Finding Solace in the Darkest of Places: My Journey Through Wrongful Conviction and Survival

I never thought I’d be the kind of person who finds comfort in the small things. You know, like watching a sunrise through iron bars, or sharing a candy bar with my cellmate - it’s amazing how something as simple as sugar can bring a moment of joy in a place devoid of it. But here I am, two years into a life sentence for a crime I didn’t commit, clinging to these tiny moments of solace like they’re lifelines. And honestly? They are.

People always talk about finding strength in hardship, about coming out stronger on the other side. But what they don’t tell you is that sometimes, it’s not about being strong - it’s about being resilient enough to survive the day. For me, that means holding on to memories of my old life like they’re precious jewels. Remembering the feel of library books in my hands, the smell of fresh paper and ink… it’s funny how much you miss those little things when they’re gone.

I know people might read this and think I’m naive or overly optimistic - after all, I’m in maximum security, surrounded by people who’ve done terrible things. But here’s the thing: hope is what keeps me going. It’s what makes me get up every morning, even when every part of me wants to give up. And it’s not just about hoping for freedom (though God knows that’s a big part of it) - it’s about holding on to who I am, despite everything this place tries to take from me.

The hardest part isn’t the loss of freedom, or even the constant fear - it’s losing yourself in the process. I see it happening all around me, women who’ve been inside for so long they’ve forgotten what it means to be human. They’ve lost touch with their emotions, their desires… they just exist. And I’m terrified that’ll be me one day.

That’s why I write poetry whenever I can. It’s my way of holding on to my humanity, of reminding myself that there’s still beauty in this ugly world. Sometimes it feels stupid - what good is poetry in prison? - but it keeps my mind sharp and gives me something to focus on besides the bars and the noise and the endless days.

I’m not gonna lie, some days are harder than others. Days when Anonymous is angry or distant, when the noise gets too loud or the memories get too painful… those are the days when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and disappear. But then something small happens - a bird sings outside my window, or someone shares a kind word - and suddenly, I remember why I keep going.

It sounds crazy maybe but… those moments? They’re worth fighting for.