June 28, 2008
Mid-State Correctional Facility
Marcy, New York
2:30 P.M.
Sitting alone at my table in the visiting room, I had to wait until three P.M. when visiting hours were over before I could go back to my dorm. I wished I could have gotten up and walked out of the prison with Alchemist when he left. But I had more than two years to spend in that eight-by-ten box before I would be a free man again. This was the second time my friend and producer Alchemist had taken the four-hour ride up from Manhattan to visit me. He looked good. Healthy and focused. The visiting room was packed, around sixty other inmates, their families and friends. During our visit, a few inmates shouted, “Mobb Deep!” “What up Alchemist!” “What up Prodigy!” I told Al how the inmates and correctional officers had been showing me love and asking for autographs. But after Al left I sat there observing everyone around me, and I was reminded that I was just another inmate like anybody else. DIN #08A1481. My Department Identification Number represents the year I got locked up, ’08; the facility code A for Downstate, the prison I was initially in; and then 1,481 indicates that I was the 1,481st inmate to get locked up in that prison that year. We were all the same while stuck inside.
Even though I didn’t want to be in this prison, I deserved to be here. I would hear inmates complain and bitch all day and night about how uncomfortable they were, how unfair the officers and rules were, and how stressful being locked up was. Stop crying and do ya time, I’d say to myself. I’ve done plenty of damage in my days. I’ve done some wicked, evil, terrible things to people in my past. Shiiiit… the three and a half years I got was just a slap on the wrist when I think back on all the things I’ve gotten away with. So I just accepted my circumstances and made the best out of it, putting my time to good use.
Prison has given me time to reflect, look deep inside, realize where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. I used to be cold and emotionless. I believe the disease I was born with, sickle-cell anemia, made me that way. Factor in my environment and the people I surrounded myself with, and yeah, you got the makings of a sinful person. I’m different now, only ’cause I choose to be. I know now that good is the correct way to be. I’d been straddling the fence for a number of years, thinking it was okay to do a little bit of evil if I was doing a lot of good. But life doesn’t work like that. You have to choose a side. My mind, body, and soul are in excellent condition now. I’ve never felt so invigorated.
I’ve been in the music industry since I was sixteen years old, touring the world, selling millions of albums—groupies, drugs, alcohol, sex, radio, TV, magazines, videos, money, jewelry, cars, fashion, rap verses, beats, and studios at my disposal nonstop for seventeen years straight. Nonstop. Seventeen years. Do the math. I came to prison when I turned thirty-three. The truth is, I never took the time to stop and mature mentally until now, to step outside my little fast-paced world and see what needed to be adjusted. It’s like I was suspended in time. Like I was sixteen years old for seventeen years. I never grew up. Do you follow what I’m saying? I am a man now. My hardheaded ass took the long rocky road to get to this point, but at least I’ve finally made it.