2/24/2008 10:00 PM

What do you do? Can you do? When you feel the need to express yourself, but you have no way, no talent to do so accurately? No artistic ability, no music ability, no writing ability to express anything. Generic words, bad handwriting, emotional paralysis. There is no way to accurately express my joy of seeing my mother this weekend or having her tell me about my son. Or the weird combination of heart felt happiness, relief, gut twisting grief, hurt, betrayal, and chest-crushing heart-ache longing, remembrance, hearing how my wife soon to be ex-wife is doing fine, moving on, even thriving. Not that I wouldn't think she would, could or should, it's just.... Shit! I don't know. Emotional Paralysis. There isn't anyway to express the excitement and suspended reality of having both my friends visit only to have the mud hold sucking gap of the smelly noisy negative demon ridden prison not only welcome me back but with enthusiasm. Not that I don't appreciate the little I have. Others here have nothing. I have God's Grace and miracles shining down on my family, friends, letters, books, good job, etc. But this ever present darkness, funky stink, weighty pressure of depression is exhausting. In fact I'm not even sure if it IS depression or just the natural environment and "punishing" atmosphere of prison. I don't know what would be more terrifying to me: 1. Getting actual help for my "depression" only to discover that weight never lifts and it is the prison or 2. To have the weight and feeling lifted so I have a "normal" feeling and energy while in this place. I mean really. Think on that it is a n win situation. Either you feel exhausted, spacey, funky, heavy weight always on you OR you feel normal, have energy, laugh and adapt well, soak in to the prison system living without hope but not really caring because damn it your a con now. I see it all the time. Inmates happy-go-lucky, jumping out of bed full of piss and viegar, ready for breakfast, ready to lift and exercise at rec, ready to work, ready to hustle drugs, sex, crafts, whatever. Ready to fight at a drop of a hat. Ready to steal, con, lie or do anything to make their life "better" here. I mean they really don't sedem to mind or care that they're here. I've only been here a year and I've seen people violate parole and come back, and to high fives, back slaps, fist pounding and even hugs from other inmates welcoming them back! I daydream and talk about getting out but it's all a pipe dream really. Everything I've ever known is gone, everything I ever was or thought I wanted to be is gone. I have day dreams of being let out of here (so sorry #48018, the stat made a mistake, here's your life back) returning home to forgiving, loving wife wrapping her arms joyfully around me, my song leaping into my arms with joyful squeakings of daddy, daddy. Of getting my job back, friends, peers, co-workers, slapping me on the back with chimes of "I always knew you were innocent, I never stopped believing in you." Like that Lou Reed song goes "... and I guess that I just don't know." It's some kinda madness though to repeat this process over and over. There are times I think I'm insane and times I wish I were insane so I would even know or care where I am. That scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest" comes to mind. The one at the end where Jack Nicholson is finally lobotomized and blissfully unaware of anything. Ahh... heaven. Well I've rambled enough. going to read some fantasy novel series by Richard Goodkind called "The Sword of Truth" series. I'm on the second book. They're good so far, they suspend my reality for a while. As I finish off this entry my thoughts and love go out to all my family and friends who still stand by me and give me comfort.