Mark comes home
Hi, my name is Mark, and this is my story. I was born and brought up in Wales but I left the country in 1985, when I was 22 years old. Since then I’ve lived all over the place – Spain, Eastern Europe, but by 2003 I was living in southern India. I’ve always tried to come back at least once a year though – this is still my home after all.
I’d always smoked a little bit of hashish, but in India I started smoking more and more, and also ended up smuggling some as well, especially as I was so close to the source. For my 40th birthday I decided to go out to Australia and have a party with a few friends. However, I’d gotten to the stage where I needed hash every day, so I made the decision – it was a mistake, actually – to post some to Australia, to the house where I was going to stay. A few days after my arrival in Australia, the package arrived. Unfortunately for me, the Australian customs had detected drugs in it, and when I accepted it, I was arrested and charged with importation of hashish. I was initially sentenced to nine years, although I got two years off as this was my first offence, and I had some good references.
It was my first time in prison. The fact that many people perceive hash to be a less serious crime doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, I committed a crime. This incident has taught me to respect the boundaries. The law states that you can get that much time, and that was what I was given – you have to accept it.
At the beginning of my sentence I was concentrating on myself, being a bit of a man’s man, thinking “I can do this!”. A bit later on a realised that it was my family who needed help as much as I did, and it turns out that Prisoners Abroad can be very helpful there.
During my time in detention I began to address the behaviour that had got me in prison. For the first two years I was smoking dope in the prison. But then I started going to the group sessions, and I was sitting next to people who were heroin addicts or used crack, and I suddenly realised: “I’m up to my neck here, this behaviour has got me into trouble.” And so I made the decision to address that behaviour. I’d been smoking for years, thinking that it helped me to sleep, but in prison I started to exercise, weights and cardio-vascular work, and lo and behold it was no longer a problem to sleep without smoking. I also found I had more energy during the day, my thoughts weren’t going off in millions of different directions. Once I’d addressed my drug use, things became far clearer.
I still remember the feeling of arriving back at Heathrow. My sister had arranged to meet me there – I was keen to see her, as she had got a second job whilst I was away to help pay for our parents to visit me, but she hadn’t been able to make the trip herself. At the point I went through the gate, all of a sudden I felt a rush of fears and anxieties swelling up inside me. As I walked through into the area where people are standing around waiting to meet their loved ones, my heart rate increased. I looked in vain for my sister, but couldn’t see her anywhere. I could feel that I was starting to panic, but managed to find a quiet place and read through the information Prisoners Abroad had sent me. Just having that available allowed me to relax and start thinking in a straight line. Within five minutes I had found her, and I could feel relief. But that was the day that my anxiety started.
Usually I’m a confident sort of person. Shoulders back, head up, very self-assured. I mean, I was a salesman during the 80s. I did my jail sentence with no problems. I never expected to come back and have confidence problems, anxiety attacks and have things happening that I don’t understand. But these things all happened the minute I got off the plane. The new me couldn’t look anyone in the eye. I was just looking at my feet, and shuffling a lot.
So I went in to see Prisoners Abroad, where I met my resettlement worker. When she met me she looked me straight in the face and asked how I was. It was like meeting an angel. Nobody, except for family members, had shown me any concern for years. She sat me down, explained my situation, and gave me a little bit of money. At that point I probably couldn’t see further ahead than two or three hours. I was still confused, I didn’t know what was happening or what I was going to do tomorrow. But here was someone who would listen to my concerns.
I visited Prisoners Abroad every day that week. They helped me out financially and with my benefits, and answered my questions. The angel kept shining brighter and brighter, until after a couple of weeks my mind was able to cope with things more than 24 hours ahead.
Prisoners Abroad arranged for me to go on a counselling course. They made it so easy for me. Within a few days I was sat talking to a mental health nurse. It was excellent, it really helped. I still get my moments, but I can’t recall when the last one was.
Six weeks later I was still craving routines. Every time someone rattled some keys I’d stand up against the wall, ready to be counted. I’d always be looking at the clock, expecting a head count every two hours. In prison you have very little control over any part of your day, but when you come out you have responsibility for everything. And that can be very hard.
But I’m determined to look to the future now, even if it’s just six months at a time. Six months is a lot better than 24 hours, which is where I was just a few weeks ago. I’m starting to think about finding work. It may not be an ideal job immediately, and I know I might need some training, but I’m looking forward. I’ve got a smile back on my face again. For the last six weeks I’ve been wearing dark clothes, but today I thought – I’m going to wear an orange t-shirt today. Things are looking much brighter now.
Comments (0)
