanford University proving otherwise, but she dismisses it. Other psychiatrists had refused to medicate me at these levels. She even makes false claims — such as saying I’ve forced objects into my penis — in order to get the forced-medication panel to approve treatment. I’m handcuffed during these hearings, which makes me look deranged, and I’m not allowed to present evidence on my behalf.

Because of this, I’m going blind. I’ve gained 70 pounds in four months — severe metabolic syndrome. I’m in constant pain. The drugs warn against fathering children for two years after stopping them, because they can cause reduced IQ or mental retardation in offspring. Basically, I’m being chemically castrated. I sometimes feel I’ll end up killing myself when released because I won’t be able to get a decent job, and halfway houses are “for the birds.” I once dreamed of flying a crop-duster, but Maria Conejos has stolen that future from me. You can’t be a partially blind pilot. I want to meet her face-to-face when I’m free.

I also receive notes in my Styrofoam meal trays and sometimes in my mail. Officers threaten to have me killed if I don’t admit to the media that I was involved in murders, drugs, and underage prostitution. They’ve told me outright that they’ll leave my cell door open so another inmate can kill me. I wrote to Captain Johnson about this but got no reply. Sgt. Brush told me when I first arrived at Browning that his supervisor instructed him to “treat me like shit.”

These threats keep coming. Officers say they have evidence from U.S. Customs that I purchased large amounts of chemicals in Los Angeles to manufacture methamphetamine. They claim I was selling it to Heidi Fleiss, the famous Hollywood madam. Heidi, they remind me, ran hundreds of girls for years and supplied them with drugs. I even stayed at the Beverly Hills Wilshire Hotel in 1990, paying with my Diners Club card (Citicorp). The hotel gave me complimentary champagne, strawberries, and whipped cream on arrival.

I’ll admit this much: I have a good memory when it comes to fast girls and pleasure. That side of me is reptilian. And yes, I’ve had a notorious history with U.S. Customs since the late 1980s. As for underage prostitutes, I never trafficked them. What I did was provide false IDs and passports — camouflage IDs. They weren’t for sex work; they were for safety. If you traveled under a U.S. passport, you were a target for ransom or extortion. But a Belize passport? Nobody cares.

Now my mind is slipping further. I have trouble identifying everyday objects — I can see an easel but not a fishing pole. I can recall authors but not book titles or plots. I stare at walls for hours, hearing voices. This is frightening. This is insanity.