Mental Health

Raising awareness during 2nd annual Mental Wellness Week

November 14, 2019 by San Quentin News Staff

—Joe Garcia —David Ditto and Anthony Faulk contributed

CDCR Undersecretary Kathleen Allison, BPH Chief Psychologist Cliff Kusaj and BPH’s Jennifer Shaffer holding up Hope T-shirts

Incarcerated and outside members of the San Quentin community joined forces to emotionally support one another and raise awareness during the prison’s second annual Mental Wellness Week.

“This week is about all of us coming together to encourage hope—no one should feel they have to go it alone,” said Dr. S. McCarver, SQ’s Chief of Mental Health for the last four years.

“There should be no stigma for simply reaching out for help— reaching out for support.”

The schedule of daily events from Sept. 8 to 14 included a highly anticipated panel featuring Board of Parole Hearing (BPH) Executive Officer Jennifer Shaffer and BPH Chief Psychologist Cliff Kusaj.

Participant David Rodriguez asking BPH’s Jennifer Shaffer a question

They came to speak about and clarify how the BPH regards documented mental health issues—and how be- ing involved in prison mental healthcare potentially affects a lifer’s parole suitability.

SQ’s Chief Deputy Warden Ron Broomfield set the week’s tone with a personal story about his own struggles with severe depression and his reluctance to share his experience with others.

Cliff Kusaj answering questions from participants

“I’d been asked to speak twice and declined both times, but seeing all you guys’ inter- est in mental wellness gives me the courage to address you today,” he told an audience of prisoners, staff and volunteers on the Lower Yard.

“Working at Corcoran in 2009, I developed serious depression,” he said. “I could hide it at work and act like everything was fine.

“But where I couldn’t hide it was home. They got the worst of me.”

Broomfield described how his wife threatened to expose his mental problems with his coworkers if he refused to seek help.

“I remember sitting in my car out in the Corcoran park- ing lot, trying to summon up the courage to talk to someone,” he continued. “It was probably the most courageous thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“I always thought of myself as a healthy person, but hope really started when I sat in that car and decided I was going to talk to someone,” he said. “You can be free and a prisoner in your own mind— or locked up but free inside your mind.”

One of the week’s organizers, Dr. R. Thomas of SQ Mental Health, urged Broomfield to speak at the event. “I’m so grateful he shared his story with you guys,” she said. “It was in- credibly brave of him.”

Guys who know they need help are afraid to ask for that help…‘the Board’s not gonna let me out.’ But believe me; nothing could be further from the truth”

The ongoing theme of hope brought a packed crowd to the SQ chapel Sept. 11, where prisoners were ready to hear what Kusaj and Shaffer had to say about the BPH process.

California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) Undersecretary Kathleen Allison gave open- ing remarks before Kusaj and Shaffer engaged with the chapel audience.

“I’m passionate about this subject and have remained focused on suicide prevention,” said Allison. “It’s each and every one of [us] — our responsibility. If you see someone who might be in distress or mental crisis— reach out.”

Describing Shaffer as “a real rock star,” Allison set the stage for her by saying, “If you’re not a risk to public safety, she’s going to do everything she can for you.”

Schaffer started by connecting the history of the BPH to the evening’s mental well- ness theme—Hope Looks Forward.

“In 1979, California sentenced 907 prisoners to life with the possibility of parole,” Shaffer detailed. “And in that same year, only one person was actually granted parole.

“But take 2018, Jerry Brown’s last year in office. 1,016 prisoners were admitted into the system with life with the possibility of parole sentences—while 1096 prisoners were found suitable.

“That’s the first time since 1978 that more lifers were paroled rather than sentenced.”

Shaffer then focused her presentation on discussing potential parolees’ concerns about how receiving mental healthcare might reflect badly on their CDCR record.

“I know there’s a lot of myths out there,” she said. “Guys who know they need help are afraid to ask for that help.

“So many of you think if you need help, ‘the Board’s not gonna let me out.’ But believe me; nothing could be further from the truth.

“Think about it—plenty of people on the outside go get help. That’s actually healthy behavior.”

Shaffer encouraged the SQ crowd to utilize all available mental health resources, both inside and also after they are paroled.

“It’s an incredibly stressful time in your life to be re- leased from state prison,” she said. “That’s a big reason why the Board stresses transitional housing—not so we can watch you more closely, but so you’re surrounded by people who’ve walked the same path.”

