Michael Maisey - Young Offender

Michael Maisey was born and raised in Isleworth and became one of Londons most prolific young lawbreakers. Twenty years after the armed robbery that changed his life, he is now sober, the proud father of two daughters and the owner of an estate-agency business. As well as being an aspiring actor, he dedicates his spare time to mentoring young offenders and addicts and was recently honoured by the London Borough of Hounslow for his services to the community. You can follow Michael on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter @MichaelMaisey.

March 2009, HM Prison and

Young Offenders Institution, Feltham

Looking up at the red-brick walls I once knew so well, I feel a familiar quickening of my heartbeat. The last time I left this place, I swore I would never come back. But here I am again, though every cell in my body is telling me to turn around and run while I still can. What am I doing here? Why would I put myself through this? Theyre going to tear me apart.

My friend Luke puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

You all right, mate? he asks.

I nod but I cant find the words.

We need to get inside, he says.

Inside. Again. But this time Im walking through a different entrance. Its been nine years since I was last here. I was still a teenager then. Now Im twenty-seven and its sixteen months since I last had a drink or drugs. My life is better than I ever dreamed it could be. Everything is different now. Ive got my own home, a good job, a great supportive girlfriend in Hayley. My future is secure. Yet the thought of going back into this building scares me in a way I never expected.

The guards barely look at me when they take my ID at the security check. If they recognize my face or my name, they dont show it.

You know where youre going? one of them asks Luke.

Wren, he says.

A pretty name for an ugly place.

All the wings at Feltham are named after birds. Birds that dont normally end up in cages. Theres Lapwing, the induction unit, where new inmates spend their first night inside getting used to how the institution works. Then theres Quail, for those convicted of the most violent crimes. Wren, where were going today, is the healthcare wing where inmates with substance abuse problems and addictions are taken care of. Wren. A tiny bird with a hopeful little tail. Setting for the worst days of my life.

And Im going back in there.

I follow Luke down the corridor. I lag behind a little. Its like my body is still resisting this return to the scene of the crime. I remember this corridor only too well. The alternating panels of bars and blank brick walls. The blast of cold air as we walk through the barred parts, which are open to the outside. I breathe it in. Its better than the smell inside. Old dinners, body odour, desperation. It takes me right back and not in a good way.

Luke is walking fast now. Were running late and nothing runs late in a place like this without consequences. But I want this moment in the corridor to last a little longer. I need more time to get myself together. Get ready to make my entrance. I dont think Luke understands how important that will be. In those first few seconds everything will be decided.

This is going to be good, Luke assures me. I cant think of anyone better suited to talking to this lot than you are.

I want to believe him but then I catch a glimpse of myself in a toughened glass panel and I know exactly how theyre going to see me. Whos that idiot in the designer jeans? Whats his hair like? Who does he think he is?

Pretty little white boy.

I hear the hiss of angry voices I thought Id long forgotten.

You gonna die, pretty boy. You gonna die.

The guard who lets us onto Wren raises his eyebrows when he sees me. He remembers me and he nods his approval, though he stops short of shaking my hand. I dont have time to remind myself if he was one of the good ones. There were some good ones. A couple who actually seemed to care. Luke is rushing me on.

Then it happens. As we walk onto the wing, I glance right. I cant help it. Its automatic. And the cell I see there makes me catch my breath. The door is open like a hungry mouth and suddenly Im falling back through time. I can hear the alarm and the shouting and feel the panic as clearly as if the past nine years havent happened. I can feel the shaking and the shivering. My skin is crawling again. The voices wont stop talking. Theyre talking to me now.

Youre a piece of shit. Nobody here cares what happens to you. Why are you even alive?

Luke notices Im distracted and yanks me back into the present.

Michael. Theyre waiting for us. Come on.

He pulls me along with him.

Sixteen inmates are already sitting in the middle of the wing on a circle of grey plastic chairs. There are two empty seats. One for Luke. One for me. As we approach, the inmates start heckling. Clicking their tongues. Cussing under their breath. Pretty little white boy. Who am I? What have I got to say to them? As Luke introduces me I start to size them up, reverting to my old survival techniques. I should know how to handle this. Ive been here. My old defence mechanisms kick into action and I give myself the talk. I go through my audience one by one, rating my chances.

You could have him. You could have him too. Hes full of shit. Hed never fight...

The inmates stare at me and I stare right back. Were like dogs now. Guessing at each others strength. Bluffing. Hackles up. Whos going to slink away first? They slouch in their chairs. They talk among themselves. They want me to understand that they dont care why Im here. They dont care who I am. Nothing I have to say is going to be relevant to them. Nothing I say is going to make a difference. Im just like all the others. Coming in here to make myself feel better. Dont mean shit to them what some white boy in designer jeans with his hair all nice and styled has to say about what theyre going through.

But I know you, I silently tell them. I know you all.

Luke asks them to welcome me. I think hes about to go for a round of applause. He thinks better of it, thank God. The hissing and the clicking get louder.

Fucking stupid white boy...

They know they can say what they want in here. There are no guards at this meeting. Its like any other twelve-step gathering. Its anonymous. What they say now, they say in confidence. It stops here. Those are the rules. For half of them, thats the only attraction.

Pretty little white boy... dont know fuck...

The open cell door is still nearby. I could turn and walk through it. Close it. Sink down onto the floor with a blanket tight around my neck and this time see it through. I can feel it. My body remembers. The rising blackness. The pain. The fear. The faces of my loved ones flashing through my brain as I struggled for a last breath. My conscious mind fights to take back control.

You are different now, it reminds me. Youre not that boy. You can do this.

I straighten up. The people in front of me are just kids. Theyre in the high-dependency unit of a young offenders institution. Theyre not here because they know what theyre doing with their lives. Theyre all here because they fucked up. Some of them are barely conscious. They cant focus on whats in front of them. Theyre here because they need help. I can give them that. I can tell them what recovery really means.

I look straight at the kid whos been giving the most lip, then I turn to point at the open door.

You see that cell? I ask. Nine years ago, thats where I almost succeeded in taking my own life.

The mouthy kid looks confused. Someone else laughs. I nod at them.