INEVITABLE

For the longest time I've been convinced that prison isn't changing me. That it wont. That it can't. But I've been wrong. I've assumed that, because I don't notice any ill affects, they aren't creeping in. How can you get ahold of reality when your perspective is tainted?

Like trying to watch yourself age, my view is obscured by the slow pace of change. I do what I can to stay relatively sharp and sane. I'm fairing well, but I'm beginning to see how hopeless it is to fight against a constant force, like gravity, and expect to win. No matter what, it always takes takes a toll and, over time you get so used to the affects that they become imperceptible. 

How do you know when you're going crazy? Especially if 'crazy' is subjective... Is a person who's losing their mind aware of it slipping away? 

I won't know how much this place has affected me until I get out. But I do know that you can't spend years and years in a place like this without being changed in unintended ways. 

It makes me wonder.

How long will the sound of keys make me nervous? How long will eye contact be seen as an act of aggression? How long will I eat like I'm starving? How long will the word 'bitch' make the hairs on my neck stand on end? How long before I can watch TV without being distracted by the sight of a woman? How long until violence is abnormal again? How long before I can stand in a room without my back against a wall and be at ease? How long until I can sleep through the night and wake rested? How long until every word doesn't have to be examined before being spoken? Or every action analyzed for unintended consequences? How long until I can exhale? When my chance at freedom comes, how long will it take until I can finally relax?

Twelve plus years is a long time to walk through the mud without expecting to track some dirt into the house.

But I guess every experience we go through sticks to us in some way. This is no different. To wish things were different does nothing in the way of progress in the moment. 

I'm confident that I will be fine no matter what. That I have developed the tools, honed my mind, and steadied my heart, to deal with anything this, or any other place, has to offer. 

But at times, in my bunk at night while those around me sleep, I still worry. Will I carry this place around with me for the rest of my life? And I still wonder: If I was losing my mind would I be able to feel it slipping away?...