A Prison Overdose That Shouldn’t Have Happened: The Tragic Death of a Young Inmate

Jerry Metcalf explains how prison overdose deaths—like that of a young inmate who died alone on a cell floor after using K2—expose the brutal failure of a broken prison system meant to rehabilitate—not bury—our youth.

Not long ago, we had a young 20-something kid here on the plantation who overdosed on the drug K2 and died. A prison overdose and death isn’t new or special. It happens all the time. Our modern-day plantation system is currently experiencing the worst drug epidemic I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been incarcerated for over 30 straight years. It’s bad. Real bad.

What makes this particular prison overdose special is the messed up reality that this kid (John) wasn’t a 13th Amendment slave. He was a Holmes Youthful Trainee Act (HYTA) trainee, and HYTAs aren’t true convicts. He was basically sent to prison for supervision and rehabilitation, yet ended up dead on a cell floor, all by himself, covered in bloody vomit. Let me be clear, he did not die a convicted felon. He died a free man without a record. Crazy, right? But true.

Haunted by Guilt: A Personal Reflection on John’s Death

Why am I writing about this? I think of young John almost every day, and it still breaks my heart. We used to attend the same AA meeting on Monday nights, and he also attended the Saturday AA/NA meeting that I co-facilitate. In a way, I feel responsible. I’ve asked myself on many occasions how come I didn’t do more to help him. How come I didn’t squeeze a little more time out of my busy week and devote it to his recovery. I knew how badly he was hurting, how desperate he was to get clean. He was so close to going home, and one of his major goals was to be clean when he got there so he could start a new life.

I’m not the only one who feels responsible. Almost all the fellas in both meetings feel the same way. Most of the men who overdose and die in prison are not the type of men who attend AA and NA meetings. I can’t think of any active AA/NA members other than John who have passed due to a prison overdose. That’s not to say it’s never happened, just that I haven’t experienced it. Those of us who attend meetings are a pretty tight-knit group. AA/NA meetings are not mandatory in prison. They are strictly voluntary, so anyone who attends really wants to quit. Unlike the state-mandated drug and alcohol abuse classes that are a joke. A formality to make it appear as if the prison system is really striving towards rehabilitation. Which it surely is not. Never has been, either.

Anyway, I feel like I failed not only John, but his family. I was over in the hole doing a suicide watch on the night John passed, and I was told the bad news by a passing guard. I couldn’t stop thinking of John’s family. How devastated they must be. For my entire prison sentence, I’ve done my best to stay alive simply because I never wanted my mom or dad to receive that call. The vague call that tells them their son has passed, but little more. The idea of that happening not only scares me to death, it also fills me with shame. After all the pain I’ve already put my parents through by coming to prison, I can’t imagine heaping that pain on top. Such a frightening thought.

A Prison Overdose and the Call No Parent Should Ever Receive

As I sat there quietly doing my suicide watch that night, I kept picturing John’s parents picking up the phone in the middle of the night to hear such terrible news. The weeping. The anger. The self-doubt. The self-blame.

John didn’t kill himself. The system killed John by not protecting him from himself or their own predatory employees who sell drugs to captive drug addicts suffering from a lifetime of trauma.

Nonetheless, I still feel responsible. I pride myself on helping others in here. Especially younger 13th Amendment slaves. Yet I failed. For that I am sorry. I know this won’t make John’s family feel any better, but I promise to try harder. To pay more attention to the next young man who needs my help. To do more, no matter what it takes.

I’m a big fan of paying it forward. And I want to do good with my life. Most people believe there is no good to be done inside of a prison, but that’s simply not true. There are plenty of opportunities for those who are willing. I just wish I wouldn’t have allowed the opportunity to help John pass me by. I fucked up. We will all see him again, though, on the other side. Until then, John’s in a better place and the rest of us will just have to keep our heads up and try harder. God/dess bless you all. John’s mom, dad, and sister included.

Enjoy this story? Check out An Open Letter to the Michigan Supreme Court’s Chief Justice

My name is Jerry Metcalf, and I wish to make the world a better place. If you do too, please join me on social media.

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