(I contemplated for a long time whether or not to post this. Probably a good sign that I shouldn’t post it. But someone told me to be raw and truthful in my writing. Some of this may border on the cliche but here is the truth of where I am. Regardless of the perceptions/conclusions that may arise from this post, it’s the truth.)
How can freedom facilitate bondage? I may have been released from my prison 10 years ago but there are still shackles on my hands and feet. I got used to the captivity. The prison walls became my safety. The warden became my muse. The silence – though stifling at first – produced a new skittish trait that was not my nature before. The terms of my sentence are still effecting my mind. Is it still true that childishness will forever plague me? Is it still true that the thought of physical contact with me produces revulsion? Is it still true that my words should be few, that my views and opinions – when expressed – are embarrassing to those around me? In my mind these ideas are still parameters within which I must exist. Outside of the prison walls there is clean air, fresh water, wide open spaces, hope, possibility – none of which I can enjoy because the time I did for my crime left a bad taste in my mouth. What was my crime? Loving the wrong man.