Another FBOP Failure: Tammy's Story — When “Funding” Becomes a Death Sentence

 

Here we go again. Another woman, another broken promise behind razor wire. Another excuse that starts with “funding” and ends with neglect.

Tammy’s story is not new. It’s not unique. And that’s the biggest tragedy of all. Because her life—and her vision—matter. And so does every other person sitting in a Federal Bureau of Prisons (FBOP) facility, hoping for even the most basic human care.

Recently, Tammy reached out to share what’s been going on at her facility, and I think it speaks for itself:

---

"Recently I wrote about how the BOP seems to be broke. They took away several items at food service due to funding—like the salad bar (which, by the way, was just plain lettuce mix and generic dressing), they’ve limited eggs (maybe understandable with the bird flu), and removed extra items like beans and rice.

What I didn’t mention, but probably should have, is that my prison doesn’t even repurpose leftovers. They literally throw away pounds and pounds of food daily from our kitchen.

Today I went to get bras again. Turned down. ‘Funding not available to purchase bras at this time.’

But that’s not even why I’m writing. Yesterday I got called to medical to see the eye doctor. His first question: ‘How are the new glasses working for you?’

My answer? ‘I don’t know. It’s been a year and I still haven’t gotten them.’

Then came the real bombshell.

He told me I have macular degeneration with edema. That I was supposed to be sent to a retina specialist. That I should have seen him every 3 months. That none of that happened. And if it doesn’t happen soon, I could go blind in my left eye.

He said he was walking my file to my doctor that same day and re-entering the orders.

Can anyone say lawsuit? I can.

This facility cannot take care of the people housed here. I keep hearing 'funding, funding, funding.'

That’s not the problem. The problem is mismanagement and overcrowding.

If the courts used other methods of incarceration for low-level, non-violent offenders or people with 18 months or less—like probation or ankle monitors—and actually implemented the First Step Act and the Second Chance Act the way they were intended, so much of this mess could be avoided.

I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’ve been incarcerated for 20 years, about to start my 21st. I had a 110-year sentence. Recently, I got 70 years taken off. With good time, I have about 12.7 years left.

I just hope things improve between now and then… I’ll keep you posted."

---

And we hope she gets to keep her sight so she can see that freedom.

Let that sit for a minute.
The system failed her not once, but repeatedly—and nearly irreversibly.

Let’s be clear: "Funding" is the fallback word agencies use when they don’t want to take responsibility. But when basic needs like bras, food, and preventing blindness go unmet, it’s no longer a funding issue. It’s willful neglect. It’s abuse under the color of law.

Overcrowding didn’t happen by accident. It’s a policy choice. The FBOP has the tools to relieve it—First Step Act, Second Chance Act, compassionate release, home confinement—but too often they let those tools rust. And people like Tammy suffer for it.

I’m watching women in federal prisons be told they can’t get underwear or see specialists because the budget’s tight, while the very agencies running those prisons waste millions in overtime, contracts, and administrative bloat.

Where is the accountability?

Where is the outrage?

I’ll tell you where it should be—right here. In our voices. In our advocacy. In our refusal to let Tammy’s story become just another name in the file.

Tammy—you’re not forgotten. Not today. Not ever. You keep posting. And I’ll keep sharing. We’re building something louder than silence.

---

#EppersonEmpowerment #PowerOfOurVoicesLLC #FBOPFailure #PrisonReformNow #MedicalNeglectIsAbuse #JusticeForInmates #HumanRightsBehindBars #FederalBureauOfProblems #MacularDegenerationMatters #OvercrowdingKills #ThisIsWhyWeFight #FirstStepActNow #SecondChanceAct #AccountabilityBehindBars #WeSeeYouTammy #SystemicNeglect #ReformNotExcuses #IncarceratedButNotInvisible #PrisonVoicesMatter #WomenInPrisonDeserveDignity

Today, the fight for my husband’s freedom took a major leap forward. And I need you with me now more than ever.

This morning, my hands trembled a little as I sealed three large envelopes—each one packed with 43 pages of truth, testimony, and a desperate plea for mercy. These weren’t just documents… they were pieces of our story, pieces of our hope, and pieces of Ryan’s heart.

Those three envelopes are now officially on their way to:

• The Department of Justice
• President Donald Trump at the White House
• His administration committee in New York

These clemency packets represent everything we’ve been fighting for—every sleepless night, every tear shed, every prayer whispered. They are now out of my hands and into the hands of those who have the power to change the course of Ryan’s life forever.

And now, we wait.
And we pray.
And we hope with everything we’ve got.

Advocating for Ryan isn’t easy—because telling the truth about his past means reliving pain that most people wouldn’t survive.

