It’s usually sad to see a guy come back to prison, often for some stupid reason. But for today’s returnee, I’ll make an exception.
He’d have better luck on selling me his hard-luck story if I hadn’t been the one who researched and wrote up his social history the last time he came through here. It’s still in the files. In the twenty-odd years in which he’s been bouncing in and out of prison, he’s also been in and out of the prison mental health system, which he has historically used to manage his comfort level in prison. There’s not the slightest iota of evidence that he has ever had any commitment to personal change, and no evidence that he’s bothered with mental health in the community either. Why should he? Like most antisocial types, he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him; it’s the system that needs to change to accommodate his wishes.
Even if I didn’t know his history, I’d be suspicious. For one thing, he’s lying to me about why he’s back in prison; he says it’s because he missed a curfew — a minor technical violation of probation — but he admitted to Classification that he’s in because he stole a car from his employer. Nice guy; that’s one more bridge burned, not to mention that he’s just made it that much tougher for the next ex-con who needs a job to find one. Then there’s the way he’s presenting. He’s over-dramatic and much too invested in trying to sell me on his “problems,” for reasons that rapidly become apparent — he wants me to intervene and ensure that he won’t go to a particular prison where he’s had trouble before. No dice. That’s Classification’s bailiwick, not mine; they don’t take recommendations, let alone orders, from Mental Health. Besides, if he’s telling the truth about the investigation and its outcome, there will be a flag on his file to ensure that he doesn’t come in contact with the same people again. If he’s lying, tough; it’s still not my problem.
He also wants me to get him into an inpatient mental health facility when he is released 18 months from now, and I know perfectly well why — he has absolutely no intention of changing his ways and figures he’ll get more lenient treatment in a mental hospital than he would continuing his predatory ways on the street, which will bring him right back to prison. I have all I can do not to laugh in his face. We can’t even get chronic schizophrenics into the state hospital and out of the prison system, and he thinks they’re going to admit him because that’s the way he wants it? I tell him as nicely as I can that inpatient placement isn’t a realistic option and he would be better off talking to the transitions officer about a halfway house placement when the time comes for him to prepare for release. He doesn’t like that; he could use the support, all right, but halfway houses have strict rules, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. But he also guesses — correctly — that I’m not going to give this issue any more time today. Even if what he wanted was a legitimate option, it’s far too early to get into pre-release planning.
He’s watching me intently; his head weaves from side to side, but his eyes are steady as rocks and about as expressive. In fact, his whole upper face is a mask, contrasting sharply with his emotional speech and mobile mouth. He reminds me of one of those nature films in which a weasel is getting ready to strike a mouse. I’ve seen this behavior plenty of times before, and in my experience it’s invariably the mark of a sociopath who’s trying to run something past me. Not today. I wrap up the needed business and get him out of my office. Fortunately for me, he’ll be someone else’s problem soon; he’s been on a caseload here before, so his former counselor will be picking him back up. I silently wish my colleague luck; he’s going to need it. And a lot of patience.
