WRITE IS RIGHT

I do not think I will ever emerge from this dismal place. I so desperately want to, but in here my desires go unheeded. It feels like I will not get out. I will never see another sunny day on the outside or take a walk on a path in the quiet woods again. Those great days will be all used up. I will not get the smell of the forest, of wood, or feel the moss on the side of a tree. No more sailing or lapping waves to lull me to sleep. No more sunsets. No more full court basketball. No more edible food let alone wine or beer. Just dark and emptiness amongst all these sad people.
To write, ah that seems to be my only answer. My old teacher instincts are there in glimpses. Write. Journal. Write how? To whom? (Or is it who; no definitely whom as the old grammatical rule says it would be them, so add the m.) It seems fruitless regardless, especially from someone in here with my crime. Who would ever want to read it? My kids may not even want to ever see me let alone hear from me again.
Maybe the best thing to do is for me to simply write to someone I do not know, someone who does not know my past so they could not hold it against me. Start with a clean slate so to speak. Tell them my testimony, my story with my true feelings since I have no more secrets. Everything is laid bare in here. (literally) No holds barred, consequences be dammed. What further damage could I do anyway? So much hurt has been handed out. Maybe I could aid someone in a similar position to NOT do what I did thereby preventing future pain. Just let my inside out from the inside place I now find myself each day.
How did I get to this point? Things are a dull gray rather than black or white, though still not a desirable state. I see the darkness though now at a distance, there but at bay. My reduced meds still help keep it that way. The counselors help. They say I am keeping it out of reach, taking the necessary steps to my recovery and a better life. The priest says I am headed toward the beginning of a new path, turning things around as needed, making that u-turn that is required if I want to have anything of value in the future. Hard to visualize any future from inside corrections having any value to me or anyone.
It is not easy, at least for me. The shame and guilt still surround me even amid other’s feelings like “At least you didn’t….” or “Many act on those feelings as you did..” do little to abate the hatred I have for the person who did my crime. I am guilty and am paying the price to, as the judge told me in his sentencing, “even the scales of justice in my case.” I cannot at this point quite see or believe that will happen, but am learning to pray it is so.
Strange yet familiar are the words of Father Domido. He is a welcome sight as I enter his office when called out to see him or when he visits here. It is also difficult to believe his words meant to encourage me. Why would his just, holy and compassionate God allow me to trespass so on another? On so many? Then how could He forgive me for doing it despite my knowing better? Such arrogance. Such lust. Such deception. Who could ever forgive me? Maybe God can, as Father tells me, but I do not know how my wife or kids can. I cannot.
There is something that tells me I need to write this down, let people in, and not bottle it up. I try to inspect the source, as I have had feelings or hunches before on things, and look where that got me! The difference my counselor, friends and priest tell me, is that it would be helpful, especially for me now as well as later. It seems clear at times, then so cloudy at others. No wonder so many guys simply curl up and sleep their time away. What’s the use? Things are definitely irrevocably changed, seemingly for the worse.
I guess that is what is to be done. After all, I know keeping busy helps, and time will pass. Write it all down, journal, sort it out later. Letters from inside I guess.

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