Ryan grew up in a home where trauma was woven into the walls. Addiction, dysfunction, and survival became second nature to him before he ever had the chance to become a man. Prison became his “normal”—his only sense of structure, his only place of comfort, twisted as that may sound.

And yet… here he is today, choosing to be different. Choosing to heal. Choosing to rise.

He’s no longer clinging to toxic family ties that helped destroy him.
He’s no longer stuck in the cycle of drugs, hustling, and running from the law.
He’s now a husband—my husband. And he’s learning every day that there’s a life beyond those prison walls and broken streets.

He’s building something new with me—a life rooted in faith, accountability, love, and purpose.

His belief in God has been growing stronger by the day, and with it, a fight inside of him that I’ve never seen before. That fight is real. That growth is real. And the man he’s becoming deserves to be seen—not as a criminal, but as a soul who finally knows his worth.

So now, we ask for one thing: prayer.

Pray that these letters are read by the right people.
Pray that Ryan’s story pierces the hearts of decision-makers.
Pray that the chains of judgment break under the weight of mercy.

This isn’t just about policy or politics—it’s about redemption. It’s about a man who never had a fair chance finally finding the strength to live differently. And it’s about a system that should recognize when a person is no longer who they once were.

To everyone who’s been walking this road with me—thank you. Your support means everything. Your encouragement keeps me going. Your prayers lift us up. And your belief in second chances is what gives stories like ours a fighting shot.

I’ll keep you all updated every step of the way. And no matter how this turns out, please know this—we will never stop fighting for freedom, for fairness, and for the kind of world where transformation is not just possible, but honored.

#ClemencyForRyan #SecondChancesMatter #EppersonEmpowerment #FromGuardToWife #PowerOfOurVoices

Stalking Me But Can’t Stand Me? How Pathetic.

Let’s go ahead and call it for what it is — pathetic.

You don’t want to be in my life. You don’t want to talk to me. You’ve made it crystal clear that you want nothing to do with me.

So why in the world are you still stalking everything I do online like it’s your full-time job?

Seriously. You can’t stand me, yet you’re glued to every post, every update, every word I type. You’ve turned lurking into an Olympic sport — and for what? So you can run back like some messy little informant to say, “OHHHHH look what DeAnna wrote now!”

Are you really that bored? That bitter? That empty inside?

It’s actually sad. Truly. Because while I’m out here living my life, building something with purpose, advocating for change, healing, loving, growing — you’re stuck in the shadows, obsessed with a life you’re no longer part of. You’re not watching to support me. You’re watching to gossip. To judge. To "report back" like you’re in some 7th grade clique.

It’s laughable, really. You want nothing to do with me but dedicate energy to following me like a loyal hound. I’ve left you alone. I’ve moved on. I’ve minded my business. But here you are, still pressed.

So let me make it plain for the ones in the back:

If I’m so irrelevant to you, stop watching me.
If you don’t want to talk to me, stop clicking my name.
If you don’t like me, stop obsessing over me.
And if you're stalking just to play messenger for others — congratulations, you're not a friend, you're a puppet.

You don’t intimidate me. You don’t impact me. You don’t matter in the narrative I’m writing for my life anymore.

So go ahead, take another screenshot. Copy/paste this too while you're at it. Hell, print it and hang it on your fridge if you want — because I said what I said, and I stand on it.

Enough is enough. Your obsession is showing. And it’s not cute — it’s sad, desperate, and honestly… beneath even the worst version of me.

---

"Some people watch your life like it’s their favorite TV show — but still swear they’ve changed the channel. If you don’t like the program, stop tuning in. I’m not performing for you — I’m just living free."

"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." — Exodus 14:14

Because while they’re busy stalking, snitching, and scrolling — God’s still elevating. And I’m still rising.

Inside the Lewis Bachman Unit: A Call for Reform

The Lewis Prison Complex, located in Buckeye, Arizona, comprises eight units, including the Bachman Unit, where my husband is currently incarcerated. This unit houses inmates under protective custody, ranging from minimum to medium security levels, with a capacity of 752 inmates across four dormitory-style buildings. (corrections.az.gov)

Systemic Issues Plaguing the Facility

Over the years, the Lewis Complex has been marred by numerous incidents that highlight systemic issues within its walls:

• Contraband Infiltration: In January 2025, a correctional officer named Berman Comon was arrested for allegedly smuggling drugs and contraband cellphones into the Rast Unit of Lewis Prison. Comon, who had served as a counselor for 11 years, reportedly received $5,000 per trip to bring in the illicit items. (abc15.com)

• Inmate Unrest: In November 2018, surveillance footage revealed inmates in the Rast Max Unit setting fires outside their cells, leading to the evacuation of the entire unit. This incident underscored significant lapses in prison management and security protocols. (abc15.com)

• Healthcare Deficiencies: A 2022 federal court ruling found that the Arizona Department of Corrections, Rehabilitation & Reentry (ADCRR) was "deliberately indifferent" to the substantial risk of serious harm due to inadequate medical and mental health care, affecting all prisoners. (prisonlegalnews.org)

Personal Advocacy and Systemic Inaction

As an advocate for my husband's well-being, I have tirelessly reported various concerns to the ADCRR's Constituent Services:

• Drug Proliferation: Despite highlighting the rampant drug issues within the facility, little to no action has been taken to curb this menace.

