Diagnostics
The bus journey was another long ride, when getting the prison bus the prisoners are handcuffed in pairs, there was an officer in the back behind a grill with a rifle or shotgun, while another armed officer rode up front where there was also a grill, so the bus was like a cage on wheels.
I arrived at Diagnostics Unit, Huntsville, as I walked down the bus I was ahead of the guy I was cuffed to so I would be the first to get off the bus, I had my commissary bag in my left hand and my right hand was cuffed to another prisoner, there were many officers waiting outside the bus door, as I was going down the steps I was hit in the head causing me to fall, (this is not flesh to flesh such as you would think, but they had discovered that I could be physically hit in an unseen way, just like in Estelle unit, I try to join the dots later on) with my right hand cuffed to the prisoner who continued standing firm, my already bad shoulder was pulled as my arm stayed up while my body went down, an officer said laughingly “watch the step it’s slippery” it was still fun to them, just like bullies laugh at there victim.
My right shoulder was in incredible pain now, I think it may have been pulled out, but there was no medical support for me, the bus ride was another nightmare, they new that my body parts could be targeted.
We were taken to processing and again a long wait to be assigned to my cell, everywhere seemed to be a long wait, I was assigned a two man cell in a row of cell blocks, the only TV was in dayrooms which I was never allowed to go I was in a row of cells where you would have to put a mirror through the bars to see who was coming up the hallway.
A commissary bag is a white bag with draw strings that you have to buy from commissary in order to carry your belongings.
When we first came in at processing I was made to throw away all my letters many of which were from my wife but also from family in the UK. Emotional abuse was also being carried out; I knew that prisoners were allowed there letters, but I was not a normal prisoner, I could show no emotion or sentiment because it was seen as weakness and any weakness was attacked. If I show love or kindness towards anyone it’s followed by abuse and often I was tortured for writing to my wife, there will also be more about this later, so I was becoming harder as time went on, as I learned to block any emotion.
I was on 24hr lock up let out only for meals and interviews. The cells were a single row with bars as I have said, I was on the top bunk, but now I had the use of only one arm as my right arm was unusable.
I would dread having to get up or down to my rack, every time I could not climb down so I would have to drop to the floor the pain was extreme and would shoot through my shoulder, and having to pull myself up onto my rack with my left arm was also very difficult and painful but I endured, also the other abuse continued from the prisoners.
I learnt that thoughts are spirit and they can pass through anything, walls can’t keep them out, (this is also explained in more detail later on) on returning from chow one day some prisoners said to me as I entered my cell, “Don’t worry we wont touch you, well just think about you” this was yet more verbal proof that my claims are true, they are speaking to me, when I had told them nothing, so why would they say this, unless it was possible? This is not delusional.
The doors were operated electrically so the officers would open the door a bit and then slam it shut, at times it would go on for ages, remember at Gurney they were told to cabbage me, well mental abuse was certainly continued, as they tried to destroy my mind.
So I lay on my torture rack enduring all that was being done to me day and night, sleeping when I could or because I was exhausted, I would still write and protest about my treatment, I tried explaining how things were being done, as my gifts were being abused, what more could I do? How could I even think straight? The time in there was more of the same but my shoulder eventually got better, the prisoners would also continually flush the toilets, for hours I would lay there with nothing but constant water flushing, door banging, and all this water flushing, and I would talk and talk to myself on my rack, this is how I would vent my feelings as I did in my letters.
Then I opened my Bible to where it said “His voice was as the sound of many waters” (Rev 1:15) I laughed at this, man how true this was, my situation was always being covered in the bible. I had also heard a multitude of voices back in Gurney they were all praising God; I will also cover this later on when I join the dots.
After about a month at Diagnostics I was moved to Goree Unit which is also in Huntsville, this is where they were now going to assign me to the unit I was to do the remaining years of my sentence, was I ever going to get assigned somewhere? The cells were the same as Estelle and Diagnostics, two man with iron bar doors which were opened by an officer at the end of the block, the same type of abuse was done, one time I walked out of the chow hall and got hit in-between the shoulder blades, they were gaining more knowledge of how I could be hit, do you realise how many people I had been abused by? Employees and prisoners of TDCJ, (Texas Department of Criminal Justice) they couldn’t be seen to be abusing me so things were done slyly, and always covered up, so you can see why it is complicated, I am more than willing to face TDCJ over any of my claims.
President Bush once said America is a compassionate country? That’s a lie, it’s all for show. I do know that there are many compassionate people in America, it’s just a shame that there deceived.
I was assigned to the James V Allred Unit, Iowa Park, Texas, which opened in June 1995 and is one of the largest maximum security units in Texas housing approximately 3600 offenders. So I was on the chain once more, this time to my finale destination it is now May 1999.