5 First Hand Accounts Of Different Life Experiences

April 3, 2015 | 1 Comment » | Topics: main, TRUTH

What Is It Like To Serve A Life Sentence In Prison?

Psychologically, a life sentence is deteriorating to anybody. This mental decaying process takes many different forms that ranges from changes in behavior, to going literally insane or even committing suicide. All this depends on the mental strength of each individual. However, it usually begins with individual institutionalization.
In my case, when I was sentenced to serve life in prison plus 13 years of enhancements, my entire world crumbled.  All the plans and dreams I had for my future went out the window; I felt as if I was being buried alive. Unlike being actually lifeless, embalmed, and stuffed into a coffin, I was screaming for help while being wrapped in concrete walls and steel bars. A walking grave called prison.  Emotionally, I was crushed and nothing made sense to me. Everything seemed and felt surreal.  But all my desperate attempts to seek help and snap out of the worst nightmare ever were of no avail. My fate had been sealed, and slowly but surely the little hope left in me of seeing the streets again vanished. As a first termer in prison, I did not know or understand what a life sentence entailed.  All I knew was that it meant I was going to spend a long, long time in prison with the possibility of dying there.  At nearly 23 years old, I thought I was done.
As my time accumulated in prison, my belief continued to solidify with the negative retribution & isolation of the prison environment. In every prison I had been in prior to San Quentin, I experienced a mixed environment of non-sense and an insane culture of prison politics played by the majority of both sides; inmates and prison guards alike. There were no leading traits of anything positive coming from anybody. Everyone is in their own world so to speak. You want any changes? Good luck, you are on your own!

To top it off, all I was hearing repeatedly on the news channel(s) was, “Lock them up and throw away the key.” The lack of rehabilitation programs and education in those isolated prisons, and the disowning sentiment from some segments of society combined with the hardships of staying connected to my loved ones accelerated my institutionalization. For quite some time I believed that once labeled as a convict one was repudiated by society in general. The only thing left for me to resort to, was desensitizing myself as a coping mechanism. Thereafter, I began conditioning my mind, above all, or as well said recently by a friend of mine from the outside, my “Emotions are there and VERY real but [I] have to put a time delay between [my] head and [my] heart.” This has enabled me to maintain my overall health, mental stability, and spirituality as well as physically through my journey in prison.
For many years I went to sleep hoping to wake up out of prison just to continue opening my eyes the following morning watching the same crumbling and dilapidated concrete ceiling of my four and one half by eleven feet long cell. I’m still here. But, ever since my arrival at San Quentin my opinion has been changed by the warm, and humane treatment that every single volunteer has shown me. Today, I can see that I was wrong all along and that there have always
 been people within society who care and never stopped believing that change is possible for the incarcerated individuals if given the proper tools and opportunity. This is what has rekindled the hope in me and in humanity.

Jorge Herediainmate San Quentin State Prison


addicted to cigarette

What’s It Like To Be Addicted To Cigarettes

I’m 30 and started smoking when i was 12. by the time i was 15 i was a full fledged pack a day smoker. over the years i have witnessed many people fall prey to the habit.

you start by smoking here and there, maybe you don’t inhale at first, maybe you just like to blow it out your nose or smoke it like a cigar. it’s only on certain occasions.

if you are fiddling with cigarettes, you likely have friends that are smoking, also. so you are hanging out, maybe having a few beers, and you see them smoking and decide to be social with them, and also have a cig, but alas, you have none. so you bum a few off a friend for the night. you kind of like it. it just feels good to have one with some drinks or just when you’re talking and laughing. soon you do this every time you get together for a drink/movie/whatever. it’s not a big deal, it’s just once in a blue moon.

after a while, your friends start complaining that you are always asking for cigarettes but you never seem to have your own, you cheap son of a biatch. those shiets are expensive. maybe next time you could come prepared and letother people bum them. so you buy a pack prior to the next gathering. it feels weird to order them at the counter, but whatever. it’s only for the night and you feel like an asshole smoking everyone’s cigarettes all night. you see how they act when they run low. you don’t want to be that guy.

