I usually try to keep these journal entries lighthearted or at least optimistic, but I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I’m painting too rosy a picture of prison life. Some readers might get the impression that I’m doing just fine here, like this place is some sort of strange summer camp. Let me be clear: it’s not. I focus on the positive to stay mentally afloat, but prison is no picnic.
One of the hardest things is the total lack of privacy. You are never, ever alone—not for a second. Cameras are on us constantly. Even showering or using the toilet, you’re surrounded by others doing the same. You hear them, they hear you. At night, we sleep in a massive dorm with 32 guys—four of them within arm’s reach in my cube. All night, there’s talking, music, snoring, farting. It’s relentless.
What I miss most isn’t the food or the internet or even my clothes. It’s five uninterrupted minutes of true solitude. Just silence. No one in earshot. No one listening.
On top of that, you’re treated like less than human. The guards bark orders and avoid eye contact. The way they look at us, you can tell they don’t see people—they see problems to manage. Searches are constant and demeaning. We just had one while I was writing this.
The worst part, though, can be the company. We all come from different backgrounds and crimes, and being confined together 24/7 magnifies everyone’s quirks and flaws.
There are white-collar inmates who act like this place is beneath them—like they were wrongly convicted or too important to be here. There are career criminals who treat prison like a networking event, swapping scams and techniques like trading cards. Drug addicts and dealers only talk about drugs—how to get them, use them, sell them. Then there are the rats—guys who cozy up to guards and snitch on everyone, mistakenly thinking it’ll earn them favor or an early release. (Spoiler: it won’t.)
This week something happened that really rattled me. Israel bombed Iran, and it sparked a dorm-wide debate. As a bleeding-heart peacenik, I’m deeply disturbed by war, especially the idea of innocent people dying in another proxy conflict. I’m also terrified that Trump could escalate things and drag the U.S. into a full-blown nuclear war. I’ve always feared that his ego might drive him to be the president who “drops the big one.”
But what really shocked me were the reactions from guys I consider friends. They were actually excited about the war. “If the U.S. gets involved, maybe they’ll let us out to go fight,” one said. Others agreed. I challenged them: “Would you really kill someone just to get out of prison early?” Most didn’t hesitate: “Hell yeah.”
That floored me. These aren’t lifers. Most of us are getting out in a year or two—three tops. The idea that someone would be willing to kill a stranger for a few months of early release is horrifying. But that’s the mentality I’m surrounded by.
So yes, I make the best of this situation. I focus on growth and stay positive where I can. But please don’t ever think I’m not paying a heavy price for my mistakes.
On a lighter note, a quick fitness update: I ran 6 miles straight outside this week! My shoulder has also healed enough for me to get back into strength training. I’ve lost a lot of muscle during recovery, but I’m confident I’ll gain it back quickly.
Stay safe—and legal—out there.
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