• Inmate Abuse and Harassment: Reports of physical abuse and harassment by both staff and fellow inmates have been met with indifference.

• Unauthorized Cellphone Use: Inmates have been known to use contraband cellphones to harass families of other inmates, a serious breach of security that remains unaddressed.

• Medical Neglect: The lack of adequate medical care continues to be a pressing concern, with inmates' health deteriorating due to neglect.

• Theft During Protective Custody Transfers: Inmates moving to protective custody often find their belongings stolen, adding to their distress.

Unfortunately, contacting Constituent Services often feels like shouting into the void. The process typically involves forwarding complaints to wardens, whose responses are then relayed back without any tangible action. This bureaucratic loop offers no real solutions, leaving families frustrated and inmates vulnerable.

Ignored Safety Concerns for Families

The disregard for security isn't just limited to inmates—it extends to their families as well. I am a former correctional officer with legally filed paperwork to keep my personal information confidential. Yet, I am required to put a return address on every envelope I send, which is then tossed onto my husband's bunk at random times during mail distribution. Because of this, letters have been stolen off his bunk, meaning my name and address now float around the prison. This has resulted in other inmates attempting to contact me, locate me, and harass me—simply because I married an inmate.

Being a former CO married to an inmate is already frowned upon, but the blatant disregard for my safety is unacceptable. The ADCRR has failed to address these concerns, putting not only inmates but their families in danger. The fact that outside individuals can be tracked down due to the prison's negligence is not just alarming—it’s a severe security failure that demands immediate attention.

A Plea for Transparency and Accountability

The issues at the Lewis Bachman Unit are not isolated but indicative of broader systemic failures within the Arizona correctional system. It's imperative for the ADCRR to prioritize transparency, accountability, and the humane treatment of those in their care. Families like mine deserve assurance that our loved ones are in a safe environment conducive to rehabilitation, not one that perpetuates harm.

Conclusion

The challenges within the Lewis Bachman Unit are multifaceted and deeply rooted. Addressing them requires a concerted effort from prison authorities, state officials, and the community. By shedding light on these issues, we hope to pave the way for meaningful reforms that ensure safety, dignity, and justice for all inmates and their families.

#PrisonReform #JusticeForInmates #EndPrisonAbuse #ADCRRFailings #PrisonAccountability #ProtectFamilies #CorrectionsCorruption #HumanRights #TransparencyNow #StopTheNeglect #PowerOfOurVoices #EppersonEmpowerment

Exposing the Deadly Reality at La Palma Correctional Facility: How Many More Have to Die?

For years, La Palma Correctional Facility in Eloy, Arizona, has been a hotspot for controversy, yet little has been done to address the rampant corruption, officer misconduct, and systemic failures that have turned it into a living hell for those incarcerated within its walls. Most recently, another inmate has died—one of many whose deaths could have been prevented if those in charge had taken real action instead of covering up their negligence.

On January 2, 2025, I fought to have my husband moved out of La Palma due to the sheer volume of drugs flooding the yard, which were being brought in by correctional officers. I reported specific names to the Special Security Unit (SSU), thinking that doing the right thing would bring change. Instead, my concerns fell on deaf ears. Now, here we are, with more inmates losing their lives—many of these deaths are suspected overdoses, yet little to no investigation ever seems to result in actual change.

A History of Negligence and Deaths

This latest tragedy is just one in a long line of disturbing incidents at La Palma. Reports are coming in daily from loved ones of those incarcerated, detailing medical neglect, excessive force, and dangerous living conditions. Just last week, one inmate developed an infection in his hand. Medical staff ignored it until it became so severe that he had to be hospitalized, diagnosed with cellulitis, and is now septic. He will spend six weeks in an acute care facility, completely cut off from his family. His suffering could have been prevented if medical staff had taken action earlier.

Another inmate was found dead in his cell early this morning. Five-on-one assaults are becoming a common occurrence, and yet the administration remains silent. How many more families need to receive that devastating phone call before someone intervenes?

The Corruption Runs Deep

La Palma Correctional Facility has been in the news for years. It previously held California and ICE detainees, but both contracts were pulled due to mistreatment and horrific conditions. If history is any indicator, the current Arizona Department of Corrections contract should be next. But we can't wait for more deaths before action is taken.