so now you have your own pack of cigarettes. it’s just for the socialness of it. but at the end of the night you have leftovers. you leave them for a friend because what the hell do you need them for? the night is over. it’s not like you’re going to smoke them tomorrow.

eventually there comes a time where you decide you may as well keep the cigarettes you bought. they areexpensive and you’re sick of having to buy them every time you go out, so you’ll just save them for next time.

now, a weird thing happens when you have your own pack of cigarettes. maybe you’ll get the idea to just smoke one after a shietty day, maybe you won’t. maybe you’ll have your own 6 pack while you watch the game. if you have a few beers, you will notice a strange urge to have one of those cigarettes. for the past few months, every time you’ve had drinks with friends you’ve had a few cigarettes. it’s like they go together. it’s just what you do. but there’s no one else there, it’s just you.

so you have a little debate with yourself. you don’t need the cig, but you sure would like to have it. it’s not going to ruin your night either way.

if you decide to have that cigarette, you have fuking failed. you are doomed. doomed. what you have done is solidified an association with having drinks and smoking cigarettes. it is no longer a social thing. you love the little buzz you get. you love playing with it as you sip your drink. you love trying to make smoke rings or whatever other cutesy shiet you do to amuse yourself while you smoke it. you don’t realize it, but you now have a habit. an itsy bitsy manageable habit, but a habit nonetheless.

you may now find yourself looking forward to outings with friends because you can’t wait to have an occasion to smoke a cig or two. you might notice a feeling of “nakedness” if you have beer or two with dinner but no cigarette. you might hang out with your smoker friends on non drinking occasions and feel that same sense of something missing. then you see someone light a cig and it hits you. you want that fuking thing. shiet. you have another internal debate with yourself about whether or not to have a cigarette without the drinks. you don’t even have cigs on you. if you decide to bum one now, you are officially screwed. you gave in. now you’ve solidified an association between social occasions and smoking. you will come to expect this at gatherings. going out to dinner? let me join you for a cigarette. cookout? you don’t mind if i have one of those, do you? i didn’t bring any because i’m not drinking.

so now you smoke at social drinking occasions, you might smoke when drinking at home, and you also smoke when just hanging out. your friends again chastise you for bumming their cigarettes. buy your fuking own if you want one that bad, they say. you promise to bring your own next time…

now you smoke often enough to expect a cigarette after certain occasions. after dinner? smoke. movie’s over? smoke. drinks at bob’s? smoke. you dun goofed, and it’s all downhill from here. you’ve accidentally built cigarettes into your life.



What’s It Like To Work At Walmart

My average day when I was a day-shift Sales Associate (the ones who stock shelves) at Wal-Mart:

  1. Clock in a little early, duck management and stock some areas that need it.

  2. Management eventually finds you and acts as if you’ve been neglecting your job for avoiding them. They make you take the items you were going to stock to the back, then set you on taking down features on the floor and moving them to a different location on the floor, or piling them in the back and replacing them with something similar. I once spent three hours switching two dog food displays that were less than twenty feet apart.

  3. Intermittently while you’re doing this management will come ride you and the other 1-2 Sales Associates who actually try to do a good job about doing a better job, meanwhile the lazier Sales Associates -who would discredit zombies to refer to them as such- will shamble back and forth accomplishing next to nothing while management pretends they don’t exist.

  4. If you’re unlucky enough to be trained as a cashier you will probably be doing that half of the day, because the register staff is also woefully undermanned, as well as having a high turnover/call-in rate.

  5. Just when you find that you have time to stock a few items again it is now your lunch break, or else management has decided that the daily “zone” (Facing the items and pulling them forward on the shelf) is starting an hour early. Never mind that there are several carts of items in the back that can go on the half-empty shelves that you are zoning.

  6. You clock out and try to pretend that you weren’t working in circles all day- and maybe, just maybe you helped out somebody, somewhere.

Also, the department manager of your area is probably trapped between a half-dozen redundant meetings and/or putting a billion new price tags with a slightly different color or graphic or slogan on the shelves, so he/she can’t help you much.

