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Ground Hog Day Syndrom
Those
of us living on Texas' death row are presented with many challenges and obstacles in our
everyday lives. We expend an enormous amount of energy fighting for our
lives and constantly struggle to cope with the stress involved with
being separated from our loved ones, not to mention the loss of our
freedom. There are officers who seem to think that their job is to
punish us, rather than maintain the security of the institution; suffice
it to say that these rogues are a constant reminder of exactly where we
are.... These are the obvious challenges we face here on the row. I'd
like to expose a problem that is more subtle, yet can be equally
detrimental to our psychological well-being. As
many of you probably know, the living conditions on Texas' death row are
virtually identical to those of TDCJ' administrative segregation,
(ad.seg.) which was designed by a team of criminal psychologists. The
objective was to create a behavioral modification system that punished
recalcitrant inmates with the harshest living conditions, (level 3
status) then rewarded their good behavior with somewhat better living
conditions (level 1 status). Eventually the inmate would be reintegrated
back into the general prison population. This system wasn't designed to
house inmates long-term, yet TDCJ has misued it by keeping people in ad.
seg. for decades and forcing death row to live under its guidelines as
long as we have a death sentence. For
those of you who aren't familiar with the environment in which we live,
please allow me to briefly elaborate: We are locked in single-man cells
(10ft. x 7ft.) for 23 hours a day, with 1 hour of recreation per day,
depending on your level status. Anytime we leave our cells we must be
restrained with handcuffs and escorted by 2 officers. All visits are
non-contact and recreation occurs in a single-man cage, alone. All
physical contact is strictly prohibited... If you are level 1 status you
can utilize the commissary (given that you have someone in the freeworld
that sends money to your account. We are totally dependent on outside
help to use the commisary) to purchase an Am/Fm radio, shoes, fan,
coffee pot, typewriter, hygiene, writing supplies, and various food
items. Levels 2 and 3 aren't allowed any electrical appliances (except a
fan) or any food items. We aren't allowed televisions, microwaves,
access to swimming pools or any other absurd things like that, as the
media would have the general public believe! If I'm not mistaken, you
can read the "Ad. Seg./Death Row Plan" on TDCJ' s website,
where all the rules/guidelines applicable to us are listed. If
there is an official name for the debilitating disease that often arises
out of these living conditions, I am unaware of it. I like to refer to
what torments many of us as Ground Hog Day Syndrome. How many of you
have seen the movie "Ground Hog Day" with Bill Murray? That's
the one where Mr. Murray keeps waking up on Ground Hog Day only to
relive that day over and over again. In a sense, this is basically what
most of us are experiencin in that we find ourselves repeating the same
old things, day after day. While the movie is highly entertaining and
absolutely hilarious, those of us on the row (or ad.seg.) who fall
victim to Ground Hog Day Syndrome are in danger of developing severe
psychological disorders The
environment in which we live is geared towards sensory deprivation. The
scenery never changes for us: cold steel bars, imposing white walls,
dirty concrete floors, and whatever view we have from our It
is so easy to find yourself trapped by a fixed schedule that can best be
described as tediously monotonous, simply because we are so restricted
as to what we can do. We're lulled into a routine that repeats itself
for months and even years at a time. Our every action soon becomes
mechanical and our behavior becomes more reflective of that of a robot
than a human being. I sometimes get my days mixed up, thinking that I
did something on a certain day, when in fact it was a week before. Life
becomes a blur, creativity diminishes, depression can creep in, some
fall prey to psychotic behavior, and others attempt suicide (BTW -
dropping your appeals is suicide!) The adverse affects of Ground Hog Day
Syndrome are often lethal. The
other day (I think!) I asked someone that I hadn't seen in awhile how he
was doing. He just stared at me somberly and replied, "Dude, it's
the same fucking thing every day. I wake up, go to rec., eat chow, write
a little, read a little, talk shit, go to sleep, then wake up and repeat
the same damn thing. I'm burnt out!" Most of us here can truely
empathize with that. To
further illustrate just how destructive Ground Hog Day Syndrome can be,
I'd like to share a very personal story with you: Before coming to death
row I spent a couple of years in ad. seg. A close friend of mine, who
I'd spent some time with in general population, was moved in a cell next
to me on the Conally Unit. We passed the time by reminiscing about old
days and we even shared our dreams, hopes and aspirations. A few months
of this and -predictably - we settled into a routine. Then one day my
friend came to his door and told everyone that he didn't want to talk to
any of us and that we should leave him alone. Huh? He rejected every
attempt I made to communicate with him by ignoring me. He refused to
accept his mail, didn't go to rec. or shower, and once they called him
for a visit that he refused. Maybe a month or so of this went on and he
began talking to himself. Finally, he covered himself in his own feces
and started slashing his arms up with a razor...... As I watched them
carry my old friend away, covered in feces and blood, I felt a profound
sense of sorrow and loss. It was very difficult for me to comprehend
what had transpired right before my very eyes. This was my first
experience with how psychologically damaging this environment can be and
I'm positive that what happened to my friend was the result of Ground
Hog Day Syndrome evolving into psychosis. From
what I've heard, there are guys here on the Polunsky Unit who've gone
insane since leaving Ellis Unit, where death row used to be housed.
