The first movie I went to see after being released from prison was Superman Returns. Even though I had 8 years of probation hanging over my head I was confident I would never return to a prison cell again. I had a stable, paycheck-to-paycheck job and was even able to stack a few dollars while living with my grandmother. This movie night was one of my first splurges. I went all out. Large soda, large popcorn, a footlong all-beef hotdog, (pause), and a box of Rasinets. The movie was straight garbage, but I was a free man doing what free men do.
Yet, beneath the surface, there was a storm brewing. I was having mental issues and was too embarrassed to seek help.
After the movie, I found myself on the world-famous Freemont St. in Las Vegas. I had twenty-five dollars that was burning a hole in my pocket and I was feeling lucky. I was headed to a little hole-in-the-wall “casino” called the Gold Spike. I was less than a block away when a police cruiser pulled up, lights flashing about 10 feet in front of me. Two officers jumped out and detained a group of young black men. I immediately felt my entire body tense up. I was having difficulty breathing and my heart was racing. Logically I understood that my body was in full fight-or-flight mode, but I couldn’t explain why. My brain and my body
became two separate entities, communicating with each other without my consent. My brain told my body to, “just turn around and walk away”. My body obeyed. My brain told my body to, “Just walk at a normal pace”. My body told my brain, “Fuck you!” and proceeded to start a slow jog. I was moving faster than a walk, but much slower than a run. As I turned the corner I heard someone calling out, “Hey, hey you!” It’s another cop and he runs up and grabs my wrist. I snatched my hand away from him as hard as I can and said, “Nigga, don’t ever touch me again!” In my mind, I was back in USP Lompoc.
I not gonna say this white cop was shook, but he was taken aback. He told me he needed me to stay where I was because I fit the description of an assault suspect. Now as all of this is happening a crowd begins to form around us. As the cop radios some shit in, my body begins to tremble uncontrollably. My mind perceives everyone in the crowd as threats and as if on cue my hands ball into fists. I don’t believe this cop knows I’m having an episode. He explains calmly that I’m not under arrest but he will have to “cuff” me. I shake my head no and tell the officer as politely as possible under the situation, “You gonna need backup.” He unholsters his gun.
Merinthophobia:
The fear of being bound or tied up. Merinthophobia is a specific phobia. The symptoms typically include anxiety, shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, dry mouth, fainting, inability to articulate words or sentences, or shaking. This fear may stem from an incident in which the person was bound either as a joke or intentionally, or from observing someone who is bound, the trauma of such an occurrence often stays with an individual for a lifetime.
I’m already planning my attack if he steps toward me again. He will most likely kill me, but I believe I can bite his entire nose off before he can get that first shot off. I am never going back in handcuffs again, not consciously, especially for some shit I’m not involved in. Most ex-felons who have done large chunks of time know that…
“When the cuffs go on, the initiation begins.”
Ten years of incarceration did something to me. I’m fucked up mentally from those experiences. Are there others like me walking the streets right now? I am willing to bet they number in the hundreds of thousands. I watch the same police interaction videos as you on social media. You see a person not willing to comply, I see a person having a mental breakdown.
In the same way, gang members have to put in work so do law enforcement. It be subtle shit, but they still got to put that work in so other officers know that they are down with the program.
Humiliation is the most common. Cops sliding fingers in your ass, grabbing a handful of dick, or just outright sodomizing you.
In my mind, he wants me cuffed either to physically assault me, or sexually assault me. I wasn’t gonna let that happen without a fight and the cop knew it.
Post Incarceration Syndrome isn’t something you can see, like a scar or a tattoo; it’s the weight of the past bearing down on your shoulders, even when you’re trying to move forward. It’s the constant fear of slipping up, of the system somehow finding a way to pull you back in. It’s the haunting memories and the sleepless nights, replaying scenes from those years behind bars.
Superman, with all his strength, couldn’t save me from the lingering effects of PIS. It’s a battle that takes place within my mind, where doubt and uncertainty wage war against hope and determination. It’s the struggle to find a place in a world that often sees you through the lens of your past fuck ups.
I never got a chance to thank the Army lieutenant who stepped in between the police officer and myself that evening. The Army Lieutenant said three things to the police officer. “This man is not a threat. This man is not attempting to flee. This man is having a mental crisis.” This beautiful soul of a woman put herself in harm’s way to shield me from a cop who was untrained at recognizing mental distress. I truly believe that this woman saved my life.
As time went on, I began to realize that I wasn’t alone in this battle. I have met dozens of ex-felons, who understood the silent struggles, the battles fought within the confines of our own minds. 
Post Incarceration Syndrome may be an invisible enemy, but it’s one that can be conquered. It takes time, patience, and a whole lot of resilience. It takes a belief in oneself and the unwavering support of those who have walked a similar path. And most importantly, it takes the understanding that, just like Superman, we have the power to shape our own destinies, no matter where we’ve been or what we’ve done.
So, to all those battling PIS, know this – you are not alone, and you are stronger than you could ever imagine. The journey may be tough, but every step forward is a triumph, a testament to the indomitable spirit that resides within us all. Keep moving forward, keep believing in yourself, and one day, you’ll look back and realize just how far you’ve come.