Also ALSO, during all of this, exasperated customers who can’t find half of what they are looking for will approach you for help, and the most you will be able to do is shrug with an idiotic grin on your face and tell them “Sorry, maybe it will be on the shelf next week”.

You can’t totally blame the middle management that is yanking you around the store, because their manager has a list from their manager, who has a list from their manager (and so on for who knows how many iterations all the way back to hq), and if they don’t check off that list it’s them in the frying pan.

I find a lot of positive things at Wal-Mart. The customers (not kidding, they can really make your day), most of your coworkers, flexible hours that work with school, and a lot of the management are great people. It’s just a wonder that anyone can get around the store with so much red tape floating around.


What’s It Like To Be An Unattractive Woman Living In A Superficial World

I am ugly. I am unattractive. I know that my skin is awful, my hair is greasy, and society simply does not permit women to weigh as much as I do.

But, mind you, this is not the same as having low self-esteem. Because when I look in the mirror, I hate my body, not myself. I simply shake my head and think, “This isn’t me. This mediocre sack of meat isn’t me. I’m just renting it out, driving it around. It’s a tool. It’s a vehicle. I use it to take myself places that I need to go, and that’s all there is to it.”

Ok fine, I’m not Zen enough to actually believe I can escape with that train of thought. The truth is, I am frustrated with the irreconcilable disconnect between my pride and my presence. The acne mask and the fat suit egregiously fail to conform with my mental mockups of my perfectly badass self. I suppose the only real solution then, besides undergoing extensive surgeries, is to upload my conscience to a supercomputer. 

Maybe the Singularity will happen, and everything will be great, but in the meantime, I much prefer the Internet to real life interactions because most of you haven’t got a clue as to what I look like, and if you don’t like me it’s because my ideas suck and not because you find my face unpleasant. The Internet allows me to temporarily abandon the limitations of my subpar physical avatar.

Even if people are especially curious about my appearance, I only allow them to make vague inferences based off a single profile picture, uniform across all my social media haunts, taken a very long time ago at a surprisingly flattering angle, in which I actually manage to trick them into thinking I look quite average. Well, I don’t. I’ve gained 50 pounds since then, and academic stress makes my acne flare up like nobody’s business.

Regardless, I decided a while back that everyone has his or her own strengths and weaknesses, and I would do well to focus on my strengths instead of my weaknesses. Even people who are bad at everything are less bad at some things than they are at others. After some introspection, I concluded that I was less bad at learning things than I was at looking pretty, so I would ultimately benefit far more from sharpening my skills and pursuing a technical career than from trying in vain to undo the effects of losing the genetic lottery.

As for the romantic side of things, I avoid unnecessary heartbreak by keeping myself from harboring silly delusions about reciprocated love in the first place. I have rationalized that it is okay for me to be ugly because 1) marriage is not the optimal arrangement for everyone and 2) the human race would likely carry on just fine without my genetic contribution.

I am irritated with the cliché that “everyone is beautiful” because surface friendliness and pretending to be PC don’t solve anything. It doesn’t help the young girl with confidence issues because even if you’re “nice” enough to tell her that she’s beautiful, are you nice enough to, like, actually date her? Words mean nothing without actions, yet it’s patently unfair to expect people not to be shallow because at the end of the day, beauty is beauty, attraction is attraction, and sexual desire is governed by deep-rooted evolutionary impulses that people don’t understand and can’t control.

It would be far more useful to promote the idea that people can contribute to the world in a variety of interesting and fulfilling ways besides making others salivate over their bodies. You can make original scientific breakthroughs! You can regale people with tales of heroic conquest! You can build products that make people’s lives easier! But I guess changing the world wouldn’t make for an effective beauty products campaign.

CS Undergrad at MIT 


What’s It Like To Be A Pimp

I remember when I heard pimpin ain’t easy for the first time, long before I ever turned my first bitch out I thought it was a joke. I thought pimpin ain’t easy was like “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse”. I thought it was an over exaggeration, like yeah, pimpin ain’t easy cause you gotta count all that money boo-hooo right? Well after being a pimp for a while I can certainly attest to the fact that pimpin ain’t easy and it’s no joke.

