Sticking To What You Know

To be quite honest I am completely lost. I have not been blogging, well basically doing much of anything productive lately and have fallen into a pit of depression. I laid in my bed all morning fraught with fleeting thoughts, pictures of my life like puzzle pieces whizzing by. Is my future yet to be determined? Is it not what mistakes I am making, but how large are they? The usual questions surge through my head. Am I selling myself short? Will he change in the ways I hope for? Who is he really? Who am I? Is knowing someone really KNOWING someone? Trust is a figment of my imagination...and every other confusing thought that could possibly exist.

Isaac and I set a tentative date for our wedding. We plan to marry in February. That is two months away. It seems this action has sent me spiraling even more. You know this blog is not about sugar coating the hardships of having a loved one incarcerated, it is not about how love with necessarily carry us though, it is about the experience plain and simple. I seek to share all parts of it with my readers. The good, the bad, the ugly, the blessed, the happy, the sad.

What it seems to come down to is that I have a lot of challenges in my life. I feel broken in a sense, and what I have come to understand is that Isaac is very broken too. Our pasts haunt us remarkably and although love seeks to bury them, it is not always enough. Sometimes I do not even know if I am fit to be in a relationship, let alone one with these intricacies. Or maybe it is what the critics say? That those of us women who can't handle "real" or "complete" relationships find themselves "satisfied" in a prison relationship. Oh hell no...my mind really is going crazy. Every possible horrible, hurtful scenario I can think of in regards to Isaac and I is floating through my mind.

They say we only get one life right? Well if this is true, then I am inextricably fucking mine up. Sometimes I feel like life remains so hard even when I think I have caught some sort of break, but then I think to myself "does it have to be this hard?" Does it? Maybe it is the winter, maybe it is the darkness that surrounds us so much earlier, the haze of depression that this month brings for so many. When my thoughts get so jumbled I keep telling myself to stick to what I know, then I think to myself "what the hell do I know?" I am afraid to even bring all this up with Isaac because I know he has been so down too and this will just kick him down a little further to hear all the doubts swirling through my head, but then I think couples need to communicate, especially in a relationship such as this one. It is a must. We need to know what is going on with each other.

So I try to think about what do I know in my life. What are some central beliefs I have that I can stick to in this hard time. Let's go with the obvious. I love my fiance. No matter how strange, unconventional, or stupid it seems, I love him. Other things I know: I want to live a good life. I want my life to have mattered in this world. I want to be a good person. I don't want to live with so many regrets and I want to outlive my past. I want a partner who understands me and loves me regardless. Most of all I know I want to live in a state of peace. I want to take a deep breath, let it out, and say all is well with my soul.

Life Goes On

I am absolutely lost. It is as though my brain has been gutted and rewired, as though my sorrow has dropped down into my heart. Every day is wrought with confusion, doubt, questioning. There is no doubt that I am depressed, that I am anxious, that I am at my wits end, but the question is why? Why have I reached this place in my life and in my relationship?

I am not the only one having a hard time right now. Isaac is having down times as well. Today we talked for the first time in 5 days and I ruined the whole conversation by crying, sobs coming from my heaving chest. I tried to explain myself, but it just made things worse. The final straw was the fact that I told him I was feeling stressed about our wedding and needed some extra time to get everything together. He sounded so disappointed and upset. I felt horrible and all I was doing was trying to assert my needs.

Every day brings this heavy weight and this longing. I long for touch, for the proximity of love, for sex, for affection, for time spent together that never ends. the weight of the stigma, of people's ignorance weighs me down. I love Isaac, and I want Isaac, I just want him out here in the world with me. Every time I talk to him he apologizes profusely for the fact that he is away, but it doesn't matter. I don't need apologies, I need change, and action, I need the earth to spin faster, I need to look him in the face, I need to hash out a plan about how our future will be. I need intimacy not just physically, but of the soul. I need to get my brain all straightened out. What do I want out of this life? Where do I want to be? I feel that I lack progress and motivation, and I am so tired...so so tired. I hate this lifestyle, I tolerate it...barely.

Sometimes I even dare to wonder if this can be considered a real relationship. I can count the amount of time we spend together, the number of kisses we share, the times we touch. It is all measured and the memories of the past fade and become blurry sometimes. It feels like at times that the only Isaac I know is the one that is incarcerated. I can't even remember what he looks like in street clothes!

Gosh I love that man, so very much. He makes my insides melt, makes my heart remember why it beats. I am just struggling with remaining strong, with not feeling down all the time. I miss him incredibly. I don't know how I can keep this up for years? A relationship should fulfill me, should be a presence in my life. I know that this life is not ideal, that what occurs while Isaac is incarcerated is not all in my hands, that I must be patient and go with the flow. Maybe this is my plateau, one of those times where the weight of doing time with someone brings you down and you need to refresh yourself and your relationship. I miss him so much and I still feel slightly angry at him. I need and want him with me, but I must face reality. Life does go on. It always does.

Continue to Hope

Another two weeks have passed, another visit. It came and went, and Isaac and I had a great time, but I am always left feeling so empty afterwards. I know he feels the same way. These visits take everything out of me. I drive 6 hours round trip, get up at the crack of dawn, and then try to lodge down all my anxiety as I approach the prison and put my pleaser face on. I have this constant fear that they will take our visits away because of something that Isaac or I do accidentally. I know it probably is an unrealistic fear, but it adds to my stress of visiting.

I think it is the fact that for an hour I am given Isaac, he is there for unfiltered conversation, hand holding, kissing, and hugging. I have him as mine, and then the moment that clock hits an hour he is taken away from me, ripped out of my grasp, lost to me and it brings a kind of grief. Isaac feels like visits are the only thing he looks forward to every two weeks. He gets himself up and ready early and is waiting to be called, to hear those words saying that he has a visit.  At the same time I sit in the waiting room and wait with baited breath for them to call Isaac's last name signifying that it is my turn to go through security. No I don't like the pat downs, the sniffing of drug dogs, the metal detectors and the condescending looks, but it is worth it to me as I put in my last post. I love Isaac and I am willing to make sacrifices, but sometimes I just feel so tired of this lifestyle. My family is in town, everyone all in their individual couples units, loving each other freely, simple touches unhindered by a higher power. Heck my sister and her husband took me grocery shopping with them and I LONGED for their life even if they were just making a decision about what kind of bread to buy.

That is their life and this is my life, and I can't be bitter about it because I choose to live it in this manner. I could tell Isaac that I can't do it anymore, or that I want to date other people and give us a chance after he gets out. We are beyond that point both in our minds and in our life though. We are getting married in the next number of months, we are starting a new chapter in our lives. I still feel torn at times. I want him, I want his love, I want to love him, and I want a "normal" life simultaneously. I realized the other day that I don't remember what it is like to go on a regular old date. Go out to dinner, maybe a movie. Cuddle on the couch. Is it the whole wanting because you cannot have? The wanting becomes tragically beautiful, the taut pull of desire and love. Some abuse this feeling, some embrace it, some like it, some deny it, but it does exist.

I want Isaac here with me, I want to begin our boring as hell "normal" life. I can live without the excitement and drama of incarceration forever. So here I am sitting here, thinking wistfully about how I want my fiance with me, cuddled by the fire with my family surrounding us. I think about shopping at the grocery store, I think about sharing a meal, going to the movies. I think about how exhausted I am from our visit, our only "dates" that we have now. Do I make the best of the situation? Do I lie down in bitterness or do I continue to hope, to hold our faith?

