I’ve spent this entire month racking my brain for anything, and I mean literally anything, to write. I got nothing. My entire brain has been taken over by this potential re-sentencing and I am having so much trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that I may not die in prison. Hope scares me. I’ve spent so much of my life without it, I barely recognized it when it took up glowy residence in an otherwise gloomy corner of my thoughts.
Hope hurts. I am barely making it to the end of the day sometimes without randomly weeping or otherwise just feeling completely paralyzed and overwhelmed. It’s affecting my friendships and is making it hard for me to pay attention in class. I’ve been in prison for 14 years. On the one hand I can’t imagine what another decade, or two, or three would be like. And on the other I haven’t dared to think about what not doing decade after decade after decade in here would mean. What building a life not in prison would be like.