by Jeremy Willis
Hi there. This is Jeremy Willis again and I am writing this time from old Corcoran State Prison in Corcoran California. Well since I last wrote you a lot has happened. And what I mean is, I was told by the prison doctor that I have Hep. C. Thinking back, I must have had it for 16 years, and it turned into Liver Cancer (cirrhosis of the liver). The doctor told me if I don’t take care of myself, I most likely won’t live six months, but if I do who knows how long it could be, maybe years. I got depressed hearing that.
One day on the yard a person I’ve known since I was in Jr. High (on June 6th I’ll turn 41 years old) gave me a gift. Well it wasn’t a gift at all. It turned out to be crystal meth and like a moron, I did it. Everything was perfect until someone disrespected me and the next thing I knew I was on my way to the hole for a brand new charge in court. I got into a fight and I used a weapon on him. It’s not eve cool because I ended up with a sixteen month fifteen day SHU term (Security Housing Unit). Worse than that, I had a year left until I got released, but now I am going to court with a deal of sixty-one years to life, because I am looking at my third strike for it now. So my little brothers and sisters, think about what you just read.
I might not ever get out of prison again all because I wasn’t thinking correctly and I got high. Something so small can cause something so big for us and we never think about the future, just the present.
Look, I grew up in foster homes and when I got adopted at the age of 10 I thought I knew everything about everything. I didn’t think it could get any worse than what I had already been through, but as I turned 19 on June 6th 1995 and in that July I landed in an adult state prison because of my action in 1994 at 17 years old. Since July 1995, I have been sentenced by a judge to State prison five times already and on my paperwork I’ve had seventeen parole violations along with misdemeanors here and there.
Since July 1995, the longest time I’ve ever stayed out for was four months and one day which isn’t crap. Think about it. My shortest time was around thirty-minutes and most of that time I was in the back of a cop car while the cops were gathering clues. LOL, the booking cops tripped out because I just did a year and within that thirty minutes I picked up four years.
I am not proud of the life I have lived and I can only imagine what my step-family think about me. Also, whenever I am out, my family doesn’t like to go anywhere with me because I am covered with tattoos all over and if you could see me right this minute you would see a lot of gang tattoos.
I don’t gang bang anymore, but when other gangs see my tattoos it causes problems for me and there’s nothing I can do but deal with it all because back then I thought it was cool or I’d look tough and impress females everywhere I go, but I never thought about 25 years down the road. I have two tattoos that are in plain sight that I really hate. One is a tear drop under my left eye and every gang member that sees it knows what it means and how I earned it. They try to get paybacks for whoever. The second is RIP Marcos real big on my neck: Marcos was my 19 year old son who was killed by his fellow gang members who were some of his best homies because he was making a lot of money selling crystal and they got jealous. At this moment they’re all incarcerated for it. I regret it because I should of told him to stop dealing and be a better person than I am, but I didn’t. He barely had a son when he was killed and my last memory of him was when he was 17 years old, and it’s not fair because his son will never get to call him dad. And now because I was stupid and got high, I most likely will never meet my grandson unless I get a miracle in court and don’t get my third strike.
Now I think back to October 2017 and I realize that just because I grew up with someone doesn’t make them my friend, because a friend who was sober for a couple months and trying to stay sober wouldn’t have given me drugs or allowed me to use his weapon on the other person. At least in my book, that is not a friend, but it’s too late now and all I can do is move forward in life and learn from that mistake and all the other ones I have made before, before it is too late and I can never get another chance to learn from them.
So there, my fellow jail birds (and all Beat readers), I really do believe it’s time you kick back and review your life and make some changes before it is too late and twenty five years later you find yourself sitting at a desk in prison writing to The Beat Within like I am.
Now, some of you might not be going home and I hope you think about whoever writes you or visits you because they are the ones who really love you and care about you. My family last visited me back around 2002 or 2003 because they got burnt out on it and they are too busy with their lives to write me anymore. They don’t have a clue what it is like to be in our shoes and how much a couple words would make us feel good. I’d love to receive a letter that only said, “Hi, we love and miss you, be good.” I would save those couple words forever, but that won’t happen. So please, little homies, think about what I am saying at least for one day and go from there.
I have a friend in prison who was fifteen years old when he got arrested in San Francisco and so far he’s been locked up for fifty-nine years and he’s only 74 years old and I know none of you want to be in his shoes. You all think a month in Juvenile is a hella long time, but I think fifty-nine years in prison is a long time, so I hope someone who is reading this thinks about what I am saying and does fifty-nine years on the streets, because that’s a man to me. So I hope none of you want to be my cellie in the future, and change your ways before it’s too late. So until next time take care.