Last year this time I was sitting in Riker's Island. It was getting hot and there was no air conditioning. I had been in jail 3 months at that point. Thats 3 months with no mirror, no shampoo, no conditioner, no nail clippers, 3 months of little to no human contact, no hugs, no kisses, 3 months of 21 minutes of phone time, 3 months of having to ask to shower and being locked inside an 8x10 cell 23 hours out of the day (so when you see some crappy photos of me, cut me some slack).

I was desperate to get out. I was a complete physical and mental headcase, a walking emotional wreck. I'm the first one to tell you - I was NOT meant for jail. I did not do well in there. People tell me I am strong. I didn't feel strong inside of Rikers. Not at all. I was scared to death, not sure what was going to happen to me or when I was getting out. My attorney had told me so many stories that I was sure I was the victim of some huge conspiracy by the rich and powerful Spitzers and would spend years fighting my case.

I remember the first day the weather got warm. It was right around this time that we had a 3 day heatwave. It was so hot in my cell that I was having nose bleeds and could barely catch my breath. Our area didn't have any water and we spent all day asking for ice and water until about 4pm when they finally got some from the kitchen. Funny thing - the "bubble" where the officers sit was air conditioned - thats the officer's office which is part of our area. Somehow the rest of the unit (where the inmates are) is not air conditioned. I wrote a few letters trying to get them to see that it was inhumane to keep us in concrete cells that are about 90 degrees and not give us water. No one cared.

I don't think I have ever been so miserable in my life. All I did was pray and cry. And talk to Remy. I won't lie and tell you that I knew I'd be ok or that I was looking forward to getting out. I was scared and felt like I had lost everything - which I had.

Today since the weather was nice brought all the memories flooding back. I'm quite sure I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder since I've really yet to deal with all those feelings.  I try not to think about what it was like. My life by that time had changed and I would never be the same.

Now when I think about it, I am glad I had the experience. I am truly a better person for what I have gone through. I really and truly value the people in my life and the experiences I have. Its not so much about the outcome of the event, its about having the experience. I learned how to be a better person through this adversity. I learned how to value and love those who love me.

Alot of people ask me if I'm mad at those who ratted me out and how I feel. I actually don't think about it much. I don't have time for bad energy. I have had alot of people do me wrong - that I can't dispute. If you think I think twice about it - I don't. Why should I? It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with that person's character. If you think I'm dwelling on anything from the past then you don't get what I'm about. The past is the past and its better left in the past. The "now" for me is amazing and I am so incredibly happy its not even funny. I have met so many amazing people and have a great group in my life, I couldn't ask for more.

Don't get me wrong, I could have completely done without the Riker's Island Experience. However, I think this is the path that was chosen for me. I have the opportunity to do some good now and thats what I am doing.

Yesterday I was on the treadmill watching the local news when it showed a picture of a woman I knew....Janet Redmond-Mercereau.

This is the Staten Island woman who was on trail for murdering her husband, an NYFD marshall while their 2 young children slept. She was convicted by a jury yesterday after 2 yrs fighting her case from Riker's Island. She is facing 40+ years in prison.

http://www.silive.com/news/advance/index.ssf?/base/news/1242992705190150.xml&coll=1

This woman was someone I spoke to regularly. At one point I was in general population (for 2 days) and she was the only person I would really talk to. GP is racially segregated and we were the only 2 white people so we ended up spending alot of time together. There was alot of pressure for me to choose a side (latin or black) so rather than choose I preferred to be alone.

She told me about her case (said she was innocent), her children, her husband, her time as a school teacher. I watched as she read her children stories every night from the phone on the wall and cried daily. I don't know if she did it or not. It is not my place to judge.

Another woman I was in jail with was Nizelie Santiago. She was convicted of manslaughter of her daughter when her husband beat her to death and they left her sitting there for 1 day. She got 40 years in prison and is now in Bedford Hills with Remy.

As I sat there on the treadmill, I got very upset. These are the types of criminals I was in jail with. Me- little old promoting prositution charge (class D felony-these are class A)....a victimless crime was sitting there befriending murderers. When I think about it, it makes me sick that our society would classify my crime in the same manner as theirs. My crime which happens to be legal in 2 states yet just not the one I was operating in.

I sat there day in and day out surrounded by baby and husband killers. These are people who confided in me about their cases and the people I LIVED with every day. Can you imagine that? That your new friends (after your old ones snithced you out) are a bunch of murderers?? The severity of that sort of mental anguish is something you probably can't understand. And I hope you never have to.

