On its website, the federal Bureau of Prisons states that “residential reentry centers (RRCs), also known as halfway houses, provide assistance to inmates who are nearing release. RRCs provide a safe, structured, supervised environment, as well as employment counseling, job placement, financial management assistance, and other programs and services. RRCs help inmates gradually rebuild their ties to the community.”
In September 2023, I was released from a federal prison in New Jersey to the halfway house in Baltimore, operated by Volunteers of America (VOA). But while the facility is indeed highly structured and supervised (rather like prison), it has proven far from safe. And it has certainly not helped me rebuild my community ties.
I spent 14 years in various federal prisons before arriving at the VOA facility, and one of my first priorities was to secure mental health care. I come from a long history of trauma, with diagnoses of chronic PTSD, schizoaffective disorder and depression. I am fairly high functioning when I’m on the right mix of medication, but it’s a delicate balance.
Mental health in crisis
Pretty quickly after arriving at the halfway house, I became a client of a Baltimore mental health provider that contracts with the federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP). I was assigned to group therapy and prescriptions were written. But unlike in prison, I was not allowed to self-administer my meds, and I became totally reliant on staff to know when to order refills and assure they were ready when I needed them.
In December, one of my key medications ran out, and about a month went by with no refill. It’s an unnecessarily complicated system: a professional at the mental health organization writes the prescription, then my VOA case manager sends it to my last prison (Fairton, New Jersey) to fill, since I am still under control of the BOP and the agency pays for my health care. Although I have never been given a straight answer, my assumption is this: Once the prescription is sent off, no one follows up to make sure it’s filled and delivered before I run out. My main support person, Pam Bailey of More Than Our Crimes, noticed my paranoia and flaring temper. Fortunately, however, I had not yet started my job-readiness program or secured a job, so my erratic behavior didn’t really have any major consequence.
Back on my medication, I began the job-readiness program offered by the DC government’s Office of Returning Citizen Affairs (ORCA), called Project Empowerment. I refreshed my resume, practiced my interviewing skills and learned how to master the technology that had developed so fast during my incarceration. Graduation was one of the proudest days of my life. But throughout it all, I struggled to make the trek from Baltimore to DC on time, since VOA staff repeatedly either didn’t provide the train tickets and bus tokens District residents are promised (without family support, I had no funds of my own!), or failed to approve my day’s itinerary. Without an official itinerary, I am not allowed to leave the halfway house, and on several days I arrived at the program too late to participate. The constant uncertainty was exacerbated by the difficulty of sleeping in a dorm room where many of the other men are high on drugs, moving in and out and setting off the motion sensor that turns on the light. I often wonder why the staff are so focused on whether I have one pair of shoes more than I am allowed yet can’t — or won’t — stop the chaos.
What a relief! My first job
When I secured a job in the laundry department of a prominent hotel, I was optimistic and confident for the first time in years. I had once been certified in executive housekeeping and I had visions of climbing the career ladder again. One of the top personnel at the hotel even recommended that I pursue an associate degree. However, the stress of the on-and-off transportation assistance and carelessness with my itinerary continued, along with the chaotic nights.
At least I was on my medication, I thought. Until I was not. In mid-March, my amitriptyline ran out again, this time for about 20 days. Almost every day, I asked the staff when it was coming. I asked Royal Minds to intervene. Nothing happened.
On Friday, March 29, my emotional distress peaked. When a coworker directed abusive, racist language at me and I felt like I didn’t get the support I needed from my immediate mangers, my anger rose in my throat like bile and the paranoia closed in. I was afraid I might hit someone. So, I walked off the job. The noise in my head was just too loud.
The next day, my medication arrived. But it was too late. I received an email informing me that there was no need to come into work. My first job after 14 years, my pathway back into a field I loved, had ended in disaster.
Second job, lower expectations
I resolved not to give up. But this time, I put aside my desire to work in the District, where I would be living upon full release. Instead, I got a job in a packing plant in Baltimore. During the orientation, management made it very clear that we must be on time; anyone arriving later that 7 a.m. would be locked out. And any unapproved absences during the first two weeks would result in termination. Yes, it was strict, but I was excited to start fresh!
Four days later, the person at the front desk of the halfway house said he had not been given my daily itinerary by staff, and by the time that was straightened out, I was had to catch a later bus. I arrived at work at 7:15 a.m. Locked out.
I returned to work the next day, but when Friday came, this time I discovered that although I had told my case manager that I could not miss any work yet, she had not rescheduled a routine doctor’s appointment and my approved itineray didn’t include work. I never made it to my new job. And that was that. Another job lost.
I give up
Out of money and feeling defeated, I decided I’d have to wait until I was released from the halfway house to get a job. I settled in for several weeks of idleness, waiting once more for my real life to begin.
DC residents who have completed their sentences and are transitioning back into society deserve better than this. The Bureau of Prisons is failing us. VOA is failing us. And so are the local advocacy organizations who should be raising more of a clamor about the shoddy treatment and the repeatedly delayed opening of a new halfway house, this time in the District itself, to be run by CORE DC. When it does open, the greater DC community must demand more of a role, via the community relations board CORE DC has formed to “help build and foster” its relationship with the surrounding neighborhoods.
It’s time that everyone take seriously the so-called mission of these halfway houses: safety, yes, but also a new, positive start.