Irritation

I just feel like I need a small moment to vent. I have been so thankful to be able to having visitation with Isaac. We see each other about every two weeks since he is 3 hours away. At first the experience was completely pleasant. The COs treated the visitors with respect and were friendly. I felt at ease sitting in the visiting room, my eyes only focused on him, but lately it is become irritating and unsettling. A new set of staff have been doing the visits the past number of times, and are not quite as amicable. They barely say hello and have a bad habit of making faces and of making snide comments. The pat downs have been a little too close for comfort and probably too close for what was actually needed. The visiting room staff have repeatedly picked on Isaac for things that every other inmate seems to be evidencing at the same time, and they are down right condescending and impolite about correcting him. So his chair is not in a straight line, so I didn't take the photo ticket up to the desk at the perfect time, so I was apparently sitting on the wrong side of him (even though I sat this way for multiple visits before), so his father did not lift his upper lip high enough. Does this mean that we need to be talked to like less than human? Does this mean that I have to be belittled and given smirks when asked "is that your boyfriend or whatever?" by staff? Is this a race thing? Do they have it out for him? Isaac and I are a multiracial couple and I never in a million years thought that would be an issue. There are tons of interracial couples in the visiting room and they never get bothered. They never have two or three COs watching them at all times.

Isaac does not get in trouble, he and I never do anything wrong during visits. We are just there to see each other and get some quality time together. Why all this hassling? Like I said before, visits went smoothly up to this point. It seemed like things shifted with the different staff. The fact of the matter is that I along with Isaac or afforded no luxuries, we are at the mercy of the system. What am I supposed to do when you have a feeling that the body pat down should not have been like that? Are you supposed to make trouble for yourself and him and maybe jeopardize your visits? What are you supposed to do if the visit staff seems biased, maybe even racist? It's embarrassing for Isaac to be told in front of me and his family that he needs to keep his chair straight 3 times in a row in a voice fitting for a child. He is doing time yes, but he is still a human being. I always wonder to myself, why get into a field, start a career or job doing something that you probably don't like? What is the point of that? I know to some it is just a job, and the inmates are not considered people, just objects to be kept in line. What it comes down to for me is that the hassle of these instances are worth less than the benefit of seeing my love, in the flesh, living and breathing, and waiting for me to come through.

Separation

My biggest struggle with this lifestyle is not the distance, or the difficulties of visits, money, even loneliness, but the decision regarding how to live my life without him. The concept of balance and carrying on so to speak. I fully acknowledge that I have neglected many areas of my life since he has been away. Much of my day revolves around him in some sense or another. My mood shifts with every phone call, every letter, every visit. I constantly wonder how he is doing in there, what he is doing, if he is safe, if he is depressed, etc...I miss him all the time, and I have come to realize that I am losing touch with myself and my need to live my life to the fullest.

Many women feel guilty for having fun, for doing activities without their loved one, for even being excited about anything in their lives. I always thought to myself that that was never me, but then when I took a closer look, I realized that indeed that has become me. Let's look at the facts. I have gained 30lbs from emotional overeating. I rarely have any extracurricular activities, I feel bad when I tell him I am attempting to go any where to have "fun." I have let myself and my living quarters "go." I don't care how I look or what state I appear in when people see me. I have become a recluse. I know what I need to do. I need to reclaim my life. This DOES NOT mean that I want to end things with Isaac, nor do I want to take a break from our relationship, but I more so want to gain a sense of balance in my life and with his incarceration. I don't want every thought to be about him, I don't want every action to be contingent upon whether I will be easily able to answer the phone or get a letter out in time for the postman to pick it up.

How do I begin to take my life back while still loving the man I call home? Isaac encourages me all the time to get out and do things, to not worry about him like I do, to become motivated. He is not the problem, I AM. I cannot separate his incarceration from my life. There I said it. I have struggled with depression for much of my life, it is nothing new, but the reasons for my depression have grown deeper.

Isaac and I have been together approximately a year and a half. During this time, good and bad things have occurred. I began to accept myself more and began to accept the fact that someone else could truly love me. I also began to neglect my basic needs because I was so concerned about Isaac. That is not healthy. Loving should not involve pain and discomfort of this nature. It should be pure and blameless. Maybe I am just a hopeless romantic. Isaac seems to disagree at times. He often will say that pain and suffering go hand in hand with love. I feel guilty that he sits in there hurting because we are apart. I honestly think we both need to become more able to tend to our own needs while loving one another in a healthy manner. Don't get me wrong our love is real and great and one of the most positive things to ever happen to both our lives. Our love does not see incarceration or separation, it is what it is, it is love and love takes all forms, but this love needs healthy hosts, two people that are content with their lives. Change is in the air and change is needed. I want to give Isaac my happiness, my good days, not my incessant crying and fumbling and him having to comfort me while he sits behind bars. I want us to be strong for each other and most of all for ourselves.

All That Matters...

I have been having trouble lately getting my thoughts straight. I am all over the place in the recesses of my mind, thinking, wondering, pondering, deciphering, scrutinizing, etc...I think my brain wants to make sense of all the twists and turns my life has taken. If I think back, I never saw this coming. Where I am at in my life. I don't per say think that my decisions and choices have put me in a bad position, nor do I regret any of them, life is just so different at the moment. I have found myself reflecting more now than usual.

Almost four years ago I was living in a huge metropolis, fresh from my master's degree breathing in the life of a big city. As cliche as it sounds I felt alive and dead at the same time. Mass amounts of people and sensory stimulation make you feel like something exciting is always happening, sometimes too much. The weight of the city crushed me and gave me hope. There was extreme struggle there though, and I think this is something that I don't like to remember. We all want to dwell on the bright side, the good things that happened in our life, the "glory days," and tend to shut out the pain of the past. Circumstances occurred that brought me back to small town living, and as I have said before that changed everything.

I met Isaac almost two years after I moved back. If you have read my blog, then you know my story, so I will not go into all of that again, but what I found waiting for me here was beyond my comprehension. So I bring myself back to living in my head these past couple months. Everything is coming full circle. Isaac and I are getting married! I am very excited about this, but my mind also goes to crazy places. I have the usual doubts, regarding whether or not I am making a wise choice entering into marriage. I love him with all my heart, no doubts there. He saved my heart when it was close to dying. He metaphorically resuscitated me, breathed life back into my deflated soul.

I was at such a low point in my life when we reconnected, that there was not much light at the end of the tunnel, and so then I wonder, was that why I fell so hard? Is that the reason I cling to him with such desperation? Am I afraid that if I lose him, that I will lose myself? I understand this is such black or white thinking. This fear that I may not be a whole person if I lose the one I love, and oh do I love him so deeply. Is this the crux of prison relationships? This wanting but not having? This tug and pull, this "distance makes the heart grow fonder" concept? Do I love more fully because what I want, what I love, is not within arms reach? I believe in loving hard to no end, but I also believe in protecting myself, or perhaps my mind and body believe in protecting itself. I do not want my heart squished, and I know Isaac has no intentions of doing this. The mistakes between us are of the past, and I have finally accepted this.

You know I never thought love could be so grey. In my mind it was like "if he crossed you once, or made a mistake you are gone." The relationship is over. We are human beings though for goodness sakes!!! We mess up, we don't know what we want sometimes, we make poor choices. Many think my decision to marry Isaac while he is incarcerated is a poor choice. Many think that since we have never lived together, that we do not know each other well enough. Yes we have not shared a living space, learned every subtle annoyance, or ate each other's bad cooking on a regular basis, but we KNOW each other. We know one another better than most know there long term partners because we have had this time apart, the 10 page letters, the phone calls squeezed into 15 minute intervals to really hash out who we are and want we desire from each other. Every little thing suddenly takes on a great deal of importance.We look forward to those little things! We look forward to normalcy! I want nothing greater to never hear or see or think about anything regarding prison ever again. I will be one happy lady when that day comes. Yes we will never be truly rid of the "ghost" of prison past, but life will be about NOW, not the circumstances of his incarceration, or the taboo nature of loving an inmate.

I have gotten slightly off track. I started discussing how much my life has changed. Is it for the better? Is it just different? Is my happiness contingent upon another person? This I do not fully know or understand yet. But as I always come back to the fact of what I know about life. I know that human relationships seem to make this world go round. I know that I love Isaac and that he loves me. Why is it so wrong to just go with the moment? Not to flee responsibility, not to disown the world, but to live without constantly wondering if you made the right decision, or why you are not in the place in your life that you thought you would be in by now? I thought I would be married with three children by my age. I thought I would be working in the field that I studied to make a career in. I thought I would still live in a large city, still be haunted by my past, still loathe life. But me, as I am, am happy and for this moment that is all I can cling to and all that matters.