I'm writing this to point out the hypocrisy of our system. That me, a former madam, with a promoting prostitution charge was classified in the same manner as a murderer. That is ridiculous. And there sits Elliot Spitzer in his plush Park Avenue apartment with NUMEROUS pending felonies in the Class C category (worse than mine) and he gets away scott-free. I'd like for us to address why there is a different set of rules for the elite and connected then there are for those of us who worked our way up from nothing???

For those of you who haven't read my book, you should.

If your wondering how it came about that Remy Ma did a song for me - its all in the book. I consider Remy to be one of my best friends and we share a bond very few people would ever begin to understand.

Remy and I met in Riker's Island. We just happened to meet through a hole in the wall between our cells. We had to sit on top of our tupperware containers (they give you these to hold your clothes) and roll up a piece of cardboard to hear each other. Alot of the time we would pass notes thru the hole. I used to pace daily - consider it exercise or consider it anxiety relief and she would always say "kris-stop pacing I can hear you in there-whats wrong". And then I would tell her and she would listen and try to console me. She was there for me when no one else was or could be. She was there when I was crying hysterically because my boyfriend would break up with me or cheat on me. She was there the times my first attorney screwed me over for court dates and lied to me about getting out. Everything I went thru-she was right there by my side.

And vice versa. When that bs happened about the key incident with her husband, I was there. When she was scheduled to get married, I was there with my borrowed item of blue. When she got sentenced to 8 years, I had court the same day and I was there right next to her.

Funny thing is - I didn't even know who "Remy Ma" was. I hadn't heard her music and didn't know she was famous- I only knew she was smart as hell and a good friend. She is now in Bedford Hills Prison and fighting for appeal. We will know more in the next month on this and I pray she makes appeal. She was screwed by the system but that is a story she needs to tell. And she will. Don't count her out because if anyone can make a comeback, its her.

My first 2 days in Riker's Island consisted of waiting for housing. I was not allowed to use the phone, shower, eat, drink water - anything that resembled being a human being was out of the question. These things were not offered to me and when I asked the offiicers in Intake for a phone or food I was ignored. Why you ask? As I've said before- thats why they call it jail. There is no luxury or normalcy in jail. Its just jail.

When I was finally moved into my housing unit, Closed Custody (CCH), reality began to set in. Here I was in this tiny 8x8 cell with no mirror, no running water, no human interaction of any kind- I had only my thoughts to contend with. And all I thought about was if I would have a life after this experience.

I know that might sound extreme. But, you have to realize that I'm sitting in jail with a $2 million dollar bail for promoting prostitution. There are people in there for robbery and armed assualt whose bail is $25,000. Hell, even my friend Remy Ma who was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon for a shooting, her bail was $250,000. All I could think of is that I'm in jail to keep me silent, because I know too much about some powerful people, and wonder when I would see daylight again. I knew my money had already been frozen and was afraid I would lose my apartment, my car and even my boyfriend.

Our day started at 5:30am when breakfast was served. Initially, breakfast would rotate between some sort of hot cereal to dry cereal. We had a slot in our steel door that the officers opened and put our food tray on. Don't even think about trying to sleep through breakfast. If you don't get up and take your tray, they pound on your door to wake you up to get it.

The first week this came as a shock to me. I was scared of everything. I jumped off my bed the first time that they knocked on my cell door and almost had a heart attack. Shortly thereafter I was put on anti-anxiety medication. I was having horrible panic attacks with shortness of breath, heart pain and wooziness. I tried to figure out how the system works.

I had to knock on my door to get the phone or shower since we weren't allowed to leave our cells. Sometimes I would be knocking for hours because the officers were watching TV and couldn't hear me or simply just didn't want to get off their chair. I didn't have any clean clothes or toiletries. I didn't have money on my books so I couldn't use the phone.

About my 4th day in, my then boyfriend put money on my books and I could use the phone. I still didn't understand how the phone works and was met mid-sentence with a dialtone and a heartbreaking message that says "You are over your allotted phone time". I had to ask 4 different officers before someone told me that you get 21 minutes of talk time every 5 hours. So I used the phone once in the morning and once in the evening.

