I Am Kellie Earl

2. What is truth? Dear Reader, I will take you on my twists-and-turns journey, as I sought truth and a sense of self- justification. As mentioned, I had multiple name changes along the way. These signified my transformation from being Kellie Earl the abused child, into Miss Zed, the cold-hearted murderess. And then I grew into a composed middle-aged woman who seemed to have redemption and a grip on life. Please be aware that this was not an easy task. In this book I will share mine and other compelling stories; stories I heard whilst I was ‘doing time’ in Fairlea Women’s Prison. I will make references to the works of the great philosophers and psychologists, as I seek explanations for aberrant behaviour. You will also see humanity at its best. Along the way, you will gain crucial insights into the mechanisation of tangled minds. It’s a place where lies become half- truths, and imagination protects one from life’s harsh reality. Although my story will place you in situ with the worst of the worst examples of humanity, rest assured it will help you to understand any biases society harbours. Some are real whilst others are imagined. C’est la vie. “I am innocent,” the prisoner always pleas. “I was set up.” But sometimes this is not far from the truth, as you will discover. Occasionally, the true villains appear as victims. And vice versa. The jury can get it wrong. Witnesses can be fuddled or bought. And innocent prisoners become the walking dead. As you follow my story, you will feel my universal pain and joy. You will realise that the shackles one throws over their mind, are more claustrophobic than any bricks and mortar prison cell. And the seismic issues that philosophers-of-old grappled with are no different to modern-day conundrums. We are no smarter than the ancient philosophers. And their truths become our truths. The innate desires and ambitions that drove the ancients in their quest for power and belonging, are still blatantly evident in our modern world. As much as we like to think that society has evolved and we are more humane, we are still one rock away from stoning an innocent prisoner; or one vote away from reinstating a public hanging. But these are universal issues. For the time being, I will try to focus on my journey and my amazing discoveries, rather than veering onto social tangents. After all, this book is about my journey and how I reached the light at the end of the dismal tunnel. Undoubtedly, you will endeavour to find justification for my murderous act, as you seemingly place your troubled head on my lumpy prison pillow. You want to believe that I am innocent. You will find me ‘too cute’ to be anything short of charming. Perhaps you will label me as a victim. No doubt, you will also side with the other incredible stories of my inmates. Your sympathies might favour the underdogs who fell foul of the law; the lost souls scurrying in the shadow of death in a place where morals are worthless. Overall, you will try to piece together our scattered mind-jigsaws as you lump us in the too-hard basket of prison misfits. Notably, you might want to affix the blame on someone or something else; call it destiny or the wrath of the gods. But sometimes the blame is shifting and as slippery as my prison soap. People change their stories. They evolve. Their truth becomes a lie they don't want to face. And alibis become malleable clauses in the hands of clever lawyers. C’est la vie. Whilst many philosophers believe in the good of humanity, and strive for moral perfection, Legalism tells us that human nature is incorrigibly selfish. The only hope for humanity and social order, according to this school of thought, is to impose discipline from above. We need rules and boundaries. We see this happening in the prison system. Further to this, it soon becomes apparent that 'truth' is also slippery. Even the wise philosophers have shifting definitions of its meaning. Nothing is fixed in concrete. Apart from authors who write the plot, no one can be omniscient and know everything. Instead, philosophers each possess a piece of ‘the truth’. Regardless, I eagerly searched for the truth, their truth, as I read tatty books in the prison library. Often, I was shocked by their hypocrisy and grand betrayal of their own values. Yet, in a dank penal environment, reading about their flawed ideals opened a window of opportunity for me. Their timeless reasoning challenged my attitude. I took a different perspective on life. Things were no longer black or white. Human nature creates countless shades of grey. In the end, I wondered if humans are born inherently evil or good. And who’s in control of our life? Is it fate, the gods or us? I gleaned the sages’ every word. No knowledge is ever wasted. I soon realised that by understanding man’s universal struggles, I could understand my own. I then became relevant. I was part of a broader system. Everyone is confused and unsure till they decide which school of thought they will follow. As an inquisitive child, I struggled to find my true identity and place in the world. I was lost in adult dramas. I desperately wanted my mother to talk about Russia and the life she left behind. I needed to know who my father was. But it was to no avail. Her pain was too deep to disclose. And when I entered Fairlea Prison, I thought the truth would be hiding inside a bricks and mortar existence. I felt like a tabula rasa; a blank slate that is influenced by one’s environment. I was a blank sheet waiting for society to write my destiny. Indeed it did. But not in a kind way.