by Jesse Ayers, San Quentin State Prison, CA
I think one of the most devastating issues I have never really addressed was being locked in a dryer at a laundry mat when I was three years old.
Being locked in a dryer at age three started out funny. My sisters (age 5 and 9 at the time) were laughing, as it all seemed like a game. The laundry mat was empty, besides our mother, my two sisters, and myself. Washing machines made up the center rows and the dryers lined up against the walls with elevated entry level windows, easy to see in when you pass by the front loaders.
My sisters locked me in. They stood outside of the thick glass, smiling and waving. I felt like it was going to be Ok. They then ran away. I panicked, but when they passed by again I felt a glimpse of hope that they would return.
After a few more glimpses of my sisters waving, passing by, and banging on the glass. I began to worry that no one was ever going to open that door. The small circle of a door with thick insulated “matting.” My smile faded and I stopped laughing.
I tried pushing the door open. Being a three year old, I didn’t know how much pressure it took to push the door open. I didn’t know if there was a latch on the outside of the door and I didn’t know where my mom was. I just knew I wanted out!
My hands on the glass, pushing as hard as I could, did not provide enough pressure to open up the door. I began to panic! Frantic! I was REALLY FREAKING OUT! I started YELLING! I was screaming at the top of my lungs and banging on the glass!
I leaned back, placing my back against the back of the dryer. I placed my feet up against the glass and pushed as hard as I could! I pushed and pushed and pushed…nothing. I kicked as hard as I could!
I don’ t know how long I tried. I don’t know how long I cried. All I know is that I gave it everything I had. I sat there yelling screaming and trying everything I knew how to get out of there. I looked all around me, trying to find a screw, a bolt, a hole, some way to get out! Upside down, downside up, the small holes in the metal dryer were for “vents,” way too small for me to escape. I pushed and pried on everything to escape.
Recently, during a prison visit, I asked my mom about this incident and what she remember about it. My mom told me: “It was Friday. I was nine months pregnant with Lee (my little brother). The laundry mat was closing for the weekend. I had been looking all over for you. I told security, I thought someone had took you. I thought I would never see you again…. After a few hours, I didn’t know what else to do. Everyone was gone. I had the girls (my older sister) so I called a cab. Just as I was loading the laundry into the cab, I thought about checking the laundry mat again, looking in the machines….”
My mom continued, “I left the girls with the cab driver, all the laundry piled up in the backseat of the cab. I asked the janitor if I could look in the laundry mat again. It was 5:30pm. No one would’ve found you until Monday.
As soon as I went inside, I started flipping open every lid on every washing machine. Then I went up and down every isle, looking in each dryer and there you were, hands pressed against the glass, face red as a beet. You were crying and screaming but I couldn’t hear you until I opened the door of the dryer. You fell into my arms, a puddle of tears.”
Today, I am 42 years old. I have no idea how much damage was done to my psyche, emotional development or trust with people. If you can’t trust your mom and siblings, who can you trust? Not to mention the panic I suffered.
Anytime I feel claustrophobic, every time I’m “befriended” by someone, I know the “betrayal” is coming next, no matter how sweet or sincere the person is.
When I was younger, I would self-medicate with drugs and alcohol and I would act out with violence towards others. The fear, claustrophobia and ensuing panic attacks from paranoia and many conspiracy theories have messed me up in a mental and emotional way.
Today, I still feel fear, and paranoia, but I bounced back by putting one foot in front of the other and by moving forward. Sometimes, it’s so hard you have to take a step in the right direction. However, it is so important to succeed, one step at a time, one day at a time, and one moment at a time.
I believe the definition of success is to be further along (in a better situation) then you used to be. A succession of steps will lead you forward. A “Success Story” is always someone who overcomes their battles. No one celebrates the loser who never tried.
Back when I was using drugs, drinking to the point of oblivion and passing out, physically and verbally attacking everyone I knew, my mind was absorbed and consumed with impending doom. It was like everything and everyone was waiting to betray me.
Even though I appeared to be fancy free and fun loving on the outside, I was a ball of fear on the inside. I could not handle rejection at all. The fear of rejection was worse than the rejection itself.
One time when I was twelve, while wrestling with my friend, he pinned me face down in the couch. I started yelling “ahhhh!” Until he let me up.
He was like, “what happened?”
I said, “I don’t know. I just freaked out.”
In 2018, the transport cops locked me in a one man cage in the back of a transport van. My knees touched the metal cage, so did my two shoulders, plus I was handcuffed in waist chains and shackled. When they shut the door I lost it!
“Ahhh!!!” I screamed!
The transport cops turned on the engine, turned up the air conditioner, and blasted the radio on a rock station! I knew they did all that to drown me out. So I yelled louder!
“I’m gonna throw up! I feel sick!”
Within a few seconds, they must’ve decided that they didn’t want to smell puke on the three hour trip to San Quentin State Prison.The engine died, the air conditioner and the stereo turned off, then I heard the doors open. They moved me out of the little one man cage into an empty two person bench seat cage where they had my property in three boxes.
The cop said, “Hey that’s a department approved seat. We just follow the rules. We wanted to make room for your property. I didn’t say anything.
But I was thinking “Eff that property! If three boxes can’t fit in that other seat why should I?” They put my boxes in the isle.
Being handcuffed behind my back traumatized me too. I freak out. I’m too big to be cuffed. It’s degrading as a human to be cuffed or shackled. Despite all the trauma, I try to help someone every day. I give back. I pray. Breathe. Reading books and watching movies helps me to escape the hyper-vigilance too, especially writing! Thanks to The Beat Within!