Wow!

Wow I didn't realize that it has been so long since I have posted! I am going to do a couple entries this weekend and try and catch up! I have been having a bit of a tough time lately dealing with some depression and life circumstances. I have apparently neglected quite a few things in my life, but I am eager to get back to blogging!

Rip Me Away

I feel so tired right now, actually just plain exhausted. Yesterday I went through three hours of "marriage counseling" with Isaac. I walked into that prison thinking this experience would be different than normal visitation, but it actually seemed worse to me. You would think spending three hours together would be great, but it really only emphasized the distance that constantly exists between us because of the nature of this situation.

No hugs or kisses were allowed at the beginning of class. We had to sit facing forward on either sides of the table. We sat through a 3 hour lecture basically on communication and warning signs of relationships with no interactive or personal learning experiences. I wanted to pull my hair out and even glancing at Isaac seemed inappropriate. They gave us five minutes at the end of the session to hold hands, talk, and to hug and kiss. FIVE minutes. I left feeling empty and numb, but what should I have expected? This is prison for goodness sakes! They are afforded nothing, no luxuries, no special moments, and you know those of us there for the class, by association were afforded nothing as well. To the guards, and even to the teachers, nothing about our relationships, our desire to marry, was fully appropriate or a cause to celebrate. I felt we looked foolish for wanting to create an outward symbol of our love for each other. The other prison fiances looked as unenthusiastic as me, yet slightly numb to the whole situation. I felt like my emotions were attacking me. One man's soon to be spouse did not even show up. I felt like a joke, and I felt such an intense longing for the one I love sitting only inches away from me, yet so far away in that moment.

I was left feeling drained, incomplete, even sorrowful with a full blown headache and a need to soothe myself with food or a cigarette or anything that would distract me from the experience I just had. Maybe I should have been grateful just to be in the same room as my love for that period of time. Many do not even get that. Maybe I should have powered on, looked at the bright side, felt renewed in my desire to marry Isaac. I don't even really know how I feel at this point. I woke up so so tired and weary this morning. All I want is to talk to Isaac on the phone, to be able to hash through this experience with him, to hear his thoughts on how it went, but I cannot do that. Phone money is scarce, actually non-existent at this moment. Money period is missing from my life. I feel so lost, ripped away from the one who holds my heart. Sometimes I think I sound like a hopeless romantic sprinkled with hints of reality here and there, but I love this man. Sometimes I do not even know exactly why, but I know the minute I see his face, it is all over for me. He is mine and I am his. Our love permeates through me. So I think to myself is this worth it, to be constantly torn apart literally and inside my being? But then I remember why I do this, and think to myself, every time I see him no matter the circumstances, they will have to rip me away to separate the love we share.

The Debut

As part of the marriage process, Isaac has been attending a series of marriage counseling courses. Him along with a number of other male inmates who are planning on marrying while inside, meet weekly with an instructor from the chaplain's office. I have always yearned to know how these classes go, and Isaac has briefed me a bit, but I still wonder "what do these men talk about?" or "what has he said about me?" Well...I was recently told by Isaac that we will have a joint 3 hour session this coming Saturday with the marriage counselor and all the other prospective spouses. I am nervous as hell about this.

So many things ran through my mind when Isaac told me that I needed to attend. Marriage counseling with just the two of us sounds very reasonable, but to whisk into some large room filled with inmates and their loved ones? That sounds a bit overwhelming to me. Maybe it is that small narcissistic voice in the back of my head, but my first thought was "what will people think?" "Will I look ok?" "Will others make fun of me?" My confidence is shaky usually, but this just takes it to another level. I already feel judged by others in the visiting room because of what I perceive as my physical appearance, but to stand up, and as Isaac so joyously told me "role play" in front of a group of people? That would make my self-esteem plummet.

Now back to my reasonable voice. These men and women will be so excited to see each other (as I know Isaac and I will be), that they will probably not even really notice anything else. This is about each of us couples, not about the group as a whole. That soothes me temporarily, until I am flooded by images of us sitting around a table staring at each other as one of us painfully speaks about some important subject.

I think what it comes down to, is that I do have low self-esteem, that I do not always feel attractive or strong, or even worthy. I fear that someone will make a snide comment and set off Isaac's need to "protect me." People do a lot of talking and give a lot of looks. I have seen it in the waiting room and in the visiting room. The sizing up of each other. Some would say "look at the situation these people are in, look at the circumstances!" "Why should anyone be judging anyone else?" Why? Because it is human nature to judge. It is part of who we are. We have all done it. I admit I look curiously at the other prison wives and girlfriends. I wonder what their story is. Maybe curiosity is fine, but cruelty or assumptions are not.

I think to myself that perhaps I am coming from the wrong school of thought on this, that I should only focus on getting some good information from this class and hell, I get to spend three hours with my love! That is pretty freaking awesome! How can I push that aside? My mind is all over the place, and all in the wrong places. I should be excited to see Isaac, whom I haven't spoken to on the phone for a week! I should be thrilled for the opportunity to learn more about our relationship. When it comes down to it, it is not about looks, or clothing, or size, or intelligence. It is about us, our joy, our comfort in each other, OUR MARRIAGE! The beginning of a new chapter in our lives! I should be excited! But yes, still I struggle, still I make this experience all about me, about my insecurities. Isaac continually says he is so excited and happy to "show off his lady." That makes me excited because I know this means a lot to him and I have lost sight of the fact that it means a lot to me as well. This is not a theater production, not a performance in front of an audience, and not about me. I am a human being...and this is not my debut, but together it is OUR debut, or own private moment, that no one can take away from with even the harshest of words or looks.   

The Silent Treatment

I am not a woman of leisure or wealth. I struggle to make ends meet...a lot. This also inadvertently affects Isaac as well. I must maintain a phone account if I want to talk to him, must have the funds if he needs something off of commissary, must supply gas money if I want to visit him. I do not in any way begrudge him any of these things, nor am I angry because of the twists and turns life has taken to land us in this situation, but I do become very, very, very frustrated. It is the tug between want and need, the struggle to balance reality with fantasy, that I hate so very much.

I have had no money on the phone since last Weds. Isaac and I, although well meaning at first, burn through our phone minutes because we just love talking to each other, staying in contact, his only ability to reach out to my world in real time. Yes, we write tons of letters, and I LOVE receiving them and sending them. He looks forward to letters like a child on Christmas day. I personally can tell when the mailman opens my mailbox from across the kitchen. Anyways letters are great, but they do not provide the instant give and take of a conversation, a simple conversation. Phone calls are ways to encourage each other, to keep one another posted on the daily happenings of our lives, to relay necessary information about things such as visitation day changes, or a message from his family telling him they love him. It is an opportunity to affirm our love and affection for one another, to have "dates," to give one another strength for the coming week.

So here I sit in silence. A dreaded, numbing silence. I try to keep myself busy, doing the dishes, tidying up around my place, writing, reading his letters and writing new ones, but the down time is the worst. The time where your mind wanders to how he is doing, if he is ok, what is going on in his life and I know he lays around and wanders the same. He said even while working an 8 hour day, his mine strays to me and thoughts of how I am. We hate not being able to talk on the phone, to have that limited yet precious chunk of time to relate to each other. I am reminded of the wants and needs of my own self, and the desires of Isaac. I feel guilty, I feel horrible that I cannot be consistent with things such as commissary, phone time, say maybe a magazine subscription or an encouraging card. Sometimes I can't even afford to buy a card at the store! I am sick of struggling but find myself in such a rut financially due to health problems.

I miss hearing Isaac's voice always starting with the words "how are you doing?" The held breath is expelled from my chest, and for a moment I am completely relaxed because he is ok. He is not hurt, or sick, or in the hole, or being moved all over the prison. He is solid, he is in one piece, he is happy to hear my voice. For a minute the distance both physically and metaphorically dissipates and I feel whole. I feel regenerated, I feel able to face the day. There is nothing like a wake up call, my voice still groggy with sleep and the ring of the phone is the first sound I hear. A beautiful sound.

