When I walked out of prison a few months ago I never thought it would be this hard to tell someone where I had been. I have always said and told my self that I don’t care what people think about me. But I think we all do to some degree. We all want to be liked by others, and I am, right up to the moment a share the truth. That’s when I can hear it in their voices and see it in their eyes.
I was 24 when I committed my crime, and I Stood in that court room by my self, 500 miles from home… alone. But I stood there ready to deal with what I had done. I stood there like a man and when the judge said one hundred and eight months to two hundred and ten. I didn’t cry or bat an eye; I knew that I had gotten what I deserved. I did everyday of my 9 years with the thought that one day it would be over and even though 9 years is a lot longer than it sounded that day in the court room. It did end, I did come home, and I am working on putting my life in order. But the one thing I brought with me from inside those walls is that feeling of loneliness.
I have a great family, one couldn’t ask for better than mine. I could never repay all they have done for me, not that they would ever ask. But late at night when I am alone in my bed, it’s then that I realize I am still a prisoner…..a prisoner to my past.