Jeremy Busby describes how mental illness in solitary confinement is ignored by prison officials, even when a seriously ill prisoner communicates almost entirely through bird noises.
KeeKeeKekekekeKEEEEEEE! That’s the alarm clock that awakens me every morning. It’s one of about 15 different types of bird noises my next door neighbor makes.
Corn Chip’s Bird Noises
Obviously suffering from severe mental illness, my neighbor—who ironically goes by the name Corn Chip—stands in the shadows of his cell door 18-20 hours a day crowing, chirping, or gawking at anyone who passes his cell. When there’s no one passing his cell, Corn Chip has a special hoot that’s designed to summon someone.
CoCaCoCaCoCaCAAAAA is another one of his favorites. What species of bird that is, I’m not sure. In fact, I’m not even sure Corn Chip knows the answer to that question. It’s not like we have access to watch the National Discovery Channel or any other nature programming.
I’m firmly convinced that Corn Chip is the creator of his own bird species. He makes this shit up. It’s embarrassing for me to admit that I’ve allocated enough of my time studying him to make that determination.
I have no other option. Corn Chip and I are both in solitary confinement. Our cell doors are adjacent. Every method I’ve tried to elude him has failed miserably. Wearing ear plugs is ineffective. Blasting my radio only exacerbates the problem.
Mental Illness in Solitary Confinement
All of the guards find him hilarious. They looked forward to going to Corn Chip’s cell to hear him gawk and hoot. Occasionally, they bring visitors with them to watch the hybrid—no pun intended—human/bird show. It makes their day. They all leave his cell shaking their heads, saying the same thing, “This guy is crazy!”
I agree with them all that Corn Chip has some real mental health problems that need addressing. The dire situation that Corn Chip is subjected to, sitting inside a cell the size of a king-size mattress 24 hours a day only makes his mental state worse.
I often wonder what prison official is responsible for his placement in solitary confinement. And, more importantly, why has no one corrected that mistake? It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to see this guy is completely out of his mind within a few seconds of encountering him. The first KeKeKeKeKEEEEEE is just too hard to ignore. For the past 18 months, I’ve witnessed countless prison guards and mental health staff get the bird treatment from Corn Chip. The fact that he’s still locked in that cell and not at a mental health hospital where he can receive treatment perplexes me.
Mental illness in solitary confinement cannot be treated by leaving someone inside a cell the size of a king-size mattress 24 hours a day.
An Abnormal Visitor to the Cellblock
Yesterday, we had an abnormal visitor to our cellblock. The senior warden, a person who we go months without seeing, went cell to cell talking to people. I thought to myself, “This is it.” There was no way the senior warden was going to watch the bird show without demanding that Corn Chip be transferred to a mental health facility immediately. I stood at my cell door in high anticipation. Finally, Corn Chip would get the help he needed, and I could get some damn peace!
On schedule, when the senior warden approached Corn Chip’s door, he was greeted with a CoCaCoCaCoCaCoCAAAAA! He looked down at the ground, then back up to Corn Chip, and said, “How you doing?” Corn Chip responded with a KeeKeeKeeKEEEEEEE! To which the warden responded, “That’s good!”
Corn Chip hit him with another CooKOOCooKOOCooKEEEEE! Which was a new noise I had never heard before. I’m guessing Corn Chip had saved that one exclusively for the warden. The warden said, “I’m glad that you’re doing good.”
The entire scene was something straight from Jim Carrey’s Pet Detective movie. It was unbelievable.
A Five-Minute Conversation in Bird
This exchange went on for about five minutes. Corn Chip showcased his ability to make at least 15 different noises during that span. Shockingly, the warden understood each one. If I couldn’t hear Corn Chip chirping, I would have assumed that he and the warden were having a regular, productive conversation. For a very brief moment, I convinced myself that the warden spoke and understood bird.
While I was grappling with my attempts to make any real sense out of what I’d just witnessed, the warden turned his attention to my cell. He had an entourage of ranking prison officials surrounding him. He looked at my puzzled face and asked, “So are you alright, Busby?”
A part of me wanted to respond, “Koo Koo,” in part to be facetious, and in part to just verbally expressed my current mental disorganization. “Am I alright?” I repeated my words to both myself and the warden. “I’m doing just fine, Warden,” I finally mustered. “The real question is, are you alright, Warden?” I asked. “I don’t mean no disrespect, Sir,” I continued, “but you are the one who just held a five-minute conversation with my neighbor in Bird! I want to know where the hell you learned Bird at?” I demanded. He had no answer.
Out of all the ridiculous situations I’ve encountered with prison officials, this one was the most classic. After holding an extensive conversation with Corn Chip in Bird, the senior warden of this facility asked me was I alright.
Meanwhile, the mental illness in solitary confinement that prison officials had just witnessed remained unaddressed.