Often when wallowing I remind myself that I made a choice to be in this situation with Isaac. That I love him ferociously, that I do not see my world without him, but then is that really a choice? I think about this while I sit with the phantom echoes of a ring tone. Sometimes I even swear I hear the phone ringing, but in fact it sits cold and blank. Reality is a harsh pill to swallow. It is frustrating, angering that my circumstances cannot allow me to talk to the one I love, that our time together is measured, that I am away from the one I love. Reality dictates life though. I am an adult, a woman who must follow the rules of this current day existence. Until I can fully recognize responsibility, can understand the concept of needing to take care of myself before being able to hold him down, then here will I sit, in a self-imposed silent treatment.

Ahead and Behind

Right now feels like a very thoughtful time in my life. The seasons are changing, bringing new insights and also reopening old wounds. With every burnt orange leaf falling, with the crisp chill in the air, I miss Isaac and I miss what we lack, what we do not get to have. I feel angry at him for keeping us void of the life we want, I feel great love for him in his absence. I worry, I wonder, I am plagued with the "what if" thoughts. I ponder how my life choices concerning Isaac, and in general will affect the future, those around me, my own well being. Fall and winter always clear room for thought, intense, retrospective and introspective thought.

Last night I decided to take a look at Isaac' last mugshot. I stared at it and stared at it. I would have burned a hole through that thing if I could have with my vision. He looked so lost, so desperate, so despairing. He looked defeated in that moment and in life. It made we want to cry for hours. You see crime and incarceration, I do not take them lightly. I do not dismiss charges that Isaac has and chop them up to just "not thinking," but I know in my heart that life circumstances, the way you were reared, the choices you make,  poor self-control, hell even poor self-esteem, all lent a hand to his desire to just escape life. That mug shot clearly showed that desire, that longing to just be free of one's demons, and ironically in that quest for freedom, Isaac became shackled. Both literally and in his life.

Back to me for a moment. I said that at this moment life feels extremely thoughtful, but now also very tough. It is always tough for Isaac, whether he earned that or not. My journey has never been a walk in the park, but I have been afforded opportunities that obviously allow me a bit more comfort and safety, but together we are both feeling so emotionally barren. It is the being without each other that makes life difficult. I feel stressed right now because the bills are stacking up and the funds are oh so low. Isaac has been having some health issues and since I am not technically "family" as his fiance, then I am not privy to any information on his condition. Life is trying when all I want to to is lay down and hate or be angry or be spiteful or wallow in my hurt that he is not here to help make our life better.

Some prison wives/girlfriends are able to take the sting of bitterness out of their relationship and their thoughts around the fact that their loved one has created a disadvantaged platform for them to survive on, that monitored and costly phone calls are necessary now, that driving hours for a two hour visit must occur, that everything most would think of as a necessity now has a price. They do not blame their loved one and do not harp on the "life choices" that brought their lives to this intersection. Maybe I am bitter, maybe I am wallowing, maybe the weather just makes me want to think, think, think, but I do feel anger towards Isaac. Our relationship had not blossomed before he went in. He had no obligation to remain "good" for me, nothing of the sort. I think I am angry at the dysfunctional years of his life, the perils of a sad childhood, of the molding that occurred so early on to make him believe he was not worth anything. So then I am left thinking toward the future, wondering if he will want to believe in himself, wondering if he can see a brighter future for us together, that the aftermath of his incarceration will not make life any harder than it already is. I love Isaac so very much. I want to be his wife. I want us to start again, to one day put the cold steel behind us, throw the issued jumpsuits away, lay the pen on the paper, and hey maybe take a walk under burnt orange leaves, showering our heads, signaling death before life, change for necessity, and for growth.

The Worry Wart

I am a worry wart by nature. I have rather high levels of anxiety and could probably ruin the most peaceful and relaxing situation with a worry scenario. I used to have moments of sheer panic when Isaac would not call for a number of days or I didn't get a letter. I always thought the worst, such as he was injured or had gotten in trouble, a fight, who knows, maybe decided he wanted to break up. No worry was off limits. In the VERY beginning my fears more surrounded the idea perhaps he or I would decide that this journey was too hard and that we would have to just wait till he is released to have any shot at a healthy relationship. Yes of course we still have those thoughts from time to time, but very rarely. I didn't fear for Isaac behind the walls of jail. I knew he handled himself well and had unfortunately gone through those ropes more times than I care to admit. His safety was never an issue, gangs, brutal violence, those who feel they have nothing to lose serving life without parole, or a massive sentence of some sort. All of these are what I fear for him now that he is in prison. Isaac is in maximum security unfortunately. He himself said that that was an entirely new ball game. I had worried about this idea, the idea the some individuals with long sentences feel less inclined to follow the rules or do not care as much if they do something that would get them in trouble. I do not know anything about what life is like in there! My mind is forming pictures of the worst kinds of scenarios. I have told Isaac to stay focused because he is serving a very short sentence compared to most of the men he is housed with.

I worry about Isaac constantly. I knew he had served two previous sentences prior to our meeting between the last and this most recent. Is this "old hat" to him?  In a way it is, but for some reason these days I have more fear for him and worry often about his safety, possible detrimental situations he could come across, his health, his mental health, the choices he might make. I almost feel like a mother worrying about her child. Isaac has found himself in a maximum security facility far from home. He does not know anyone in this prison. He is alone. Sometimes I cannot sleep at night wondering what is going on in there. Prison relationships are hard! Very hard. They come with an unavoidable level of stress that can wear both parties down. Our stress is different but has the same end result. I try to tell myself that nothing can be changed by me worrying or me badgering him to be careful in there.

His choices are his own and you know he is a worry wort himself. He constantly worries about me, my safety, how day to day life is going for me. The source of the worry is the same:our desire for each other's well being to be protected. For now, for today, for this moment, for always, I will trust in God to protect my baby, to keep his mind clear and strong, and for Him to ease our worry if only for a time.

Wedding Bells Are Ringing

I apologize for being so absent from my blog for the past month! I have just been dealing with life's ups and downs and with the changing seasons, the sadness of missing my loved one. I do have some exciting news! Isaac asked me to marry him! I visited about three weeks ago and although it wasn't a huge surprise(we have talked about marriage for quite awhile), it was ever so sweet and absolutely perfect. Marriage has been a subject between us that always left me feeling torn. I love him so much and want to be his wife, but often I had concerns with how our lives will change with the vows we make. Isaac began speaking about marriage much earlier than I did and I wondered if it was just because he was incarcerated. I pondered if maybe he thought it would be a way to ensure that I would stay with him, or to ease his mind about me possibly finding someone else. You know what maybe partially that still does cross his mind, but this particular visit when I looked into his eyes filling with tears, I knew that man loved me with all his heart and would move the world for me if he could. I feel the same way. Marriage is not to be taken lightly and I freely admit that I am very limited in what the concept of marriage even means to me.

Isaac wants to get married in prison and after proposing, we started the process of applying for our wedding while he is incarcerated. Believe me I was that woman who said "hell no! I am never getting married to you while you are still inside!" I wanted a chance to really be a couple for a longer period of time in the free world before marriage, but I have been learning that life takes some interesting turns. We love each other and are well aware of the already apparent challenges of love "behind the wall." This life is so difficult as is, will marriage complicate it or create a stronger foundation? I believe it will help us grow stronger. I really do in my heart. We have come up through so much. Only time and some soul searching will tell what marriage means to us, and I plan on doing some serious thinking about how our relationship will change while we wait to finish the marriage process. This is a new step in my life, the seemingly next logical one. As my friends get married and have children on the outside, I yearn for a life that is seemingly "normal, seemingly uncomplicated." Perhaps comparison is not necessary, because standards and comparisons just lend themselves  to jealousy, pity, self-loathing in the life of a prison girlfriend/fiance.Maybe this is my "next logical step" and my life is moving in the direction that it is meant to move in. Maybe I don't need to dwell in the land of wish washy any more, woman up and proclaim that I love this man, and that that love is part of my life and will manifest itself in marriage. Maybe the ring and the dress and the setting are not as important as I thought. Maybe marriage is an entity, a concept and not the sum of our childhood fantasies.