We've lost a few to suicide since I arrived on the row in 2002 and many
others have attempted it. I' m no psychologist, but undoubteldly Ground
Hog Day Syndrome played a role in some of these cases. Some
of you may have friends of family here who are experiencing Ground Hog
Day Syndrome and you're wondering what can be done? Once again, I'm not
a mental health expert, but I have found a few things that seem to work
for me and I'd be happy to share them with you. First
of all, I think that it is imperative that we create variety in our
schedules. Beware of falling into a routine that is repetitious and make
every effort to mix-up your daily activities so that you aren't
repeating the same routine for any extended period of time. Also, if
there are activities that you don't do, such as playing chess or
dungeons-n-dragons, then try them out every now and then. It might not
be your cup of tea, but anything helps so long as it breaks the
monotony! Obviously,
the love and emotional support we receive from those in the freeworld
helps immensely. A visit from someone who cares can offer a much needed
respite from this hell-hole, enabling us to leave the pod for awhile to
be with the people we love and care about. Receiving a letter also
provides a wonderful escape from this place, reminding us that someone
out there is thinking about us! Never forget that you people in the
freeworld, who are there for us, showing us love and compassion, keep us
going. Without the support of you all, many of us would be utterly lost.
With your help we can overcome Ground Hog Day Syndrome. Peering
through the window in my cell last night, I watched an electrical strom
bring light and life to an open field just beyond the prison grounds. It
wa an awe-inspiring spectacle to behold and it filled me with a sense of
tranquillity that has eluded me for quite some time. As I watched the
breath-takingly bright flashes of light streak across the sky, I found
myself reminiscing back to a time when I was just a small boy, no older
than 5. My mother, brother, sister, and I were all living in As
I fondly reflected on the innocence of my youth, the lightning
illuminating the razor-wired fences brought me back from my reverie.
It's usually quite noisy on this cellblock at that time of night, but as
I watched the storm I noticed that it was peacefully quiet. Maybe I
wasn't the only one gazing out the window, remembering a time long past?
Every now and then mother nature does her part in helping us combat the
tedium of death row on Polunsky Unit....
‘The memoirs and musings of Robert Pruett’ The booming sound of a slamming door rescues me from the clutches of yet another disturbing nightmare. Gasping vehemently, with perspiration streaming down my face, I glance towards the front of my cell just in time to see a pair of officers seemingly glide past my door. The clock on my radio shows 1:57am, which means they are doing the 2am count. I have the misfortune of living in a cell that is located approximately 4 ft. from the crossover door that leads to the next section. Everytime an officer shuts it with any extra force it reverberates, creating a loud echo sound that is amplified by the excellent acoustics intrinsic to the cavernous architecture of these cellblocks. I'm a hard sleeper so it rarely bothers me when inconsiderate officers slam that door, but tonight it awakens me and I'm grateful for that. As I lie on my bunk staring at the ceiling, disoriented by the remnants of dream-ogres slowly dissipating, I'm suddenly aware of the date. It's hard to believe that a decade has passed since that tragic summer night.... In Ozzy's song "The Road To Nowhere" he sings about his past and how - through all the happiness and sorrow - he'd do it all again. I'm a huge fan of Ozzy's music, and I consider him to be one of the top 3 greatest rock artists of all time, yet I couldn't disagree with him more in that song. When I reflected back over my life, particularly the chain of events that culminated in the tragedy of August 9, 1995, there's no doubt I would do a lot of things different if I could. *** *** *** There are many factors that influenced my delinquent behavior as an adolescent. I could go on and on about my family's poor socio-economic status and how it was a constant struggle to survive; I could tell you that I didn't meet my father until I was almost 7 due to his incarceration and how he tried to compensate for the lost years by being more of a friend to me than a father (i.e. letting me smoke dope with him); I could even write a dissertation on genetics and expound upon the role they play in influencing human behavior. Ultimately though, I am the one who has made countless bad decisions throughout the course of my life. By the time I was a teenager I was involved in a wide-range of criminal activities that include burglary, auto-theft, and the distribution of illegal substances. Everything I did seemed to revolve around feeding my addiction to drugs, chasing girls, and perpetuating the incessant party that had become my life. I loved the fast life. Living on the east side of Houston provided ample opportunity to indulge in this type of lifestyle. When the summer of 1995 rolled around I launched a crime spree with my cousin Chucky, friend Baby G, and several others who eventually bailed out on us. We'd go out each night and rob houses, buildings, and people. (For the most part it was just houses though.) Everything went smoothly for us until the night of July 23, 1995. To make a long story short, Chucky, Baby G, and I were arrested for burglarizing a house down by the San Jacinto River. While we robbed the place the owner's son, who lived next door, showed up