Sam Bankman-Fried (SBF), the disgraced cryptocurrency magnate, is serving a 25-year sentence at the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) in Brooklyn for orchestrating a massive fraud scheme that collapsed his FTX exchange. His prison experience, as documented in a diary he is attempting to publish, paints a picture of discomfort, boredom, and a detached observation of his fellow inmates. From lamenting the absence of pillows to analyzing the gambling habits of his cellmates, SBF’s writings offer a glimpse into his adaptation to life behind bars, colored by a sense of bewilderment and a persistent focus on the minutiae of his new environment. While his motivations for seeking publication remain unclear, given that he will not receive any financial benefit due to the forfeiture of his assets, the diary provides a unique perspective on the daily realities of incarceration as experienced by a former billionaire.
A recurring theme in SBF’s diary entries is the lack of basic comforts, most notably pillows. His initial hardship, resorting to his court suit as a makeshift headrest, foreshadows the ongoing struggle he faces at MDC. Trading commissary muffins for a makeshift pillow crafted from mattress stuffing highlights the resourcefulness required to navigate prison life and the value placed on even the simplest amenities. This fixation on the absence of a proper pillow, and later the longing for his childhood teddy bear, “Manfred,” underscores a sense of loss and the stark contrast between his former life of luxury and his current predicament. This yearning for comfort extends to his frustration with the absence of clocks, a deprivation he remedies by spending a significant portion of his commissary funds on a digital watch, revealing the distorted value system within the prison walls.
SBF’s observations of his fellow inmates reveal a detached, almost anthropological perspective. He categorizes them into distinct groups: those consumed by petty conflicts and substance abuse, those resigned to their long sentences, and a third group, with whom he seems to identify, grappling with the loss of freedom and the suppression of individuality. His description of “Harry,” a cellmate with contradictory traits – a muscular homophobe captivated by the Freddie Mercury biopic – exemplifies his keen, albeit somewhat judgmental, observation of the personalities around him. He details their gambling habits with a hint of disdain, noting their flawed strategies and illustrating the prevalence of such activities within the prison ecosystem. This detachment allows him to analyze their behavior, even offering unsolicited financial advice, while simultaneously highlighting his own past involvement in high-stakes risk-taking.
The diary entries reveal SBF’s struggle to adapt to the monotony and lack of control within the prison environment. He describes the disorienting effect of the absence of clocks, lamenting the loss of time as a tangible marker of existence. This disorientation, coupled with his observations of inmate behavior, contributes to a sense of alienation, as if he is observing a foreign culture rather than participating in it. His language, referencing “innies” and “outies,” further reinforces this separation, suggesting a struggle to reconcile his former identity with his current status as an inmate. This struggle is further emphasized by his reflections on rebellion and self-expression within a system designed to suppress both.
Despite his confinement, SBF maintains some connection to the outside world. His father, Joe Bankman, acts as an intermediary, facilitating communication with the media and hiring a consultant experienced in prison matters. SBF reportedly meets regularly with a paralegal and has access to a computer and video calls with his father, suggesting a level of privilege not afforded to most inmates. This access, coupled with his ongoing efforts to publish his diary, indicates a continued desire to shape his narrative and maintain a presence beyond the prison walls. However, his attempts appear more focused on documenting his experience and processing his new reality, rather than seeking financial gain or public sympathy.
SBF’s prison diary offers a raw, unfiltered account of his experience at MDC. His obsession with the lack of pillows and his detailed observations of inmate behavior, coupled with his reflections on time, freedom, and identity, paint a complex picture of a man struggling to come to terms with his dramatic fall from grace. While his motivations for sharing this account remain open to interpretation, the diary provides a compelling, albeit subjective, glimpse into the psychological and social dynamics of prison life, as experienced by someone accustomed to a vastly different world. The diary’s tone, fluctuating between detached observation and personal reflection, reveals a man grappling with his new reality while simultaneously attempting to maintain a semblance of his former self. His observations of the inmates around him, though sometimes tinged with judgment, also reveal a growing awareness of the shared human experience within the confines of MDC.