So over a delicious meal of microwavable pork nuggets and two cans of orange soda, Isaac fumbled, looked anxious and nervous, playing with my fingers as he held my hand while repeating the words "I'm so scared," he looked up at me and in the softest of voices said "will you marry me?" I was overwhelmed by emotion and began to cry, tears falling down my cheeks. I saw Isaac's eyes welling with wetness and I whispered "yes" back. I love that man and I wouldn't have the proposal any other way. So over vending machine food with Isaac wearing his signature jumpsuit and me with my make up running down my face, he made me a proud woman.

Sorry I've Been Away

Hey folks! I just wanted to apologize for my lack of entries this past month. I had gotten into a rhythm with posting and then life got busy! I have some exciting things to blog about and will get to it in the next couple of days! Check back in!

Accepting Less Than Perfection

I have been fighting the poor self-image battle for the majority of my life. In my eyes, my worth was always directly related to the intricacies of my body, my accomplishments, my failures. Isaac says he loves me the way I am. As most know, this is a classic phrase, cliche in nature, but well meant by many. Honestly the first 100 times he said this to me, I brushed it off, not even letting a "thank you" escape my lips. It was always a "yah whatever" and then a swift switch of topic. What I didn't realize at the time, was that this technique of ignoring Isaac's statement, so closely related to our relationship and our love, was hurting his feelings. To him it felt like I was completely disregarding the authenticity of his feelings..and I was. I just felt like Isaac did not grasp the extent of this battle I fight every day. Now I have learned to grit my teeth and simply say "thank you," although in my mind that self-loathing demon is saying "he could never really love you for you."

With that being said, I still grasp at perfection. I think that if somehow I can accomplish all that I want to, if I can look a certain way, if I can grasp at dreams and desires and pull them from the sky into my eager hands, that I will have reached the promise land. In the beginning of my relationship with Isaac, my extreme lack of self-esteem was shining bright. Every single letter I wrote him was some sort of cut down, insult to myself, feeling of inadequacy. He put up with every single comment, every lavish description of why he would not want me anymore. Honestly I think Issac put up with my nonsense in the beginning because he was scared of upsetting me by simply telling me to hush. As time passed in this incarceration, he began to more freely express his feelings of distaste with my self-hatred. He told me that he never understood why I always beat myself up, and that I needed to understand that he liked what he saw, he loved the person I have always been, and that it was basically driving him up the wall. I would rant and rave about the appearance of my stomach, and he would simply say "I like it." But of course here came my counter argument, my desperate pleas at proving him wrong.

The age old debate for prison girlfriends is the "is he using me?" thought. In my amateur experience, this is definitely a trend amongst incarcerated men. For whatever reason (money, loneliness, connections to the outside world) these individuals will start "jail talking" a woman, giving them all sorts of compliments, making promises, professing love. In defense of some of these men, there are also many who simply care for their loved one and want to maintain the relationship, connection, etc...I did not know Isaac well before he became incarcerated. We dabbled in seeing each other. This fear of being used, it permeated my being in our beginning days of this journey. Isaac has a sordid past full of numerous dysfunctional relationships, manipulation, and lies. I sensed this before I even fully understood this. I was deathly afraid of being hurt by him again and being hurt in general. I did not believe in the power of change. I had such low self-confidence that I did not think he could actually want anything to do with me in a genuine manner. He has continued to prove me wrong.

  Now some of you may be saying at this point, "is she for real?" "Is there a point to despising yourself this much?" I do not know the point yet, perhaps it is a mechanism for avoiding life and the potential to act without fear. Regardless it is a struggle that is recognized and familiar to many. Prison and jail leave a doubt in many a woman's head that perhaps they are only enough if they are giving a man money, or writing him, giving him attention with visits,etc...that if he was not incarcerated he would have left a long time ago. These thoughts haunt many women daily, they perplex a number of us, leaving us wondering how some men can be so manipulative so cruel. I hear stories of women standing by there men for YEARS, only to be left the minute he walks out of those prison gates. The reality of the situation is that this can happen. You know what else can happen that gets much less recognition? A man can love a woman and a woman can love a man regardless of the bars and steel and walls separating them.A woman can be just as good and worthy as the man she cares for and stands by, she can have self-confidence, she can have a life, she can be attractive, and she can be loved. Through the months that have turned into years, I think women know in their hearts why their man is with them. It does not always make sense, and having a low self-worth can make this battle ten times worse. One's insecurities rule one's life, but I know this: I look into Isaac's eyes and see a love that goes beyond my stomach, my mishaps, my failures and fits perfectly, pushing away the shadow of my hatred. 

A New Day, A Worse Day

I am sitting here at Panera Bread eating my favorite cinnamon crunch bagel with hazelnut cream cheese and you know what I am absolutely miserable. Oh and right next to me, two older women are discussing with exasperation the woes of a relative with legal troubles. "How could anyone get involved in a situation like that?" One of the ladies does have a small sense of compassion in her voice. People don't realize how visible the loved ones of the incarcerated are. We are everywhere! I wish we weren't, but the support from those who are open is priceless for many.

So I am sitting here munching on my bagel and eavesdropping just a little. Only bits and pieces are audible. The only thing apparent is that this predicament causes one of these ladies pain. I return to my pain, my loathing. I constantly search for it's source. What hurts so horribly? I remind myself of my mantra: " I choose this life," every day, every hour, I make this journey a decision.

But what of our choice to love and is it so much a choice or a need? I need clothes, food shelter, but love, will I perish without it? I am unsure but have images of babies who fail to thrive because of a lack of touch. Sometimes I feel like that baby. I need love, but how I need it and how I know if it is enough is beyond me currently. Many people say we do not choose who we love, who the other half of our soul belongs to. Maybe we don't choose, but we choose whether to have this lover, this person as a part of our lives.

I hear about a large amount of women who love incarcerated men and who swear by the notion that this is the only person for them, that regardless of a 20 year sentence, they will wait. I do not judge these women either way. I am brought back to my love for Isaac, and how I would move the world for him, how I loved him since the day I met him, how our love seems to have a passion I have never known. I think about how regardless of my pain from the loss of him, I continue to stand by his side. Yes at this moment in Panera Bread, I am absolutely miserable. I am in love, I am torn by that love, and I am miserable. My legs continue to walk though, my heart still beats, I still can picture only him in my life. I feel lonely but I feel loved.

The Exhausted Argument

Isaac and I freely admit our relationship is not perfect. I blame this on a rocky start and a whole lot of stress. We fight sometimes, strangely enough often after a good visit or nice phone call. Maybe it is self-sabotage or the need to justify the anxiety that comes with this type of relationship. Either way I am not sure why we get into arguments, but we do. We both have worries about if we are strong enough to complete this journey, or what would happen if either of us found someone else, or even if we were to get tired of each other. We fight about our families, our friends, concerns about how people view us and his incarceration. Sometimes I think we argue cause we are bored or can't let a good thing be as it should. I always feel so frustrated and fragmented after an argument because they are usually left unresolved.

The worst part about prison arguments is that you have limited time to fight. Your disagreements must be handled in 15 minute monitored phone calls and if left unsettled, then your day stands to be riddled with anxiety and quite possibly ruined. Isaac and I fought this morning because we misunderstood each other's words. Without eye contact and the chance at further explanation we lost sight of the point. I believe arguments should bring growth out of emotional struggle, but sometimes we just exhaust each other saying the same thing over again with hopes of using less time to explain the ways of a world not constricted by increments of time.

Meet the Parents

Today Isaac met my mother for the first time. Well actually it is the second time, but the first time was a quick 30 second hello in the county jail, so I consider this their first true meeting. We had a two hour contact visit (no barrier dividing the inmate from their loved one), and I am happy to say that it turned out pleasantly well!

