This post is from Jodi’s newsletter, “Just Jodi”, which you can find at https://JodiArias.Substack.com
At the time I’m writing this, I have several hundred bucks in my commissary account — a staggering three figures — but I’m rumored to be worth millions. How I supposedly became a millionaire is anyone’s guess, but this zombie rumor has persisted for years online and even infiltrated Perryville.
The legend that I paid for the multi-million-dollar installation of air-conditioning in 2016 for one yard on Lumley Unit is whispered among some women here. I’m all for investing in my community, but damn. Nine years later, I’m still asked if it’s true.
Less credulous women often respond to this rumor by saying, “Think about it. If Jodi paid for the air-conditioning, then why doesn’t she live on that yard?” I appreciate the assist, but this is a logical fallacy. In prison, one doesn’t get to choose where one lives. (As of 2024, all Perryville residents are housed with air-conditioning, but before that, I spent many desert summers and sleepless nights in a cell that temped 90+ degrees Fahrenheit.)
When a woman asks me, “Is it true you paid for the air-conditioning?” I gently direct her back to my harsh reality by saying, “If I had that kind of money, I’d pay for lawyers, not air-conditioning.”
A tabloid rag recently cited a fake source, a made-up woman purported to have done time with me, who doesn’t actually exist in Arizona’s database of inmates. This imaginary person was quoted as saying of me, “She’s got more money than anyone else.” I don’t know how deep go the pockets of most women at Perryville, but I happen to know that someone I’ve worked with in years past has eight thousand dollars on her books, which is literally more than ten times my own balance.
When I worked at the commissary store, I could see other women’s account balances printed on their receipts, but I didn’t tend to look; it wasn’t my business. Once, my coworker handed me someone’s receipt and pointed to the balance, which showed over ten thousand dollars.
I later moved in with this same person and, one day, she showed me her account balance with a big grin. Despite her spending each week, the number had crept upwards to over thirteen thousand dollars. I’d never seen so much money in a commissary account.
Before I had three figures on my books, I had two figures, and sometimes a single figure, or less than ten bucks. Near-constant hunger added to my misery during my first several years in a Maricopa County jail. My family, not one of means, agreed that every other week my grandma would put $25 in my commissary account, and my mom would cover the alternating weeks with $25. My grandma was faithful about her contributions, but my mom, bless her busy, stressed-out heart, sometimes forgot.
The jail was feeding us two meals a day. There was no breakfast or lunch, as breakfast and lunch are defined. In the late morning, we were given a wheat hoagie roll (gluten, carbs) with peanut butter (sugar), a sickly-sweet oatmeal cream pie (gluten, sugar), and a few oranges (more sugar). You can imagine the havoc this diet wreaked upon one’s insulin and glucose, and the adverse long-term effects that years of this diet could have on one’s health. (Dinner, by the way, was cold, old, and revolting.)
This was also before I understood the connection between wheat and migraines. I was, essentially, compelled by hunger to poison myself with food that exacerbated a chronic health condition.
After a few years, in 2010, I pitched my brother on selling my art through his eBay account. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this sooner, but I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that 2010 was also the year my dark ideations of a nonfuture began to shift, then lift, and I started to consider that there might just be a life for me beyond the pit into which I had fallen. I also began to make art for the women I lived with, and from this small, honest hustle, I earned a few extra commissary items each week to quell the hunger pangs or simply enjoy a snack without the conflicting feelings about whether I should be rationing it.
In those early years, another thing that kept me in the poorhouse was that I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed: money on my books. I had a few pen pals, but they were acquaintances by mail only, and the thought of asking these nonrelatives for money was unimaginable. Going hungry was less uncomfortable.
Yet need compels, and I began to imply that grocery money would be helpful. At first, I used awkward, indirect language and vague euphemisms, contorting my words into anything other than, “Can you put some money on my books?” I was relieved each time someone caught my drift and made the leap across the communication chasm I had created.
Back then, I worried that directly asking others for the help I needed would come off as greedy or materialistic, but I was wrong. It’s OK to ask for help when destitute. I discovered that if someone wanted to help me, they received my request with warmth, even if they were not in a position to help.
Being direct draws the right people and repels the wrong ones. If someone were put off by my asking for help, that would be OK, too. They are simply not who I need deep in my corner, and it’s better to know where we each stand than nurture false expectations.
Of course, my art sells at JodiArias.com. This revenue, along with the contributions of others, is used for Knapp counsel, which is a kind of assistant lawyer in addition to my court-appointed lawyer, to tackle my ginormous case file.
Many years ago, I did have several thousand dollars on my books (four figures, not five), but that money is gone. I spent it on commissary and used it to help my family. The bulk of it, however, went to my brilliant lawyer Karen Clark, who helped successfully prosecute Juan Martinez’s bar license because he was profoundly unworthy of licensure.
Here’s why it’s harmful to spread the lie that I’m loaded: If this lie were believed by the few who do help me, then what help I receive by way of commissary deposits could evaporate, leaving me with even less than I get by on now. It’s one of the slickest ways to harm me, which may be why those who wish me harm will claim that I’m a mega millionaire. Would you pitch in for a millionaire’s groceries?
This post is from Jodi’s newsletter, “Just Jodi”, which you can find at https://JodiArias.Substack.com
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And Remember folks… as I always say – each day that passes takes us one day closer to Jodi’s release date.
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SJ
Team Jodi #WINNING <<<
Click the banner below to read Jade’s post – “Justice Denied: Why The Jurors Got It Wrong & How The Facts Decimate The State’s Case Against Jodi Arias.”:
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ArtByJodiArias.com – UPDATE
Jodi’s personal efforts to raise money for her appeals continue through the production of her art, which is sold at ArtbyJodiArias.com. Her art admin supports her efforts by running this “side hustle” of sorts on her behalf and taking none of the funds. The time and effort he devotes to this process (filing the taxes, trips to the post office every week to ship art) are an invaluable contribution.
If you are interested in another way to contribute to the cause, any purchase at ArtbyJodiArias.com is a legitimate way to support Jodi. You can also check out Jodi’s art on Instagram @ArtbyJodiArias.
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