Shaffer soon segued into what the majority of the audience came for—clarity on what the Board expects to see before granting a lifer’s parole date.

“We want to see if you’ve done the work,” Shaffer explained. “If you have truly transformed, you’ll be speak- ing a different language. You’ll show more insight—be more aware, more intuitive, more in touch with how you think.”

Shaffer also stressed the importance of understanding the difference between acknowledging the victim impact on an offender’s community but without carrying the shame of their crime around with them.

She detailed a research paper written by Kusaj which analyzed some psychological factors between offenders who recidivate and those who do not.

“What’s the difference?” she asked everyone. “Shame. If you find it hard to like your- self, you’ll find it incredibly difficult to create a positive narrative.

“Try to think of the bad things you may have done as in the third person. Learn how to explain who that person was and how they’re different today.”

Kusaj set out to answer the following questions: What are the Board psychologists look- ing for? What changes do they want to see? What should guys expect during their psychological review?

In regard to psych review expectations, Kusaj explained, “Ultimately, we need to be able to understand, contextualize and make sense of your violent actions—and how that’s been mitigated over time.

“Can you make sense of the darkness, badness and wrong decisions? Have you matured and changed during your incarceration?”

He listed a compendium of psychological and emotional shifts he directs his staff to look for—such as being open and honest versus circumventing the truth or rejecting violence as a problem-solving solution, or being fair and forgiving versus being vindictive and punishing.

“In short, we want to see life transformations,” said Kusaj. “When we evaluate risk assessment, it’s quite simple. What went wrong in your life? And where are you now?

“Don’t rehearse. Don’t try to anticipate our questions. You’re there to try to help the psychologist better understand your crime-causing factors.”

Kusaj also wanted the audience to recognize the structural difference between a forensic interview rather than a therapy session.

“Think of it more like a job interview. Because of time considerations, expect to be interrupted,” he said. “Expect to be challenged. We’re neither advocates nor adversaries. Our interests lie solely in your safe release to the community.”

Although Kusaj was nowhere near giving the full ex- planation he’d hoped to offer, Shaffer stopped him to allow the panel to field questions from the eager crowd. Most questions inevitably revolved around each prisoner’s personal BPH experience.

Allison and Shaffer eventually started a list for each person to write down their name, CDCR# and specific issue they want resolved.

Shaffer assured the crowd that every BPH scheduling commitment will be fulfilled. “Last year, we held 5,300 Board hearings statewide, and this year we’ve got 7,300 scheduled,” she said. “We’ll continue that pace every year until everyone who should be seen is.”

Allison equally reassured everyone that her CDCR office is reviewing every single prisoner’s file for 1170(d) re-sentencing consideration.

“You guys don’t have to submit anything to us,” she said. “If you’re disciplinary free, done exceptional programming or fit any of the enhancement criteria, we’ll petition the court on your behalf.

“We’ve had amazing success from the courts so far. Our priority is always going to be focused on the guys who already have the most time in. Those are the cases that need to be reviewed first.”

The last two days of Mental Wellness Week consisted of pure community interaction and celebration. The chapel shook with energy and emotion on Sept. 13 as prisoners and staff alike took part in a talent showcase—opening up and performing pieces themed around mental health.

Dr. K. O’Meara, CDCR Regional Health Administer, took to the podium and read an essay by Death Row prisoner Joseph Manuel Montes.

“It’s important to represent those who can’t be here them- selves tonight,” she said.

The highlight of the talent show may have been Dr. Thomas’ promised rendition of Sade’s “Soldier of Love.” The audience cheered in awe and appreciation as Thomas hit all the right notes without batting an eye.

Fully participating at every event that week, Thomas and her vocals underscored the commitment of the SQ Mental Health staff to stay immersed in this community.

Veterans find healing through sharing their experiences

August 14, 2019 by Juan Haines

Veterans Healing Veterans members and volunteers celebrate their graduation

San Quentin’s Catholic Chapel provided space on June 27 for a small group of Bay Area volunteers to meet with incarcerated veterans who’d just completed a rigorous year-long therapy program designed to help them overcome past traumas, including PTSD.

The program, Veterans Healing Veterans from the Inside Out (VHV), began in 2012 by then-incarcerated Ron Self. Self believes giving military veterans the chance to write about their lives is therapeutic, which is why he says Narrative Therapy opens the door to healing. Self has since paroled but continues to work with VHV.

