Prison is a place where the first person you see looks like a British College boy and you are surprised. Later you are disgusted because people on the outside still have the same prejudices about prisoners that you used to have.
Prison is a place where you write letters and can’t think of anything to say. Where you gradually write fewer and fewer letters and finally stops writing altogether.
Prison is a place where hope springs eternal; where each parole board appearance means a chance to get out, even if the odds are hopelessly against you.
Prison is a place where the flame in every man burns low. For some it goes out, but for most it flickers weakly, sometimes flashes brightly, but never seems to burn as bright as it once did.
Prison is a place where you find grey hairs in your head, or where you find your hair starting to disappear. It’s a place where you get false teeth, stronger glasses and aches and pains you never felt before. It’s a place where you grow old and worry about.
Prison is a place where you hate through clenched teeth, where you want to beat, kick and scratch and you wonder if the psychologists know what they’re talking about when they say you actually hate yourself.
Prison is a place where you learn nobody needs you, that the outside world goes on without you.
Prison is a place where you can go for years without feeling the touch of a human hand, where you can go for months without hearing a kind word.
It’s a place where your friendships are shallow and you know it.
Prison is a place where you hear about a friend’s divorce, and you didn’t even know he was married.
It’s a place where you hear about a neighbour’s kid’s graduation from school... and you thought they hadn’t started yet.
Prison is a place where you feel sorry for yourself. Then you get disgusted with yourself for feeling that way, then you get mad for feeling that way and then try to mentally change the subject.
Prison is a place where you wait for a promised visit. When it doesn’t come, you worry about a car accident. Then you find out the reason your visitors didn’t come you’re glad because it wasn’t serious... and disappointed because such a little thing could keep them from coming to see you.
Prison is a place where a letter from home or from a friend or lawyer can be like a telegram from the war department.
When you see it in the mail box or lying on your bed, you’re afraid to open it. But you do it anyway and you usually end up disappointed or angry.
Prison is a place where you see men you do not admire and you wonder if you are like them.
It is a place where you strive to remain civilized, but where you lose yourself and know it.
Prison is a place where if you are married, you watch your marriage die. It is a place where you learn that absence does not make the heart grow fonder, and where you stop blaming your wife for wanting a real-live man, instead of a fading memory of one.
Prison is a place where you go to bed before you’re tired, where you pull the blanket over your head when you’re not cold. It is a place where you escape... by reading, by playing cards, by watching TV, by dreaming, or by going mad. Prison is a place where you fool yourself, where you promise yourself you’ll live a better life when you leave. Sometimes you do, but more often you don’t.
Prison is a place where you get out some day. When you do you wonder how everyone else can be so calm when you’re so excited. When the bus driver goes over twenty-five miles an hour you want to tell him to slow down, but you don’t because you know you just want to get as far away from prison as you can.
Prison is a place where life becomes a revolving door. A place where you hear men’s screams at night. A place where you do not want to ever come to.
MB, USA