and a high speed chase ensued. I ended up crashing the car we were in into a ditch and Chucky and I fled the scene, eventually making our way back to my trailer park several miles away. Baby G stayed with the car (It belonged to his father and he later told us his old man would kill him if he lost his car!) and somehow managed to get it out of the ditch, but then he drove it to my trailer park with the home owner's son following him! When Baby G pulled the car into my driveway he abruptly jumped out of the car and pointed a gun at the truck occupied by the home owner's son. I watched the truck peel out down the road and then Baby G got back in the car and drove it down to my trailer. We quickly unloaded all the stolen property, then Baby G drove his dad's car to their apartments about 1/4 mile away. The homeowner's son must've observed Baby G drive back to his apartments because 20 minutes later we were apprehended there while trying to steal another car to move the stolen property. The police recovered most of the stolen property (I hid some guns on the side of a friend's trailer that they never found) and returned it to the owners. Baby G and I went to the Juvenile Detention Center because he was only 13 and I was 15, while Chucky (22 years old) was sent to Harris County Jail. On July 31, 1995 I was released to my parents on a strict probation after they appeared in court on my behalf and asked the judge to give me another chance. In retrospect, I wish that judge would've sentenced me to the Texas Youth Commission. *** *** *** In the early part of 1995 a couple named Ray and Jane moved into the trailer next to ours with their beautiful baby daughter, Ruru. When I first met Ray and Jane they were kicking back on lawn chairs in their front yard. I introduced myself by smoking a couple of joints with them and we became instant friends. In fact, everyone took a liking to Ray, Jane and little Ruru. All the teenagers began hanging out at their place, my mom became friends with Jane, and sometimes after work my dad would have a few beers with Ray. Then things started happening that worked to alienate Ray and I. Jane had a 15 year old daughter from another marriage named Nicole. She lived in Georgia, but came to stay the summer of 1995 with Ray and Jane. Nicole was absolutely gorgeous and most of the young boys who hung out around the trailer park continuously reminded her of that. I was aware of her, yet I made an effort of not showing any interest (early on) because I respected Jane. Well, something about me not paying attention to her, while all the other boys did, must've sparked something in her because she started flirting with me. At first I did not respond, but after Jane made it clear that she didn't mind, I started to become really close to Nicole. Ray didn't say anything, but it became apparent that he didn't like me seeing his step-daughter. I really was a horrible influence and, in retrospect, I don't blame him at all. One night a bunch of us were drinking and smoking dope with Ray and Jane at their place. As the night grew old everyone started filing out and Ray and Jane retreated to their bedroom to crash out, leaving Baby G, Nicole, and me alone in the livingroom. Nicole and I fooled around a little while Baby G got drunk, then Baby G and I left. After we stepped outside he reached under the trailer and pulled out Jane's purse! "What the fuck is wrong with you, stealing Jane's purse?!" I angrily demanded. He just told me to chill out as he rummaged through it then said, "There isn't anything of value in it." as he tossed it over the fence and into the woods. There wasn't much I could do besides yell at him; he was my partner in crime.... The next day Ray accused me of stealing the purse and told me I was no longer welcomed over at his place. A couple of days after I was released from the Juvenile Detention Center my friends Eugene and Joe told me that Ray had a couple of the guns from the burglary I was arrested for. According to Eugene, Ray found the guns I'd stashed along side Eugene's trailer the morning after I was taken into custody. Eugene said Ray kept a couple of them, Jessie (Eugene's older brother) kept a couple, and the rest were given to Gene (Eugene's mom), who in turn gave them to my father. My father turned them over to the police. After Eugene told me this he must've noticed that I was getting angry because he said, "Forget about those guns Robert. You say you want to chill out and straighten your life out? Then forget about those guns!" Eugene had been my best friend for a very long time. We used to do everything together, including criminal activity, but he wised up and pulled away from that lifestyle a year or so before. After I got out of the Juvenile Detention Center I told him and Joe that I was finished living the fast life and that my intentions were to clean up and finish school. Eugene and I both used to say we'd be the first in our families to finish high school! And he was right when he told me to forget about those guns, yet I didn't listen. I guess I was still upset with Ray for banning me from his place and Nicole. I asked Ray about those guns and he denied having them, said he gave all of them to Gene. I told him that other people were telling me different and he said, " I don't care what other people say, I don't have any guns!" At the time I let it go. During the noon hour of August 9, 1995 Ray came home from work for lunch. I watched him pull into his driveway and I went outside to ask him about those guns again. Once again he denied having them and an argument ensued. We cursed at each other for a few seconds before my mother yelled for me to get inside my trailer. As