My cellmate and I were like best friends. We ate together, shared our family photos and were a perfect match. The both of us had lengthy prison sentences and were far along in the bid. Oftentimes we stayed up late into the wee hours of the night discussing life in prison and our plans upon released. We never had an argument about anything. Our setup was as ideal as they came in prison. That was until my cellmate got his hands on a sack of Meth in prison.
I had never seen him use drugs before, but from first glance it appeared as if the Methamphetamines had little to no impact on his behavior patterns. He had dismantled an empty coke can and made a contraption that looked like a tobacco pipe. After igniting a flame from the electrical outlet in our cell by using bare razors and a piece of wire, he smoked the Methamphetamine non-stop for eight consecutive days without ever going to sleep!
The first change in his behavior pattern came on Day 3 when I noticed that he had not eaten anything in days. Next, I started to noticed that he was spending the majority of his time gazing out our cell’s window or front door. When I asked who he was looking for he simply replied, “just thinking!” By Day 4 and Day 5, my cellmate had picked up the habit of pacing the floor non-stop. All night he was moving from the window to the door, sweating profusely. There was this darkness to his expressions that overtook the normal bright featured in his face.
His consumption of the Methamphetamine increased exponentially. Instead of taking a smoke every few hours, he was smoking every fifteen minutes or so. On Day 7, a few prison guards started questioning me about his abnormal behavior. My cellmate had set our cell up like a fortress that was expecting an attack. He tied sheets over the door and windows so no one could look in. Whenever I wanted to enter or exit the cell, I had to wait minutes for him to remove the homemade locking mechanism that he had wedged in the door’s railing. It was clear to me that he was losing it but I didn’t want to alert the administration because I knew the consequences. Once he failed a drug test, they would lock him up in Restricted Housing, he would received a disciplinary infraction and I would lose him as a cellmate. It was my hopes that his Methamphetamine stash would run dry and he would return back to his original self. I was wishing upon a prayer.
On Day 8, I entered the cell after he removed the homemade locking mechanism and all of the hanging sheets. I didn’t realize he had broken down his fan and removed the five pound motor. And I didn’t know that he he had wrapped it in a long towel . He had one of the darkest looks I’d ever seen when he started striking me upside of my head with it. Bloody, confused, and slightly dazed, I grabbed him and attempted to bring him back.
“Its me, what are you doing?” I tried to plea with him. But he was not in the mood for any plea negotiations. I thought I was about to die. At that point all I could do was hold on for dear life. I had heard over the years about cellmates getting assaulted by people who were on a bad trip with Methamphetamines. Some have even died.
When the guards finally responded and pulled me from the cell, I was still at a loss. Why did my cellmate do this to me? How did I go from friend to foe in such a short time? What could I have done differently?
Thankful that I was strong enough to prevent my cellmate from killing me, I am saddened that a drug like Methamphetamine was readily available in my prison and that it destroyed my friendship with cellmate. We were good until the Methamphetamine came.
Jeremy Busby #00881193
Memorial
59 Darrington Road
Rosharon, TX 77583
