How did you feel when you returned to England again,
a free man?
I got off the plane with a small box containing my
scant belongings. Walking through Gatwick Airport, I worried that UK officials
might want a word about my criminal activity and lifelong ban from America, but
I breezed through customs, which was a relief. With blurred vision, I had
difficulty locating my parents among the hundred or so people thronging around
the gate. Out of nowhere, Mum ran at me, her jacket flying and landing on the
floor, my sister behind, tears streaming. I dropped my box, and with an
adrenalin rush hugged Mum off her feet, and hugged my sister and Dad. After I
reassured them that I was OK, we made jokes about me looking like a Russian
dissident due to my lengthy stubble and gaunt face.
On what felt like the wrong
side of the road, Dad drove us away. For the first time, I read Jon’s Jail
Journal on a computer, and posted a blog entry myself:
Day of my release |
At airport with my sister and mum |
13 Dec 07
I'm free!
This is Jon/Shaun.
I can't thank you enough for all of
your comments and support over the years. My prison journey is finally at an
end! I'm at my sister's flat in Fulham, London. Tomorrow, I'm heading for my
parents' house in Cheshire. Tonight, I'm being treated to Indian food with my
family, and I hope to get a good night's sleep after several harrowing days
spent in transportation (no food, sleep, showers, etc).
Much love. Talk to you soon.
Shaun
Blog comments poured in from all over the
world,
congratulations and well wishes, raising my spirits. A documentary maker arrived
to capture my return to society on film. At night, we went for an Indian meal.
I tried chicken tikka masala, my former favourite, but the meat activated my
gag reflex, and brought back memories of the mystery-meat slop known as “red
death” in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail, so I decided to remain vegetarian.
The next day, I did two BBC interviews. We travelled home on the motorway, a five-hour drive. We stopped at a fish
’n’ chip shop. I tried to order curry and rice – popular in in the northwest –
but the young server’s thick northern accent was incomprehensible to me. He fetched
a girl who spoke to me slowly and concisely as if I were mentally handicapped.
The drive through my town brought back memories as
if I were in a dream. Inside my parents’ home, the feeling intensified as I
checked out each room. I ate, read the latest blog comments, and tried to
sleep. Wearing socks, a beanie, a dressing gown, and buried under two
fifteen-tog duvets in a room with a radiator on, I couldn’t stop shivering as I
was so used to the desert heat. My ears turned to ice. I sneezed. My nose ran. I
only slept for a few hours, and woke up with my vision still blurred.
The next morning, I went on a food-shopping spree,
loading up on fruit, nuts, cheese, bread and beans. Going from aisle to aisle,
being able to buy a banana was the height of ecstasy for me. At home, I filled
a spoon with peanut butter and a cup with milk, and tried to consume them like
I did daily in prison, but they wouldn’t go down, so I spat them out. After it
being my main source of protein for almost six years, I could no longer eat peanut
butter.
Claudia called to wish me good luck. One of my best
friends, Hammy, showed up with champagne, and offered to hook me up with a
local nymphomaniac, so I could make up for lost time.
In the day, my mood was mostly up, but exhaustion came
in waves. The next night, I slept for thirteen hours.
Still traumatised from the journey and the whole
experience, I sat down at a desk upstairs in my parents’ house and wrote about
my release to the people who understand Arizona prison the most and with whom I
feel a lifelong bond because of the intensity of what we went through: my prison friends I left behind. Longing for their company, I
filled with sadness, almost wishing I could return to prison just to be with
them. An ache expanded from my jaw up through my face. Tears fell on the paper,
moistening it like my sweat did when I wrote from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail. My
teeth chattered. I missed them so much, I couldn’t stop crying – no matter how
hard I tried.
It took months to adjust back to society. My parents
helped tremendously. I was institutionalised, and used to being told what I
could and couldn’t do. My mum said I was like a puppy dog following her around
the house, awaiting orders. At first, it was hard to stop reacting as if I was
in prison, but over time, I returned to normal. To adjust in a healthy way, I
structured my life around positive activity. Exercise keeps me mentally strong.
Writing books and talking at schools keep me focussed.
Click here for yesterday's question and answer: http://jonsjailjournal.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/question-7-locked-up-abroad-raving.html
Link to all of my books at Amazon USA: http://www.amazon.com/Shaun-Attwood/e/B0042NT0CU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
Shaun Attwood
4 comments:
Shaun, I'm watching a recorded episode of your show right now, "locked up abroad". I'm not sure if you'll ever read this, but in the event you do, know this.. That by only going through hell, I believe one finds true salvation. I believe this "hell" is individualized and, it appears you most definitely experienced it. I know in my heart and, seeing your eyes, that you are a better and much changed person for this... and, know that today, on a beautiful spring day on the east coast of America - that someone cared enough to write you.. Just an FYI, this is my first post on the Internet. God Bless You and, may your life be filled with peace and happiness knowing you have been given, a true second chance at life..
Shaun
Have you accumulated much "stuff" since your release?
I'm curious as to whether there was a need to own things that were yours alone or you have kept to only having minimalist posessions.
Really enjoying the last week's posts!
Gerald
Thanks for both comments. Yes, enduring the jail strengthened me for life. I don't accumulate stuff anymore. I'm a minimalist.
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