When my loved one was arrested in 2009, I genuinely questioned if I would make it through his incarceration. Some days the thoughts find themselves in my mind, but not quite as severe as they once were. This quickly became an extremely dark and lonely time in my life. I always wanted someone to understand exactly what I was going through. Not someone who understood what I was saying, but someone who understood what I was going through. Of course I have family, but we were all facing the same thing we had no idea how to talk about. I wanted adults outside my family to understand what I was going through. I wanted my friends to understand what I was going through. I wanted family friends, distant family, anyone to understand what I was going through.
In 2009 when my loved one was arrested social media just wasn’t what it is today. In 2009, before the ability to share in such a grand way, I relied on writing. Any writing. Journaling, poetry, random stories, etc. Writing became my way to process emotions. I couldn’t work through an issue without journaling through it. I say couldn’t, but honestly I’m still this way. I solve most of my issues through morning pages. Through writing in school, I always brought one of my notebooks to my favorite teacher. This notebook was filled with what I chose to be the first draft of my story. My novel. My imprisonment novel describing every single dark, hard, angry, sad, difficult detail of my story. Once things became too hard, I stashed this notebook away to visit at another time in my life.