Isaac was so nervous, he had waited for the day he could sit down with my mother and talk to her about his feelings for me, his ideas for personal growth and change, and the respect he has for her as a person and a mother. He feared the conversation would lull or that he would say the wrong thing or that she would not like him. All his fears were squelched. My mother loved him! She knows he has hurt me in the past, she recognizes that he has made a lot of mistakes, that our relationship has had a lot of ups and downs, and that we are still working hard to find a balance. She sees him as human, a person trying to turn around his dysfunctional life, an unfinished art work, trying to find a different path. I appreciated her willingness to do that, to put herself out there, walk into a maximum security prison to meet the man I love, to hug him tightly, to tell him that she is proud of him and that he is worth something. That means the world to me. So we laughed, we did cry a little, we had some cokes and M & M's (I personally sampled the strawberry cheese danish, a tad sweet if I do say so myself), my mother looked amused on as Isaac planted a large kiss on me, and I think a bond was formed.

Isaac's nervousness dissipated because he realized that my mother would not judge him. He had things he wanted to say, he even apologized to her for the way he had treated me in the past with a sincerity that brought tears to my eyes. He talked about how saying no to trouble, drugs illegal activity, has started feeling better than the rush of getting high or breaking the law. He is changing. He surely is. Just saying that was a huge step for him because he has lived within the bounds of extreme impulsivity for a long time. My mother hugged Isaac tightly before we left waving to him as we went. I blew a kiss his way and he smiled that impish grin of his. I love that man, oh do I. He put himself out there, made himself vulnerable to the most important woman in my life. For that I salute him. He needs to know that people are rooting for him. His family loves him and cares, but have seen him do the same thing over and over again. It is natural to lose a bit of hope. I think my mother provided him with the desire to try harder, her belief in him renewed something or strengthened a desire to continue down the improved path he has been following. Isaac is a good man, who is living the consequences of a very messed up life fraught with bad choices as well as impenetrable circumstances. I try to breathe and recognize that this journey can only be taken a day at a time if I want to preserve my sanity. I felt the usual emptiness and sadness that are so pervasive when I leave the visiting area. The second my hand leaves his I feel lost. I try to go on with my day, but I am mentally and physically exhausted. The countdown begins until he can wrap me in a bear hug again, and until I can have that necessary reminder of why I chose this life.

Let Me Have This: Food and Other Mishaps

I try to stay positive and patient, etc... but at the moment am feeling very frustrated, anxious, a little angry.  I am still reeling from the after visit blues, but trying to remain upbeat. I forced myself out of the house earlier to get some coffee and go run some errands. I mailed off a giant letters and a stack of pictures to Isaac. I contemplated things such as cleaning, combing my hair...I'm kidding...but kind of not! I even threw on a DVD to pass the time and get my mind off of the thoughts running through my head. I have been so damn hard on myself all day. It started out with being mad at myself for not mustering up the stamina to exercise. It doesn't matter that it is 100 degrees outside, so I beat myself up for that over and over again. I avoided going to the post office because I did not feel in the mood to get the knowing look of pity: ("she is with an inmate") stare. What the hell? Sometimes I don't even feel like a human being. I am sick of feeling judged, I am sick of feeling alone, I am sick of having my love life delineated, I am sick of hating on myself for doing the wrong things or not trying hard enough, I am just sick of feeling.

For example, in my eager quest to eat better, I ended up not eating enough and found myself barely able to stand in the kitchen, my hands profusely shaking. Indeed I had low blood sugar and then proceeded to scarf down three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, just to curb the edge. Of course after that I felt like shit again! I continued to feel like crap for the next 3 hours, still shaky and sick to my stomach, so now I am both beating myself up for not eating AND for eating. Oh let me add during this I pondered what else I could eat, but why I shouldn't the whole time and then broke down and went to the grocery store all under the guise of "raising my blood sugar." Alas I have chicken baking in the oven and am about to make some mashed potatoes. I want to smack myself for feeling so weak! You may wonder at this point if my rant has any thing at all to do with Isaac and his incarceration. In a way it doesn't and in a way it does. My life can be so cyclical at times. I eat often to avoid feeling uncomfortable feelings, to numb out the pain of my life, to punish myself, to reward myself, etc...I have been feeling down since our recent visit, and try as I may to get out of that pit of despair, it has been weighing me down these past few days.

Honestly I kept thinking "oh I can just eat something and I will feel better" and then I had to remind myself that I was supposed to be eating healthier, or if I want to really be honest with myself starving my body on purpose, even with the danger that poses due to my being diabetic. I am frustrated because I struggled with an eating disorder for so long (as you may have inferred) and had worked very hard to try and curb those behaviors, only to be reeking havoc on my body by not eating on insulin and two other glucose medicines! That is a recipe for disaster. I know this. I think about how Isaac would be so angry to know how I had been messing with serious health risks, but the only thing left in my mind is the fact that my healthy living attempts stalled a month ago and I have gain 10 lbs back! I feel panicked, at the brink of disaster, missing him, angry at him for not being here to comfort me, mad at myself for being mad at a lifestyle that I actively choose daily (being with Isaac and my poor eating habits)! Sometimes it feels like I have so much control and sometimes it feels like I have none. The older I get the worse it gets and suddenly I see myself seriously ill before I have truly experienced all life has to offer.

It is almost like when you are a prison girlfriend (as with any other stressful situation), that you let the stress pile up in order to meet needs and expectations, but honestly, I don't feel like I am meeting squat! I let him down, my family, my friends, MYSELF, heck even my community and society, let's throw those in while I am having this pity party. Perhaps they see my efforts dealing with AND loving a man who is incarcerated as foolish and a waste of needed energy. Energy that could be used on bettering my health and my well being, but honestly I AM probably the most likely to use that as an excuse because I do not want to deal with these demons, this ineptitude, this fumbling at life.

Striking a Pose For Love

In the world of prison, everything has meaning, everything is important. The world of prison visitation is no exception. From the first closely watched "brief" hug and kiss, to the food choices in the vending machine, each inmate and their significant other attempt to derive meaning from their interactions. This is very true in the case of the visitation photo. Posing is key and often it is good to have a pose in mind prior to the actual taking of the photograph. Some think this is small potatoes, but I have seen the photo make or break the visitation experience. To me the most fascinating aspect of the photography experience is the pose. The pose of a couple can denote so many different aspects of their relationship. Can communicate so much unspoken information. Maybe the confusion and differing of opinions regarding the poses that Isaac and I share says volumes about us...either way we have fun figuring it out.

Well, we finally did it. Isaac managed to finagle me into doing the most popular prison picture pose, yet the most loathed by me. Picture this: prom basically with a institutional twist that includes a numbered jumpsuit instead of a tux and a tag that says "offender visitor " instead of a corsage. Isaac had begged me to do the "hold you from behind" pose for months PRIOR to our first contact visit. I finally broke down and let him have his wish at our visit this past week...and you know it really was not that horrible. For me all I was picturing was his tattooed arms circling my thick waist and me feeling like a bloated whale with him hiding in my shadow. I think I might have exaggerated that premise just a tad, because honestly the love in our eyes was enough to make the absurdity of the pose obsolete in this photograph. It is funny though that when it becomes picture time during visitation, we just somehow melt into a pose if we have not chosen one already. I wrap my arms around his waist from the side and he holds my back gently with both hands. It feels so natural and so lovely to rest my head on his shoulder. This touch is craved by the cells of our bodies. Intimacy cannot be taken for granted. So what is our next pose going to be? Isaac and I discuss this often, because the pictures really are very important to us. They are evidence of our relationship, of our love, of the fact that we were simply allowed in the same room together. I get embarrassed when I remember how I asked the unenthusiastic guard to retake the picture and how he looked at me as though I had just spoken to him in a foreign tongue. To him our moment was absurd, but to us it was heaven..no matter how cheesy or poignant, it was nothing less than perfect.

