On that day in 1991, I was falsely accused of murder. Despite my plea of innocence, at 18-years-old, I was ushered into the adult system and sentenced to 26 years to life. To my amazement, I encountered waves of people who had obviously shared most of my traumatic life experiences in prison. This helped me to conceptualize my initial overwhelming feeling of woe. Therapy came by way of my shared experiences in prison with other vetted prisoners. Each of my experiences with prison psychologists was very distrustful. 

They treated me as my prison jacket instead of me. I also found myself associating their help with the unnecessary administration of compliance inducing drugs. It was always traumatic to have to see them, which was usually during intake. On the intake form there is an emphasis on suicide. Being trapped within a system that seemed so expectant of trauma is still traumatic for me. The safe spaces for me were through the mutual discovery and support that many were experiencing much worse than me which helped strengthen my resolve. In a concentrated sea of despair, I no longer felt hopelessness approaching it – it lived with us. I found a way to dilute my trauma through sharing in others’ stories. After discovering rather quickly that many people were illiterate, I found an opportunity to connect. I read motions, legal mail, and letters from loved ones with my guys. This mutual sharing bonded us. Writing and reading is still the way I deal with my trauma