Out of Prison, Out of Place
Content note: Mentions substance use and grief.
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4 min readThis chapter can be read aloud to you — a quiet, unhurried voice, nothing added to the words themselves.
Things have changed: my mentality, my mental health, my lifestyle, my living situation. I'm happy and grateful. But last year I couldn't be alone. I was always with the wrong crowd, trying to fill an unexplainable void inside me.
Things started to unravel. I was hurting the people around me, and most importantly myself. I felt out of place, out of control. Out of prison, things had changed — and so had I. Toxic vibes, alcohol, drugs. It got so bad I wanted to go back to prison.
A convicted felon back in the city where I grew up. Ashamed and hurt. Very few cared to ask genuinely; most just wanted the story. No one in my family sat down and asked what really happened, what I knew, how I felt.
Getting incarcerated over a death I didn't commit ripped me away from my child. Mourning my Tía from inside was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Depression won that battle for a while. Feeling unappreciated, unwanted, unloved. But I'm writing this on the other side of it, and I'm still here.
A reflection
What void have you been trying to fill with the wrong things?
The Library and its companions are not therapy, medical treatment, or emergency support. If you are in immediate danger, contact your local emergency number. In the US you can call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.