I walked towards my front door I yelled back at Ray, "I'll bet my dad doesn't tell me to get inside when he gets home! He'll beat your fucking ass!".... I was such an idiot. One of the biggest mistakes I have ever made was telling my father about that argument. I wasn't thinking. You see my father has spent most of his life in prison and that lifestyle conditioned him to be very paranoid and extremely violent. In the 9 years that I knew him he stabbed 4 different men, on 4 separate occasions. Each time he was either drunk or paranoid, thinking someone was threatening him or his family. Although it had been a couple of years since he last stabbed anyone, I should've known better than to tell him about Ray. My brother arrived home from work first and I told him about the argument with Ray. His response was, "I'll see how though he is when he gets home." My father arrived shortly after my brother and after telling him about the argument he basically echoed what my brother said. I was under the impression that my brother would beat Ray up and that would be that. When a young kid would piss my brother off I'd handle it and he took care of the older guys that bothered me. Fist fights were a common way of settling disputes in that trailer park. Ray usually went to a local bar on Friday nights after work, so he didn't show up until close to 10pm. My father went to sleep around 9pm and not long after that my brother and I talked about the issue with Ray. "Little brother, let's forget about this shit. We have bigger problems to worry about and I think we should let it blow over." I agreed with him and we started to get ready for bed. As Ray pulled into his driveway, I was getting ready to crash out. Several minutes passed and then I heard Ray's front door slam and the sound of him yelling. Curiously, I looked out the window and observed what looked like Ray waving his hands at my trailer, while screaming something unintelligible. I immediately thought he was talking shit and told my brother as much. (Later on at trial I learned that his dog got loose and that he was calling the dog!) My brother went to wake up my dad and I began putting my boots on. After lancing my boots up, I went outside. As I rounded the front of my trailer Ray's truck came into view. He was reaching inside the driver's side door and I immediately thought that he could be going for a gun so I quickly covered the ground that separated us and yanked him out of his truck. (Once again, at trial I learned that he kept an extra dog leash in his truck and was probably searching for it!) By the time I pulled him away from his truck my brother was on the scene and he grabbed Ray, causing the both of them to tumble to the ground. They wrestled for a few seconds and I kicked at Ray a couple of times, trying to separate them. Suddenly, I noticed my father making his way towards us, but Ray broke free from my brother before he could get to where we were and then retreated behind his trailer. My father and brother gave chase, while I stayed by Ray's truck and told Eugene, Jessie, and Abraham (They all came outside to see what was going on.) what was happening. Jessie and I edged towards the back of Ray's trailer to see what was happening back there, but it was too dark to see anything. Then I watched as my brother and father came running towards us, both covered in blood. My father told me get into the car and I did. The sight of blood on them alarmed me and most of what transpired beyond that point is a blur. All I remember is getting into our car and my brother driving off. It was eerily reminiscent to the time we fled Rockport, Texas in 1990 after my father stabbed a guy in a bar down there. We went to stay with cousins in West Orange, Texas. Several days later my father called my brother and me to side and showed us a newspaper that said Ray was dead. My brother told me that my dad stabbed Ray behind his trailer, but I didn't realize it was that bad.... At first I didn't realize I was wanted for murder along with my father and brother, then when I found out I was wanted, too, I figured they just wanted me for questioning. Boy was I wrong. My father and brother were arrested several weeks later and I was apprehended a few days after that. On October 31, 1995 I was certified to stand trial as an adult. In May 1996 we all had a joint trial and on May 8, 1996 we were all convicted of murder. (My brother and I were convicted under the "Law of Parties") My father opted to be sentenced by the judge, while my brother and I were sentenced by the jury. My father received a Life sentence, my brother got 40 years aggravated, and I was given 99 years aggravated. *** *** *** Ten years have passed since Ray was prematurely taken away from his family and friends. As I sit here at my desk, reliving the past, the orange glow of the morning sun begins to fill my cell. Thoughts of Ruru and Ray's other child (from a different marriage) pervade my mind. It eats at my soul knowing that they are growing up without Ray. So many people were affected by Ray's early demise.... While I did not kill Ray, didn't see the stabbing, and never wanted him to die, I'm utterly cognizant of the fact that I am the REASON he is gone. That's something that I have never forgotten and will have to live with for the rest of my life. If any of Ray’s family or friends are reading this, I want you to know that I am truly sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I know that if it wasn't for me Ray would still be with you today. It is my hope that you can somehow find it in your hearts to forgive me.... May you rest in peace Ray. By Robert Pruett
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