The reality is that officers are not only failing to keep drugs and violence out of the facility—they are facilitating it. Inmates and their families report that certain correctional officers bring in narcotics, creating an environment where addiction, extortion, and violence thrive. Yet, despite repeated complaints, nothing has been done.

Enough is Enough: It’s Time to Take Action

We cannot allow this to continue. Families are losing their loved ones, and the Arizona Department of Corrections is turning a blind eye. We need real, systemic change, and it starts with exposing the truth about what is happening inside La Palma.

We need:

• Immediate independent investigations into the deaths occurring at La Palma Correctional Facility, with transparency and accountability.

• A crackdown on correctional officers bringing drugs into the facility—including criminal charges and termination for those found responsible.

• Proper medical care for all inmates so that preventable deaths and illnesses don’t continue to pile up.

• Public awareness and protests to put pressure on those responsible for overseeing this facility.

We are calling on everyone with a loved one at La Palma to speak out. If you have information, share it. If you have lost someone, demand justice. If you care about human rights, get involved. This facility has hidden behind closed doors for too long, and the bloodshed has to stop.

What You Can Do Right Now:

✔ Contact Arizona Department of Corrections Leadership and demand an independent investigation. ✔ Reach out to the media to expose what’s happening inside La Palma. ✔ Join us in organizing a protest against the corruption and negligence that have plagued this facility for too long. ✔ Check on your loved ones and encourage them to document and report any abuse or negligence they witness. ✔ Follow our page: Power of Our Voices, LLC for updates, advocacy efforts, and ways to get involved. ✔ Contact us at info@powerofourvoices.com if you have any information or need support.

#EppersonEmpowerment #JusticeForInmates #ShutDownLaPalma #PrisonReform #StopTheNeglect #AZDOCExposed #PrisonAccountability #HumanRightsMatter #EndTheAbuse #ExposeTheTruth

If you are reading this and you have power to make change, don’t sit in silence. If we don’t fight for the lives of those behind bars, who will?

Prion Wife Struggles

Being a prison wife is not for the weak. It is an emotional roller coaster, a test of patience, love, and endurance. There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable, when the walls of the prison aren't just around him but around me too. The waiting, the isolation, the judgment from those who will never understand—it's a constant battle. But the hardest part? Loving someone who has been broken beyond what most can comprehend.

I married an addict. Not just any addict, but a man whose entire life has been shaped by trauma, by abandonment, by a pain so deep that it has dictated every decision he's ever made. His mother walked away. His father fed his addiction instead of his soul. His family left him to fend for himself, failing to see the little boy crying out for love, for safety, for someone to care. And when the world has done nothing but turn its back on him, how could he possibly believe that I would stay?

Every day, I fight against his demons alongside him. Every day, I remind him that I am here, that I am not another name on the long list of people who have given up. But the trauma runs deep. It whispers lies to him in the quiet of the night, convincing him that I am just another person waiting for the moment to betray him. And so, the accusations come.

"You're a whore." "You're a liar." "You're unloyal."

Words cut deep, but I know where they come from. I know that this is his fear talking, his pain lashing out. He is an inmate, a man trapped not just behind bars but behind years of wounds left untreated. He is fighting against shadows that no one has ever helped him face. But I see the man behind those scars. I see the man who, despite it all, still has the capacity to love, to hope, to dream of something better. And that is why I stay.

But as if that isn’t enough, I also have to be the brunt end of his parents and what they did to him. His mother, who abandoned him and left him to drown, says things like, "I want nothing to do with him. I love him, I will pray for him, but you can tell him I said I want nothing to do with him." And then, with the same breath, she has the audacity to say, "How DARE you say I abandoned him? I never did that!" But yet, that’s exactly what she did, and that’s EXACTLY how he feels. Then there's his dad, the man who introduced him to his first hit of meth, telling him, "Tell 'your cousin' that I am not the monster your wife is making me out to be."

What the actual fuck?!

It is hard. It is painful. It is tremendously tiring. Some days, I wonder if I have anything left to give. But then I remember: this is not just his battle. This is our battle. With God's help, I will win over the demons that torment him. I will win over the fear, the pain, the trauma. Love is not just about the easy days. It is about standing in the storm, refusing to walk away when every force in the world tells you to run.

Many will never understand this life. They will never understand why I choose to stay, why I continue to love a man who has been consumed by so much pain. But they do not see what I see. They do not see the heart that still beats beneath the weight of his past. They do not see the man who, despite everything, still longs to be whole.

This life is not for the weak. But for those of us who choose it, for those of us who refuse to turn our backs—there is strength in the struggle. There is beauty in the brokenness. And most of all, there is love worth fighting for.