In my housing unit, there was only 1 phone. Again, we were not allowed to leave our cells (thats why its called closed custody) and the phone was put thru the feeding slot for us to use. If someone was on it, then you had to wait. That really sucked sometimes because you might be 4th in line to use the phone which meant 1hr-20mins of waiting. And if your trying to time your calls so you can make 2 in a day you have to get that phone!

On my 5th day, I was able to get a visit. In Rikers you get 3 visits a week for 1 hour in length. People can bring you clothes and books - but thats it. And these clothes must be certain colors, fabrics, no logos, etc. Now, where I was - your visits are done in a private booth one by one. High profile inmates are not allowed in general population so your visits are private. While this was nice because you were in a room with your visitor, it was also horrible because there was only 1 booth. So if your fellow inmates had visitors, your visit would have to wait. On more than one occassion, I had to wait 3-4 hrs for my visit because the booth was occupied.

But back to my 5th day- I got a visit from my boyfriend at the time. He had told me he was coming and was also bringing some clean clothes. They announced I had a visitor at 8am. I thought- this is not my boyfriend. He does not get up that early! Luckily, I was smart enough to ask the officer to tell me who it was and it was a member of the press. I declined the visit (you are only allowed 1 visit remember) and waited for my boyfriend.

I was told I had a visit around 10am. CCH Inmates have to be escorted in the hallways by a captain. So, I waited 2 hours until a captain was free and they took me to the visiting room. I had to change out of my clothes into a dingy grey jumpsuit and orange flip-flops. I still hadn't seen myself in a mirror and could only imagine how much of a mess I looked. I was scared to see my boyfriend at that time.

When I entered the room we both started crying. He hugged me and we sat down with the table separating us. He told me I was all over the news and the horrible things the press had been saying about me. I wasn't allowed a newspaper so I was spared the gory details.  He said there were reporters outside of his parents house trying to find him to get a statement. He had brought me some books and clean clothes.

I was a mess. It felt good to see him, to connect with a human being, to be touched. But it hurt to see him and to wonder if he was going to move on while I was in jail and if he would love me after the dust settled.

We had broken up a month before and only a couple weeks prior decided to work things out. We were still on shaky ground. He assured me that he would be there on every visit rain or shine and that we would have a life together when I got out - he would wait. I felt relieved but still scared. What if I had to do 2 years? Would he wait? Would I have anywhere to live when I got out? What would happen to me? I spent the entire visit crying and my hour was cut short by 10 minutes by officers who wanted the booth for someone else. I was distraught.

After your visit, you get strip searched before being taken back to your cell. These are always fun. You have to take off everything and stand there while an officer inspects you for contraband. First, you bend and squat to make sure you didn't hide anything in your private areas. Then, you take your hair down and show them the bottoms of your feet. Finally, you can get dressed and wait another 2 hours for a captain to come to take you back to your cell.

When I got back to my cell I cried some more. It felt like torture to see my boyfriend and watch him leave. I felt so insecure, scared and alone. My attorney assured me that I would get out soon. He said they had no case and to be patient. I had nothing to do but wait. 23 hours a day, 7 days a week.

The next day I decided to go to Recreation. Recreation is our 1 hour outside per day. For CCH inmates, this is done in a cell like a dog kennel - full fence on all sides so we are separate from one another. But at least we can get some fresh air and see each other. That day I met Remy Ma. I didn't know who she was, hadn't heard of her but we talked about our breakfast and how shitty Rikers was. We were both incarcerated on the same day so she was new like me.

It was nice to have a friend - I sure needed one because it quickly went from bad to worse.

To be continued...

Thought I would share a bit about the Island, Rikers Island that is.

I was arrested a little over a year ago- March 25, 2008. I was sitting in my home with my then boyfriend trying to figure out if we should go to the gym or have dinner. There was a knock knock on the door and my boyfriend informed me that the police (12 of them) were outside the door with a battering ram. I was arrested, handcuffed and taken to the precinct.

I spent the night on a hard wood bench after throwing up repeatedly. At arraignment, the DA asked for $10 million dollars bail (same as Bernie Maddoff since we are SO in the same league). After a bit of negotiation, bail was set at $2 million dollars and I was taken into the "tombs" to be processed.

The tombs is the nickname for the holding facilities underneath 111 Centre Street (the main courthouse in NY). They call it the tombs because it feels alot like a masoleum. Its all cement, cold, some floors are underground - like a tomb. Plus, when your there - you just wish you were dead.