Several outside volunteers, including Sarah Alexander, spoke to seven of the nine graduates as they received certificates of completion.

“I hope that you can take in your hearts what you’ve given me,” Alexander said. “Our VHV groups are all about connection. You touch people outside in ways that you might not imagine. Each of us has the opportunity to share our stories and be listened to—that’s the reciprocal nature of narrative therapy.

“The theme of today’s stage is the cost of pent-up and repeated traumas with no healthy release.”

Referring to Ron Self, VHV program director Rebecca Haskell said, “This is his heart and this is his life. He is so proud of you. Embracing this program is allowing you to embrace aspects of yourself that you weren’t aware of and didn’t understand. The healing is within you, but VHV allows you to express it.”

Mary Donovan of Cal Vets, who formerly worked with VHV, said, “When we make un-judgmental space for a person tell his story, in their own time, they move to healing. We do this by listening. Listening is the essential act. Listening draws out the story.”

Graduate David Anderson served in the Navy and was honorably discharged twice.

“Probably the most important thing that narration does is allow you to express your emotions and feelings in words,” Anderson said. “There is something very healing in being able to put our experiences, thoughts, emotions and feelings into words.”

Tom Ucko, one of the VHV community volunteers, talked of being nervous the first time coming inside San Quentin and walking around unescorted.

“Sitting in my first group, I was stunned,” Ucko said, after hearing about an extreme- ly violent crime.

Ucko said his judgment faded as he began to learn that the men were no longer the men who committed their crimes—that there was regret and shame exhibited from each story.

“Hearing about childhood trauma was especially challenging to listen to—tears were shed,” Ucko said. “In the safety of the circle, I was able to share my traumas and tell my truths. I felt nourished and loved.”

Carlos Smith talked about how VHV helped him with PTSD, the moral injuries he suffered and how his actions have consequences.

“This program has given me a reason to open my heart and mind and make a positive change deep within my inner beauty,” Smith said. “VHV has shown me that there’s a better solution to solve problems and deal with my de- mons, rather than acting out in anger and violence.”

“Amazing Grace” was sung by Rick Harrell.

“It’s a real privilege to be here with you guys,” Harrell said. “I’m not here to sing to you, but to lead you in singing.”

Haskell acknowledged graduates who’d transferred to other prisons—John Robb and David “Solo” Bennett.

“Everyone in this room is an ambassador for VHV,” Haskell said. “If you feel like this program has impacted you in a meaningful way, scream it as loud as you can.”

The new VHV graduates are: David Anderson, Ian Brown, James Dunbar, Darrell Gautt, Andrew Gazzeny, Jerome Hermosa, Emery Milligan, Carlos Smith, and Paul Stauffer.

Fear of the outdoors – one result of long term solitary

August 13, 2019 by Harry C. Goodall Jr.

Frank De Palma spent more than 40 years of his life inside Nevada’s state prisons for second-degree murder, grand larceny, battery, and attempted murder. Twenty-two of those years were spent in solitary confinement, where he developed acute agoraphobia as a result of the prolonged time alone, reports The Marshall Project.

While serving time at Ely Maximum Security Prison, De Palma was sent to solitary for his own protection. While there, he assaulted a prison guard, so he was kept there. During his confinement in solitary, De Palma slowly began to experience what he called “the opposite of claustrophobia.” He began to fear leaving his cell even to exercise.

“It was suddenly like all the air around me became a pressure force…I couldn’t breathe. I started banging on the door to the yard to go back inside,” he said.

He began to have panic attacks. He experienced tightening in his chest that resembled a heart attack. He stopped taking showers because he feared having too much open space around him. When light began to bother him, he covered up his one window. He lived in darkness as much as possible; only then did he feel safe.

As the years passed, his psychosis grew to the point that when he began to suffer toothaches he used strong nylon string from his mattress to perform crude extractions in his cell rather than go see a dentist. His behavior did not go unnoticed by the guards. They would tease him by threatening to pull him out of his cell.

During this time, as a cop- ing mechanism, he created his own fantasy world. He’d imagine shopping in a grocery store, tapping melons to see if they were ripe, meeting ficti- tious people—scenarios that sometimes led to romantic re- lationships.

De Palma experienced these fantasies so often that reality and fantasy became blurred. The memories of his real life began to fade. “I literally forgot that I had a family,” he told the reporter from The Marshall Project.

