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  • The CO's returned me back to my cell, and walked away. I was so angry with my self. In prison, your feelings often haunt you. In the free world, you can drink some beer or smoke some weed. You can hop in your car, and go for a drive. You can escape you feelings. Not here. Here you are stuck with your demons in an 8ft X 4ft room. Not much you can do to get away. So I started doing push ups. Ten sets of ten. And then fifty more. Twenty more. Every time I pushed against that cold concrete floor, I wished I could just push the whole earth away. But I couldn't.

    When my arms were finally dead, I stood up, hoping to feel better about myself. Unfortunately all I could think about was my eight year old son Brandon, sitting at home without a father. I had enough. I started punching the walls. Swing after swing, I kept going. It felt good. It felt good to punish myself. I deserved to feel this pain after what I had put my son through. Blood began to run down the walls, and my knuckles were bloody and raw.

    "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! AHHHHHHHHH!"

    When I finally stopped, there were CO's all around my cell, yelling to buzz it open. They subdued me and cuffed my legs. Minutes later I was at the infirmary. Nurse Sara took a look at my hands and began to gather supplies. I looked out the window as she poured alcohol onto my hands. The pain was nonexistent at this point. I kept staring outside as she cleaned the wounds. Life outside looked so beautiful, green trees, warm sunlight, it all looked so inviting. My gaze shifted to the ground where the garbage truck came back to pick up the weeks trash. CO's checked the underside of the truck with mirrors, then waved it off, past the prison gates. The nurse finished wrapping my hands with the gauze bandage, and the CO's took me back to my cell.

    Had I defeated my demons? No, but I forgot about them for a while. In here, I was okay with 'a while.' At least it killed some time.
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