In the tombs, I was processed by Officer Suzuki. She insisted I was a tranny. I'm like woahhhhh - trannie? I know I photograph POORLY but still. She kept telling me it would be ok if I told her. She said it was the lack of movement in my forehead and my lips. Excuse me if I like botox and restalyne. After a few minutes she moved me into a general holding cell where I waiting with 3 other women who were trying to make bail. I called my attorney who said we would do our best to round up some money ($2 million was not even an option). And I waited for the bus to come and take me to Riker's Island.

The bus they take you on is horrible. They handcuff you to another inmate by the wrists and ankles. I was fortunate enough (detect note of sarcasm) to be handcuffed to a 5'11/210 pound African American Woman who was clearly high on crack since she was itching, scratching and very volatile. My little short legs could barely keep up with hers and she ended up dragging me around like a barbie doll.

But back to the bus, the bus is ancient with no heat or air. Its got bench seats which are largely uncomfortable and a few cages for the high profile inmates (which I became later). It has no shocks so with each bump you are smushed closer to your crack addict busmate making her really want to kill you.

When you arrive to the Island, you go into a central cell for processing. The area that you enter and exit from is called Intake and it is the most disgusting place you can imagine. There are 6-8 main cells that they throw 20 women in (there are only seats for about 10 of them). Since intake is a highly trafficked area they don't clean it much and its gross.

I was thrown into a cell with roughly 20 other women, 18 of which were going through some sort of withdrawal. They were on the floor throwing up in corners, having dry heaves, the sweats, convulsing- it was a very pleasant environment. There were a number of big dykes who really wanted a word with me as well. There is no running water in these cells so forget about getting something to drink. There is also one toilet in front of the entire cell (no doors) and its filled with food since the crackheads don't eat they just throw everything into the toilet. The toilet never gets cleaned and the food turns into maggots. Its quite a sight to see and even if you really have to pee you cannot drag yourself to urinate in this monstrocity of a toilet.

I arrived into my new home Wed at 4pm. I sat on this bench, freezing, scared, alone, until Thursday night when they made me take the mandatory shower and put on these paper clothes to be strip searched. They DID NOT feed me this entire time nor was I given any water. Why you ask? Because they treat you like animals and don't give a shit - you are not innocent until proven guilty - your in jail. So, I got my shower, drank the water out of this group shower thing, put on my paper clothes and got strip searched. I then waited to see the doctor which is mandatory. I told them I hadn't had any water and they gave me a pill cup where I was able to drink a little bit. Then, I had this lovely photo taken of me for my ID badge as well.

Around that time someone figured out I was on the cover of the Daily News and The Post. I was moved into my own cell where I still waited to be housed. Late Thursday night they took me to housing unit 1 - made me check in and then brought me right back to intake. See there is a rule in Rikers- you must be housed within 24 hours. So, they wanted to meet their deadline, so they took me to this unit, made me sign in and acted like they just then realized I was high profile and moved me back to intake as a transfer. I sat in intake until Friday about 2am (36 hrs) and was finally taken to Closed Custody Housing (CCH).

I was placed into a dirty cell - the floor was filled with dead bugs and debris from the prior tenant, no working water, no mirror (ok there was a 4inch x 4inch piece of scratched aluminum on the wall that posed as a mirror), no pillow or blanket - just a dirty mattress. By this time, my clothes were thoroughly disgusting and I smelled. I was locked in my cell which was about 8ft x 8ft - cement walls and a steel door. It had a toilet which was covered in sticky tape from girls sticking maxi pads on the cover and no running water. I curled up on the mattress, cried and went to sleep for about 2 hours.

The next day I woke up and knocked on my cell door for about 2 hours until someone finally came. I was given the phone and I made my first call to my then boyfriend. I didn't understand that I needed to put money on my account to be able to use the phone and we were cut off. It felt like torture. I had a brief connection to something I loved and the line went dead. I wanted to die. I cried and cried and cried.

Eventually I ate and showered. I had to knock on my cell wall for another 45 minutes until an officer came and led me to the shower. At least that was semi-private. It was in its own cell with a shower curtain. You get locked in and the officer sits outside while you shower. The only toiletry they give you in Rikers is soap. So at least I was clean.

I was eventually able to make calls once I got money put on my "books". And I could buy a few things as well - not that there is much to buy or any mirror anyways. That was my first 2 days on the island where I spent another 97 days but I'll leave those to another post...