Eventually a psychologist, the warden, and a couple members of the emergency response team came to encourage him to exit his cell. De Palma assumed this was because he was due to leave prison soon. During these first encounters he could barely speak. It had been so long since he actually uttered words that his speech was gar- bled. It took the prison team more than several hours to coerce De Palma out of his place of refuge.

A guard told him, “Just keep your eyes closed, and hold onto me,” and led him out of his cell while De Palma clutched the guard’s belt.

De Palma was transported to Northern Nevada Correctional Center for psychiatric aid. During the several-hour trip, he continued to keep his eyes closed. To pass the time, he concentrated on the pain caused by the tight handcuffs that had been placed on his wrists.

Upon arrival, he asked to be sent back to Ely, a request that was denied. De Palma stayed in the psychiatric ward getting treatment for his acute case of agoraphobia for 10 months He began to understand that the behavior he displayed was in no way human or normal.

De Palma had a gradual ascent out of acute agoraphobia. It began with short durations of time outside, until he was able to be moved back into the general population.

He was finally released from prison after serving a total of 42 years, 9 months, and 15 days. Transitioning back into society has been hard because he still suffers somewhat from agoraphobia. While wearing a hoodie given to him by a friend, De Palma thought he saw some- one closely behind him. In a panic, he quickly turned his body towards the person, causing him to fall to the ground. There was no one behind him, only the hoodie attached to his shirt. On another occasion he walked into a Walmart and noticed himself on one of the big screen TVs. He was horrified, fearing somehow they’d put him into a computer.

To relax, he went to a bathroom stall and locked himself in for 15 minutes until he regained composure. He realizes that a part of him still craves a dark, safe abyss.

De Palma revealed to his interviewer that he is troubled by thoughts that prison has been his whole life, and he questions, “Am I going to make it out here? Am I too damaged to ever belong?”

Florida county jail injury

July 10, 2019 by Amir Shabazz

A mentally ill prisoner at the Broward County Jail in Florida used a razor to commit an act of self-mutilation, according to the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU).

“I have a real medical emergency,” the prisoner, who goes by the initials J.I., told an officer. “I just cut off my penis and flushed it down the toilet. I have no need for it anymore.”

J.I. was sent to solitary confinement for yelling at staff and had been there for 112 days prior to the incident. Even before his placement in solitary confinement he exhibited abnormal behavior — he refused to eat or take his medication and had public masturbation episodes.

These behaviors were red flags that the doctors overseeing J.I’s care failed to notice. J.I.’s medical files contained little information about his status and, as his mental state declined, his treatment plan was not updated. Prisoners in solitary are isolated in a cell roughly the size of a parking space. These conditions are often consequential for an individual’s mental health, which should be assessed and monitored before placement in solitary. J.I. was not assessed before his placement in solitary, according to the ACLU.

J.I.’s self-mutilation was only one case involving prisoners with mental health issues at the Broward County Jail. One prisoner diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder starved himself to death. Months before, another prisoner starved to death— standing six- foot-two-inches tall and weighing 240 pounds at his arrest, he weighed a mere 120 pounds at his death.

Prior to J.I.’s mutilation, a court-appointed expert issued a report finding life- threatening shortcomings with the jail’s mental health program, citing a failure to exclude patients with serious mental illness from solitary confinement. The expert concluded that the mistreatment and neglect of those with mental illness at the jail was “absolutely inhumane.” The ACLU has filed a civil rights lawsuit on behalf of the prisoners at Broward County Jail.

A comprehensive plan to remedy the problems has been crafted but must be approved by a federal judge before it is implemented. Once approved, those with serious mental health issues will be excluded from solitary, treatment plans will be developed, and patients will be placed in psychiatric hospitals rather than being housed at the county jail.

Study: mental health diagnoses result in high rates of prisoner isolation

June 24, 2019 by Amir Shabazz

New Mexico has one of the smallest prison populations in the country at 7,300 but is fourth in the nation when it comes to confining prisoners to solitary, according to the Santa Fe New Mexican.

On any given day one out of 10 prisoners is being held in isolation, just because they have been diagnosed with mental illness, accord- ing to the article.

According to the ACLU, the state has routinely underreported its use of solitary confinement over the past decade, in part because it has no clear definition of “solitary” and instead uses “multiple and constantly changing terms” to refer to the practice.

