Gilbert, 54

I faced everything I hated about myself and struggled to make peace with the man in the mirror.

I began today just like any other day for the last thirty-plus years. Slowly taking in my surroundings as if for the first time, I am reminded that I have spent three decades living in an 8×12 concrete cell with a metal bunk to sleep on, a locked metal door to keep me caged, and a narrow window just wide enough to remind me that God still exists. Each day brings its own unique experience, even when the days blend together in monotony. Every morning, I fight to find strength and hope to continue. As a lifer, I know my prayer for release may never be answered. I may well die here without ever walking as a free man again. Years ago, I made peace with that reality. To survive, I shut myself off emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.

I turned away from my parents, siblings, wife, and two young daughters. I drowned myself in drugs because the higher I got, the easier it became to forget all that I loved. In 1995, I committed a violent, callous act that earned me a fifteen-years-to-life sentence. I deserved prison for my actions. I was lost, hurt, and hopeless, but I was also a loving father, son, and brother. I once worked in prestigious places like the Marine Corps and the Chicago Board of Trade, yet I always returned to gangs, drugs, and crime. By the time I came to prison, I was a young man filled with hate and anger. I told myself I was a victim of my circumstances, and prison only confirmed that belief. This place offered no hope, no redemption, no peace—only violence, distrust, drugs, and death. 

At best, I thought I would die in battle or from an overdose. At worst, I would lose my sanity and be trapped in a cognitive hell. Eventually, I hit rock bottom. In the pit of despair, self-hate, and eroding sanity, I began to claw my way back—though I had no idea what “back” even was. The journey tested me in ways I could not have imagined. I faced everything I hated about myself and struggled to make peace with the man in the mirror. Self-forgiveness felt impossible, and I still believed I would never leave this place. My days were dark. Even surrounded by people, I was drowning in loneliness.

A thought crept into my mind: “Why fight?” It grew louder, whispering, then shouting: “Quit being weak, just do it!” I wandered aimlessly, searching for someone to say goodbye to, someone to know I had been here. I told a close friend of my plan. He saw the pain in me and made me promise just one thing—not to act that night. If I still felt the same tomorrow, we would talk. I reluctantly agreed. After all, what was one more day? That night, I slept soundly for the first time in a long while. The next day, I felt oddly refreshed. My friend sought me out, prayed with me, and gave me strength.

It has been a couple of years since that night, and I thank God daily for putting true friends in my path.