One morning last summer, I went to wash up in the dorm’s community sink area shared by close to 130 men.
As I started to brush my teeth, I noticed a new mirror above one of the eight sinks. Unlike the other seven rusted, metal reflectors in the room, this mirror was made of glass. And instead of producing a carnival funhouse reflection of me, this proper mirror produced a clear image of myself gazing back with surprise.
I had no idea where this mirror had come from or who had brought it into the sink area. I thought: How long will it be before this magnificent looking glass gets shattered, or just unmounted and carried away?
I also wondered how long it had been since I saw myself undistorted. I knew it must have been decades ago, before I came to prison. I’m currently at William E. Donaldson Correctional Facility, and every jail or prison I’ve been to in Alabama has used the same cloudy mirrors.
I leaned closer to get a better look at myself. The mirror — about the size of a large cookie sheet — revealed that lines had been etched deep into my face from the 26 years of serving hard time for a murder charge. The younger guys here like to harmlessly joke about my gray beard. I always shoot back that it’s “platinum,” which amuses them. But this was the first time I saw what they saw. In the clear mirror, I liked my platinum mustache and beard.
In prison, to survive, we often adapt to abnormal conditions, including seeing distorted versions of ourselves. After I finished my morning routine, I considered whether there were any documented psychological effects of us not seeing ourselves for long periods of time. I asked a relative to help me with research.
My family member returned information that backed up my hunch. Through visiting Cleveland Clinic and Mayo Clinic’s websites, they learned of Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder, or DDD, a psychological condition where people experience persistent, disturbing feelings of being detached from themselves or their surroundings.
DDD symptoms include persistent anxiety, depression, the fear of losing touch with reality, feeling like you’re living in a dream, or watching your life from outside of your body. I immediately recognized a couple of traits in myself, specifically the fear of losing touch with reality and anxiety.
Research has shown that there are benefits to seeing ourselves in the mirror. For example, it can help us to look at ourselves more kindly, according to Dr. Tara Well, an associate professor of psychology at Barnard College of Columbia University. Mirrors provide “a way to externalize what’s happening in our minds — so we can take a look at [ourselves] from a different perspective and see how our own thoughts are affecting us,” Well wrote in a Psychology Today article.
Given what I’d learned, I decided to ask several people in the dorm about mirrors.
D.L. Singleton, a 53-year-old man from Montgomery, agreed that a typical prison mirror is not much help. “It is like a polished piece of tin where you can only see a distorted view of your face,” he said. “It makes it impossible to see details.”
Austin Bonner, 29, from Sylacauga, added that prison mirrors are dull and hazy. “It's like trying to see yourself in the bottom of a Coke can,” he said.
Or, as 75-year-old Grady Bankhead of Mobile chimed in: Those mirrors, for grooming purposes, are as effective as “trying to shave using an old hubcap.”
Bankhead said he has experienced detachment issues, or trouble connecting with others, while in prison. He said he had only seen himself through metal mirrors during his 39 years of incarceration before the glass one arrived.
“I thought I looked worse than I actually did,” Bankhead said of his clear image in the new mirror.
Major Duvall Anderson, 46, from Birmingham, said he thinks part of the reason distorted mirrors are used in prisons is to give us a negative view of ourselves. “It’s all calculated; they use psychology on us,” Anderson said. “When you can’t see yourself, you will always think you’re looking alright when you are really not. We need to see our faces.”
Safety concerns are the official reason from the state prison system for why we don’t have real mirrors. But prison weapons are made of a variety of things: toothbrushes, fence pieces, bed pieces, razors and anything metal, including the classic funhouse mirrors that are allowed. Yet all of these things are already used in the prison system.
To be fair, the canteen, or prison general store, also sells small, personal mirrors. But I bought one a while back and instantly wanted my money back. They are better than the metal mirrors, but still produce distorted images.
Replacing just one distorted mirror has positively affected more than 100 men. Each morning, men wait their turn to look in the mirror. Some even show up shirtless to see clearly what the other mirrors can't show them.
Anderson said he used to have morning depression, but seeing his reflection early in the day has lifted his spirits. Singleton said the real mirror has helped him make proper adjustments to his looks, boosted his self-esteem and self-awareness, and even made his days go smoother.
“The mirror made me aware I need to work out more,” he said.
We have still not found out where the mirror came from, but I’d rather have the mystery than pry too much and have it taken away. Each man I talked to said they’d like even more mirrors like this. It would be great if all the distorted mirrors were replaced, so we can see ourselves more clearly.
“Anytime you can have something that makes you OK with yourself,” Bankhead said, “it helps you be OK with others.”
As I reflect on the first morning when the mirror appeared, I can’t help but feel cheated by not seeing myself for more than 20 years. I wonder why the prison system deprives people of such a normal occurrence. I wonder if they know about the potential mental health problems that come from prolonged distortion. And if they don’t know, why not?
Destry McKinney is a grandfather, veteran, ministry elder, self-taught audiovisual producer, songwriter and poet. He is the founder and co-founder of several programs, including the Sonship Workshop, Youth Connection and S.A.V.E.D; and he is a contributing writer for the Prison Journalism Project. Hear more of Destry's story in the true crime podcast “Aggravating Circumstances.”
The Alabama Department of Corrections did not respond to fact-checking questions by production time.