The Parodox of Lonely Nights

I think the need to be hugged, held, kissed, just plain touched is a very natural one. When one is in a relationship on the outside, these are usually not strange or restricted requests. For those of us who have a loved one in prison, physical touch and a desire for plain old familiar company, can be the greatest source of loneliness. I often sift through forums dedicated to the loved ones of inmates, and the common thread I see is women missing their husband/boyfriend's touch, the sensation of being held in his arms at night while the rain splashes against the window panes. Or how about cuddling on the couch during a movie or watching a TV show, talking late into the night side by side. Isaac and I did not have an extended period of time together when we first met and before he went to jail. We only experienced this type of casual intimacy on a handful of occasions, but oh do I remember the feeling of him holding me at night. Tonight I miss him so very much. In fact the past few weeks have felt tortuous to me. My mind repeatedly wonders back to the notion that I am physically alone out here. I am separated by metal and stone and granite and bricks from the one I love and the one who brings me a sense of peace and comfort.

Some have never had the privilege of being touched by their man, and some will never have it again. Women who met their significant other while he was incarcerated usually do not get that first hug or kiss until approved for visits, and only a handful of states have family visits aka conjugal visits, so intimacy of any kind is very limited. Those whose guys are serving life, may never be able to freely touch them again, be enveloped uninhibited in their arms again. I understand this is prison, not summer camp. I understand these men are reaping the consequences of their actions, of their choices, but the question often is, is it right to dictate the need for touch, for a physical connection? I speak of lonely nights, because this is the time of day I miss Isaac the most. With the fall of darkness, brings out fears, negative thoughts, despair, hopelessness and all I want at times is his shoulder to cry on. I suffer from insomnia and sometimes lay awake pondering life, our relationship, the stress of tomorrow, the downfalls of yesterday. I feel like I need to be soothed. To be calmed into sleep.

Many choose to deal with these lonely nights in a more constructive, positive manner than I at times. Some women will keep a body pillow on hand, or wedge the comforter between themselves and the other side of the bed. Others will listen to their guy's favorite music, look at his pictures or re read his letters before bed to soothe their inner turmoil. Yet others have the privilege of having children with their mate and will often snuggle up with them at night to lull everyone to sleep.

Let's not forget the pervasive loneliness that Isaac must feel every night, all night. He is separated from me just as much as I am separated from him. He not only has a void, yet as mentioned must dwell in a place of figurative darkness for many of his days. Crowded amongst thousands he remains alone, and that fact, that notion is what keeps me awake at night, alone and lonely.

Does a Past Define You?

To move forward is to heal

My boyfriend is not perfect. I am not perfect. We have both made more mistakes than we can count, but often of a different nature. I think that although mistakes carry various consequences in society and in our lives, they do not always carry different weights. The "sins" of my past haunt me and bring me guilty feelings just as much as the next person. I have trouble understanding the things that my boyfriend has done and experienced in his life. I am sure he has the same problem with me. I kept telling myself that I wanted to know everything about him, but when I started hearing about his past it would make me feel uneasy, even slightly disturbed. We were raised so differently, that some things are very hard for me to fathom. I am told over and over again, that if I want our relationship to work, that I must leave his past in the past. I must not blame him in the present, nor carry into the future, that of yesterday. I understand this concept, but something always nags at me. I think it is the question of  do the experiences of our pasts, our blunders and even our triumphs, do they define our character? Our personality? What will stop us from behaving in the same manner in the present? In the future?

I find myself not wanting to know about certain things from Isaac's past, but not knowing also brings me distress. I guess the crux of all this, is that fact that when you are in a relationship with someone who is incarcerated, your time, your communication, your affection is all dictated. One phone call only lasts 15 minutes and can cost $10. You can write letters until your hearts content, but he must be equipped with paper, stamps, envelopes, etc... and the reply may not come for weeks or not at all. He may avoid or forget to answer questions you ask. Visits are also limited and often too short to speak your mind regarding a serious subject. So I sit wondering, ruminating over what is fact and what is fiction. I feel suffocated by a lack of free communication. Stifled by the fact that someone else is governing our relationship. But then I must remind myself that I chose to put myself in this situation. I choose daily to stand by him, to be supportive, to live with the ambiguity. 

I will freely admit that throughout the months, that have turned into a year, that have turn into longer, I have discovered information, information that breaks my heart, that both fascinates and horrifies me. Isaac has lived in a way that is foreign to me, surviving by lying, by using, by bouncing around from place to place. He has held an anger so deep inside him that ironically he appears numb at times. If you look at a timeline of his life it goes from tragedy to tragedy, woman to woman, lie to lie. It is a carefully woven tapestry of dysfunction, but actually a quite amazing tale of persistence and survival. At first Isaac would not own this past. He made light of much of its happenings. He had a strong desire to paint himself and his actions in a positive light. Who wouldn't want to? We all want to put our best self forward. We want to be appealing. He has always had great charm, and quite definitely crushed a few girls hearts with his carelessness. This included mine in the beginning of our time together. We were strangers and he let me down. It was very painful,even from someone I did not know. It consumed me wondering where I had went wrong, what was my deficit that Isaac could walk away from me without so much as a phone call. Then I would vacillate between realizing perhaps this pain this hurt, was not mine to hold, that the seemingly cruel or caring actions of a man I had known for such a short period of time were not promised, not owed to me. Isaac was doing what his past had taught him to do: to drift. I pondered this often. I wondered if I had been too hard on myself and on him for the mistakes of those days. Maybe I had forgotten how our chance meeting was totally supposed to be limited and benign in my mind as well. What gave me the right to judge from such a high pedestal. I was not perfect.

I had been chasing men from date to date, relishing in the fact that they chased me, wanted to sleep with me, wanted to want me and for a few hours at a time I felt like a worthwhile person. I freely admit as well that my past is full of mild manipulation, various blunders, negative patterns of interacting with others. I have lingered in so much selfishness, yet ironically had openly devoted myself to the care of others. I lived as an oxymoron for so long. I would desire being pursued, would shatter the illusion that I was coy and proper, and then honestly go on to the next man. I would be ditched, dumped, discarded, set aside, and used by so many men yet continued along my journey to the next one without a second thought. Why was Isaac's betrayal of my feelings so horrible? You see to me, THIS is all the past I see at times. How he hurt me, and the uncovering of more of his transgressions from even before me seem justifiable for me to use because I boldly state that it is evidence for the examination of character! My self-righteous and often frantic desire to "understand" what has gone wrong in my past brings me to this point. Here are the facts: I have lied, I have deceived, I have not cared. Isaac has lied, avoided, manipulated, used. We are not so different in practice, but perhaps in circumstance. I am left wondering: can our deeds be measured against each other? Can our pasts be ranked? Can I have justification for what I feel are wrongs? Can he infer how I will behave while in our relationship? So back to my question, does a past define you? Does it determine the person you will be? Is change truly possible in the incarceration setting? Is the love they profess, the change they promise all just the dreaded jail talk? Can the behaviors, the patterns that we have learned, that have kept us alive, can they be easily manipulated? Easily destroyed or morphed into positive coping mechanisms? As I said Isaac is not perfect. I am not perfect. We have imperfect pasts. At this moment in time, this single path I linger on, all I can do is either wonder, act, forget, or forgive. And if it is forgiveness I chose, then I must actually forgive, because to continue to hold one captive for that which I claimed to have forgiven, is not forgiveness at all.  

The Perils of Patience

I often see the wives and girlfriends of inmates speak of the passionate, all encompassing love they feel for their partners. It is a love like one they have never felt before, intense yet gentle, amazing, pure and on fire, completely saturating. I wonder to myself how can so many women feel this exact same way? How can so many woman feel this way AND happen to all have a loved one in prison? At times it just seems so much like a coincidence. Is it conditioning? A defense mechanism to deflect against opposition and negative opinions? A reason for staying? Maybe it has to do with the idea that "distance makes the heart grow fonder" or the idea that separation brings more anticipation, more excitement for that moment of reunification, that deep longing eating at your insides that also brings a sweet pang of joy. Are we masochists for folly? For long nights alone in our beds, tables for one, and the burn of jealousy for others in our hearts?

