Reflections from FPC Morgantown: A Month of Incarceration

As I put pen to paper on January 19, 2026, I find myself marking an important milestone: my first month in the Bureau of Prisons. The sensation of time here is peculiar; it drags on at an excruciating pace yet somehow slips by in a blur. Each day feels drawn out, akin to trudging through molasses, where every hour stretches endlessly. Yet, the memory of my surrender to FPC Morgantown seems to fade into the distance.

The experience within these walls is an entirely new realm. I now understand why many inmates jest that BOP signifies “Backwards On Purpose.” Everything appears deliberately designed to thwart logic, creating a labyrinth of frustrations.

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A telling example of this is my placement on the dental care waiting list. Surprisingly, I learned that this list encompasses inmates from all BOP facilities nationwide. Therefore, despite the low population of FPC Morgantown, I must await treatment longer because someone higher on the list elsewhere is prioritized. It appears that logic is not part of the prison’s design.

On the 28th day of my confinement, I finally underwent the Admission and Orientation process, which primarily served as a formal checklist rather than a genuine introduction, as other inmates had already provided valuable insights during my first weeks.

There’s a strange contradiction in the message conveyed here—that prison isn’t a punishment, but rather a temporary abode. They express this notion with unwavering conviction while enforcing strict routines, mandatory work for meager wages, and very limited communication options with loved ones.

Throughout the facility, I’ve spotted motivational posters that often veer into the absurd. One poster that stands out features an iron-barred cell door accompanied by the words, “You are only incarcerated by the walls you build yourself.” This sentiment, whether intended to uplift or amuse, is deeply ironic in this setting.

During the past month, I have established a routine, which fellow inmates assured me is crucial to survival here. My day begins at 4:00 AM, a quiet hour when I can enjoy solitude, a rare commodity among the general population. I prepare what I’ve fondly dubbed a “prison latte”—a mix of hot water, powdered milk, and instant coffee. I then seek out a well-lit space, often fluctuating as the guards’ whims dictate which lights stay on.

In the early morning, I engage in a stretching routine to combat the discomfort from my thin mattress, which has left me sore. I fill my airwaves with public radio programs that connect me to the outside world, offering a much-needed reprieve from confinement.

As daybreak approaches, I check emails in the outdated prison computer system and eagerly await my daily call to my wife, Lauren. The phone system, while limited to 510 minutes per month, allows me a lifeline to the outside, though each call is restricted to a mere 15 minutes.

Afterward, I switch gears and don athletic attire for some exercise, often engaging in handball with a friend or hitting the gym. This physical activity brings a welcome refreshment to my daily life.

Post-exercise, I prepare breakfast, usually opting for oatmeal with dried fruit or a protein shake mixed with powdered milk. Cooking has become one of my few joys amidst the monotony of prison life.

At 9:00 AM, my responsibilities as a “Bathroom Orderly” begin—a role that requires me to maintain sanitation in our shared facilities. The task is far from pleasant, but I find satisfaction in cleanliness.

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Completing my cleaning within an hour, I now have free time left in my day, which I’m still trying to fill productively. I read, nap, and consider further educational opportunities. Thankfully, I steer clear of the television rooms, filled with dramas and games that do little to capture my interest.

Reflecting on this month, it feels surreal, like an unsettling dream I am unable to escape. Each passing day is an exercise in patience as I strive to navigate this unfamiliar existence, eagerly counting down the remaining days until freedom. One month down, 59 to go.

Thank you for your patience and interest in this journey.

Keonne Rodriguez

Contact Keonne:

Keonne Rodriguez
11404-511
FPC Morgantown
FEDERAL PRISON CAMP
P.O. BOX 1000
MORGANTOWN, WV 26507

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This piece is authored by Keonne Rodriguez. The views expressed are his own and do not necessarily align with any organization.