Researchers from the University of New Mexico along with the ACLU found that 90% of the prisoners surveyed said they had been diagnosed with mental health problems and had been enrolled in the Preda- tory Behavioral Management Program and spent eight months in solitary confinement, according to the article.

Criminal defense attorney Matthew Coyte said that solitary confinement is an issue that poses cost and safety problems for the public.

Coyte, who worked with the ACLU, says that segregation only worsens a prisoner’s mental state instead of providing rehabilitation, said the article.

“We have been manu- facturing mental illness for years with this form of incar- ceration,” he said. “You don’t want people who are incar- cerated to come out worse.”

Prisoners in isolation com- plained about a lack of recreation time, losing track of time, experiencing violent thoughts, fits of rage, and hearing voices. Some had thoughts of suicide, the article said.

The Corrections department and the governor are trying to come up with some solutions, but they are having a hard time hiring and retaining officers. At the release of this story in March, they were still look- ing for a Secretary of Corrections, according to the article.

Several Democrats are sponsoring a bill that would stop the isolation of juveniles and pregnant women and confine those diagnosed with mental issues to no more than 48 hours in lockup.

The governor wants to take a look at New Mexico’s Department of Corrections policies on solitary confinement and suicides in the prisons, said the article. She said that solitary confinement “should be used in only the most extreme and narrow circumstances.”

Josh Anderson, a union representative for prison officers, said that the group is open to looking at how to improve living conditions and is reviewing policies for managing the state’s prisons, according to the article.

Some prisoners suffer another form of death penalty

June 24, 2019 by Harry C. Goodall Jr.

An alarming number, 80 prisoners, died in Texas jails in a nine month period between Oct. 1, 2017 and July 1, 2018, according to the Bureau of Justice statistics, in an article published by Prison Legal News.

The Texas Commission of Jail Standards (TCJS) is an agency that sets the standards for Texas jails to follow. They perform annual inspections of local jails and prisons. TCJS is also responsible for investigating the deaths in the jails and prisons.

“We shouldn’t look to the TCJS to do what they were never intended to do. We’re putting all our eggs in one basket” said Michele Deitch, lecturer at the LBJ School of Public Affairs in Texas. Deitch is in favor of a statewide ombudsman for the prisons, jails and families, according to the article.

Although the TCJS is responsible for investigating the deaths that occur in Texas jails, no jail was found at fault for any of the 80 deaths. TCJS performs procedures such as: video evidence and documentation review to see if any standards were violated, according to the article.

The investigations can be troublesome. Kenneth Paxton Jr. of the Office of the Attorney General had to order Sheriff Sally Hernandez to comply with record requests. The sheriff’s office had made claims that to provide such information would threaten the security of the guards and its jails.

The sheriff utilized a Texas law loophole that prevents any information, even in death, being released on a person not convicted of a crime, according to the article. Legislation has introduced a bill to prevent this tactic being used in the future.

In 2015, Sandra Bland committed suicide in the Waller County jail. The jail settled with a $1.9 million settlement resulting from her death. The county also created a new law called the Sandra Bland Act, which created policies and procedures for dealing with people with mental health issues.

In 2015, three LaSalle Correction guards in McLennan County were arrested for changing jail logs to appear as if they were in compliance with the mandatory head counts every 30 minutes.

Michael Crittenden, Christopher Simpson and Milton Walker were the guards alleged in the tampering of documents. The charges were prompted by the suicide death of Michael Angelo Martinez on Nov. 1, 2015.

The video from the prison showed the aforementioned guards logged in headcounts they did not perform, reported the Prison Legal News.

“We weren’t checked every hour or every half hour. At maximum we would see the jailers twice a day,” said Barbara Nixon, a nursing student housed at the Anderson County Jail. Adding, “They’d come at the beginning and the end of their shifts. We’d also see them when they brought meals, but that was about it.”

The TCJS standards had recent violations with the Harris County Jail, in which four detainees were left and locked in a transport van overnight in April, 2017. This was followed by the December, 2017 suicide of Maytham Alsaedy, who was scheduled for a guilty plea on capital murder charges.

Debora Lyons committed suicide in August ,2018. In 2019, Evan Parker hanged himself at the Waller County Jail. One month prior to his death, the prison was found to be in non-compliance of several operating standards.