Being a pimp is not hard, and I don’t mean to over exaggerate in any way cause I sure as hell don’t mean to make it sound like working a dead end 9-5 or even compare to being a CEO of a major company. The saying was never pimpin is hard, pimps just say pimpin ain’t easy because the general conception is that pimping takes no work or effort at all. A true pimp will make it look easy, but it’s far from being easy.

If you ain’t a pimp and you’re just reading this out of interest, then think about it like this… if you’ve ever had a wife or a girlfriend who needs to talk, feel wanted, feel comforted, feel safe, feel secure, feel like she knows you love her, feel like her future holds better things, feel like she’s the center of the fucking universe and if not, she’s bitchin and nagging at you. Then just imagine the same situation but your wife is a bitch who’s fucking 5-10 tricks a day, she was sexually abused as a child, she’s got a handfull of addictions going from caffeine and nicotine to prescription drugs to straight up cocaine and heroine problems. Now on top of your bitch being that fucked up you’ve also got 5-10 of them to deal with on a daily basis 24/7.

Like I said, it ain’t like being a pimp is working in a factory and hard labor, but being a pimp is mentally tiring and you gotta be smart and stay on your toes at all times. You can never kick your feet up, have a weak moment, confide in any one or show any weakness at all. At all times you need to be 100% in control and in check of not only yourself, but all your bitches as well.

Pimping Is Morally Wrong

So what does it take to be a pimp? I’m going to break it down for you. First and foremost you can’t be a good person. A pimp is not a good person. You can be nice, you can be friendly, you can be a lot of things, but being a good person is completely out of the question. A good person doesn’t pray on women who had a fucked up past. A good person doesn’t steer a bitch into fucking 5-10 tricks a day. Never fool yourself and think that there’s some bitches who just love to fuck, no bitch in this world loves to fuck for money. They’re not doing it for the money, they’re doing it for you. You need to be able to understand there’s a lot of bad karma that comes out of pimping and you gotta be able to look karma in the face and tell it go fuck itself.

Pimping Is Lonely

Pimpin is also hard because it’s a lonely job. I don’t mean to sound like a bitch or anything, I’m a very confident person who doesn’t need to seek approval of others in order to feel complete. But when you got like 10 different bitches and you’re constantly their rock, the dude they look to when shit gets tough, their sense of security in the world, you’re constantly listening to people open up about their feelings and it’s always a one way conversation. You never talk about yourself, unless it’s a bullshit story that somehow makes you look better to your bitches. You can never lose control of the situation, you always have to be on your game. To some people this is easy, to others it becomes difficult and in a moment of weakness or a moment of wackness they open up and tell their bitch something stupid that ends up biting them in the ass in the future.

Pimps Are Players

Like a judge was a lawyer, the natural progression of elite players is to become a pimp. But deep down in your heart you have to be a player first. You have to know how to play women so well that it’s easy and boring to you. You have to know how to manipulate women, you have to know how to sense what their needs and desires are, you have to find their needs and fill them. If you don’t know how to manipulate a woman, you can learn. But if you don’t know how to find out what their needs are naturally, you’re going to have a lot of trouble being a pimp. If you’re talking to a bitch for the first time and you have no clue whether she’s down to kick it on the weekend, check out a movie etc or if she’s trying to come up with an excuse in her head to get rid of you, then you’re probably not going to be a very good pimp. You have to have natural game and know what women are thinking. You might be able to learn this, but every pimp I ever met worth his salt was a natural.

Pimp Swagger

Part of being a player is being on your game 24/7, a player doesn’t go to the corner store looking like a broke ass homeless dude and neither does a pimp. A pimp is fresh and clean and exuding confidence at every step of his day. If you find it natural to always be looking fresh, then this will be easier for you. But if you’re someone who likes to dress up to go the club but don’t mind looking wack when you’re hanging around the house, you’re gonna have to change. When I was pimping I would go to the spa every single day, 7 days a week. I got a hair cut every 2-3 days, never let my hair grow out and look even a week old. Staying fresh isn’t just about filling the stereo type, there’s an important reason behind it that I will fully get into but the bottom line is you need to first and foremost it is required.

– Pimp Feet