Photo by Stefano Pollio on Unsplash

Pacing my floor back and forth in the dark, thinking about my life and how I’m falling apart as I literally fall to pieces day by day. Trying to make sense of my situation so that I can just feel like it’s going to be okay not knowing what’s ahead.

In this trial at hand, expecting the worst is the reason for all the pain that I’m in.

I’m overwhelmed with thought. I turn on my bedroom light, grab a pen and just write, write what’s on my mind, just make it all rhyme, and it always turns out right. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. Then why do I feel so weak? So weak that I can hardly speak, sometimes I can hardly sleep. I just feel like I’m in too deep, drowning in a sadness that people can’t see.

I wear a mask of smiles until I turn out the lights and break down. Never in my life did I think that I would be as emotional as I am right now, dealing with it cold turkey. No medication, drugs, alcohol or chronic masturbation. No substitute to cope with my situation except for illusory destinations, living in desperation. Everything that I desire seems so far away. It’s like they’re burning in a fire going up in flames. All i can do is cry hoping to produce enough tears to put out the fire and salvage what remains. Still, life will never be the same, traumatized by these events, flashbacks knock me off my feet.

Still, I manage to get back up and not surrender in defeat.

Even if I could start my life all over I would still remember these times.

That’s how much I’ve been traumatized.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.

Christopher Reece

Christopher Reece is a writer incarcerated in Michigan. He has been in prison since he was 20 years old.