This is the same facility where Sandra Bland committed suicide four years earlier and where the Sandra Bland Act began.

Some attributed the prison deaths to low pay and under- staffing. The commission later was asked for a pay increase by Anderson County Sheriff Greg Taylor, who hoped to recruit more guards to remedy understaffing.

The annual pay was in- creased from $27,000 to $30,000, which is still around $3,000 below the state average pay.

Bringing dance to the Big House: Gangnam Style

April 30, 2019 by Aron Kumar Roy

The No Limits Dance Crew pumped up the crowd with their Gangnam Style performance in San Quentin’s H-unit Chapel.

Left to Right: Steven Minor, prisoner dancer, Jonathan Terry, Britton Schutte and Salvador Hernandez

The seven-person dance crew garnered cheers from the crowd as they danced to the song “Gangnam Style.”

“We’re so good its criminal!” one dancer yelled right before the first of four showings began.

The No Limits Dance Crew with San Quentin staff performing a dance in front of an audience

Ms. Bridges, a clinician with the Enhanced Outpatient Program (EOP), created the dance crew as a therapeutic tool to treat the participants’ mental health issues.

She brings to the program 20 years of dance and choreography experience, as well as a degree in dance.

“I think it’s really helpful for me to focus my mind on something creative and peaceful,” Bridges said.

The men in blue learned many coping skills from being involved with the No Limits Dance Crew.

“It was a mindfulness exercise,” said Britton Schutte, “concentrating and being in the moment, almost like a meditation.”

“I’ve been wanting to exercise for a long time; exercise is good for fighting depression,” said dancer Matthew Paradise.

Dancing also helped the inmates gain confidence while staying clean and sober.

They mastered the choreography with just one month of practice.

“I used a lot of my coping skills,” Salvador Hernandez said.

The crew members brought varying levels of dance experience to the team, but they all brought open minds and great attitudes.

Geovanne Jimenez started dancing just four weeks ago. He appreciates the camaraderie that the crew members have built.

“Before, we used to just see each other and didn’t really talk. Now we get along and know each other,” Jimenez said.

Jonathan Terry brings previous dance experience to the crew.

He was involved in a dance program while incarcerated at Salinas Valley State Prison.

“You gotta stay smooth,” was Terry’s tip.

“If your day’s going bad, you could go dancing, and it brightens up your day,” said crew member Steven Minor. “I think they should have dancing on the whole yard!”

Nevada man commits suicide after his pleas for execution are denied

April 30, 2019 by admins

A Nevada man who pleaded for his execution killed himself when his wish was denied.

Scott Raymond Dozier, 48, was found hanged in his cell on Jan. 5 at Nevada’s maximum security prison in Ely, prison officials told the New York Times.

“I’ve been very clear about my desire to be executed… even if suffering is inevitable,” Dozier said in a handwritten note to a state court judge. The judge postponed Dozier’s execution in 2017 over concerns that the “untried” combination of drugs could “leave him suffocating, conscious and able to move,” according to The Associated Press.

Dozier was convicted in 2002 for killing a man in Las Vegas. At first, he appealed his death sentence. But after two years, he changed his approach and instead pushed for his execution date.

Dozier had insisted the state set a date, even if it meant a painful death from a cocktail of lethal-injection drugs. The cocktail contained a mix of drugs including fentanyl, which led manufactures to intervene, saying that they would suffer “grave reputational harm if its products were used in the execution against its wishes,” according to the Times.

The complexity of Dozier’s case has placed Nevada at the top of the national death penalty debate, shedding light on the practices of some states attempting to use drugs that pharmaceutical companies do not want used for executions, the AP reported.

Dozier had abandoned his appeals for the death sentence he received in 2007 for the separate murders of two drug associates in 2002 in Phoenix and Las Vegas, the AP reported.

“Just get it done, just do it effectively and stop fighting about it,” Dozier told the AP in a telephone interview last August.

Filmmaker Edgar Barens, who was working on producing a documentary on families affected by the death penalty, told the Times that “the prospect of eking out his existence on Death Row for the rest of his life was unfathomable to him.”

Dozier’s mental health had deteriorated after several delays and after being frequently kept in isolation or on suicide watch, attorney Tom Ericsson told the Times. “He was just so beat down by the prison system and ready to call it a day,” Ericsson said.

Attorneys argued that Dozier’s deterioration was attributed to unconstitutional treatment of their client, the AP reported.