These thoughts regarding this subject often flow through my head, not just because it baffles me, but because it INCLUDES me! My thoughts are their thoughts. I have never felt a love like this, so lascivious, a yearning for the untouchable literally. That ache so deep inside for the one that feels like he completes me. There have been times that the love I have for him and the love he professes for me scares me. Its intensity is off the charts and does not follow the path of any scale or measurement. When I read forums or blogs, writings by other women whose men are incarcerated, I read the same types of statements. They talk about how they have never met such a gentle, caring, compassionate, loving man as their boyfriend/husband. This sounds all too familiar to me. My boyfriend was one of the most caring, introverted, special men I had ever met and I knew that within a hour of laying eyes on him, but there can and have been very dark sides to these men, whether it be drugs, and anger problems, the heat of the moment that allowed them to commit their crimes, even premeditation or retaliation. How does one juxtapose this against the light that shines from these guy's halos? I am not poking fun, I am not scoffing at these women, because I AM these women. I love my man with a passion that is beyond words. Sometimes it brings me to tears. Sometimes my body aches for his touch and my ears ring at the thought of hearing his voice. My first contact visit brought electricity through my body as I stood next to him, my arms wrapped around him for our picture. He felt so safe and so familiar. It appears that incarcerated men and their loved ones do so much with purpose and with meaning. They love with meaning, they make every phone call, every letter, every visit the center of those few lasting moments, because those moments are all we have, and the yearning, the lusting for more than that is bittersweet, yet just enough to keep us going, keep us loving, keep us preparing for the day when this intense love can manifest itself on the outside.

Behind the Wall

Once off the highway the roads began to wind. I passed through numerous small nameless towns flanked by a gas station or fast food restaurant here and there. I was headed to my first visit with Isaac since he had been transferred to prison. I had not seen him in almost 6 weeks. This was to be our first contact visit, which means we can hug, kiss, and hold hands. It would also be an hour long, way longer than any non-contact visit we had had. I had been nervous for days. Isaac and I had gotten into a fight a couple days before and I knew we were both nervous. We had been looking forward to this day for over a year. I had not felt his skin, nor touched him in almost a year and a half. It was beginning to feel surreal. I began to realized I was nearing the complex which housed the three prisons. Isaac was in maximum security, the oldest and most secure area of the prisons. He had described the place as scary and once told me that they call this place "behind the wall" because they can see nothing once transported inside those walls. He stated that all one can see is the sky because the walls are so tall. That broke my heart to hear that, yet slightly fascinated me. Was it that menacing? Probably so. Tears began welling in my eyes as I approached the building. It looked like a fortress, a sanitarium or mental institution from the 40's. The wall was larger than life. I didn't want to think of my baby being housed inside those walls, miserable and depressed 24 hours a day.

I finally entered the waiting area and began the process of checking in. The rest of the visit consist more of snapshots, or observations I had while spending time with Isaac..

I remember standing at the metal gate waiting for it to open. Looking up I locked eyes with you and you smiled the hugest grin. My tears began to fall the moment I saw that smile.

You hugged me so intensely and so hard. You squeezed the life out of me and breathed it back in with your kiss.

There was a peace that fell amongst those visiting, not because of us, but because the inmates felt safe and secure within the presence of their loved ones. For a moment it was not about crime or prison or punishment, but about quality time, about chatting, about holding the hand of a loved one.

When wives or girlfriends visit, the common debate amongst inmates is whether or not these ladies are being used. They call them "tricks." Often I would shift positions to see if an inmate was looking our way scoffing or with curiosity. My boyfriend and I are quite different both physically and otherwise. I locked eyes with one man whose significant other had walked away for a moment, and he looked at me perplexed. I am not sure whether it was a good perplexed or a bad perplexed. Perhaps the idea of us together made him uncomfortable, maybe he was excited to see some diversity...My guess was he was trying to figure out how my boyfriend and I fit together. What our story was. In my mind, all I did was wonder what every one else's story was, both visitor and inmate. How did they fit together? How did their lives converge in this place?

There was an elderly woman who fell by the vending machines. The image of her son, tattooed from head to toe, long ponytail rushing to her side with a caring one rarely sees is burned in my mind.

The stern older female CO who called my boyfriend sweetheart in a motherly tone.

The way we melted together like we had never been apart while taking our picture. My head fit ever so neatly in the space between your neck and chin. To feel your skin against mine, as I leaned the weight of my body into the niche of your arms, was to feel peace.

I felt happiness in a way that I had no felt for as far back as I could remember.

Saying goodbye was the hardest part of the visit. I held onto you tightly as you kissed me. I wanted to stay there in your arms. I blew you a kiss as you waved from the caged in area you had to leave through. You were still buttoning your jumpsuit after your strip search.

I left that fortress of a building feeling lost and a little empty. I drove that winding road home with excitement and numbness inside of me. I had been strengthened in my love for you with just a touch, with a relaxed conversation and a bag of chips and two soda cans. You made me realize that maybe I am stronger than I thought I was. Maybe I can continue this journey day by day. You went back to your tiny cell with the memories of our visit. I drove away back into the freedom I know, but recognizing that our hearts remain captive together.  

A Man Named Isaac

Isaac was raised in a poor family in a rural area. He was exposed to multiple types of dysfunction at an early age including drug use and violence. As the middle child, he was often set aside or ignored. He grew to have a lot of anger inside of him and began acting out. He had some fairly benign brushes with the law as a juvenile. He began to abuse drugs at an early age, decided to drop out of high school, and began his career as a criminal at the brink of adulthood. Do not get me wrong, I do not believe Isaac wanted to break the law nor wanted to end up in prison at the age of 18. I think he had a desire to make money to, to acquire possessions that he was never able to afford, and to build a sense of family and self-esteem. He wanted to make a place for himself in this chaotic world. He did this in the only way he knew how, to walk outside of societal norms, to take without asking, to manipulate, to use, to lie.

When I met Isaac, I had no idea that he had a criminal past, although when I think about some of the signs that were present, I want to beat myself in the head. Instead all I saw was how quiet and shy he was, his mischievous, yet playful crooked grin, his beautiful green eyes, and the way he made me feel like I had known him my whole life in the period of an hour. We had some good times together, however brief they were, and I want to be clear, neither myself nor Isaac are perfect. In the beginning, he hurt me in multiple ways, and I was simultaneously on a rampage to kill any pain I was feeling. There were times I refused to talk to him, times he ignored me. Very painful times. I thought I would never see him again, and told myself I didn't want to. I would remember the feeling of his arms around me as I slept, the kindness he showed me as well as the blatant disregard for my most delicate inner feelings. He dissapeared out of my life leaving me confused and wanting answers. Little did I know that he had only been out of his SECOND bid in prison about 9 months, and little did I know he would head right back for his third. With this time, another journey started for the both of us that would change everything. Isaac was so broken from a very young age, and adulthood for myself had only brought the degradation of my spirit. We found each other in a hopeless place. This blog chronicles our story, our every day struggles and the beauty we find in what we have.

Later, I will explain more about the circumstances that brought Isaac and I back together, but I will say this: since the start of my time with him, he has been in four facilities and has come to rest at his home prison after over a year of bouncing around. I have stood by his side through all of this and have had heartache, hope, stress, happiness, love, etc...all at the same time. I do not regret the time spent dwelling in this lifestyle. I love Isaac like I have never loved another man. Prison wives and girlfriends often describe this whole consuming love they feel for their significant other. By not having what was had, the desire grows greater, the tension more malleable. It is a strange and difficult dance to do, but I am dancing still, and the steps both become more advanced, yet more familiar.

It takes an interesting woman...

I am a woman in my late twenties. I have been told that I am intelligent and despite a number of setbacks, was headed down a road of success. For as far back as I can remember I was obsessed with rules and fairness, or perhaps I more feared the consequences of breaking them. Either way, to follow them was not a choice, it was mandatory in my mind. I was raised in foreign countries for the beginning of my childhood due to my father's work. I witnessed diversity and the joy and wonder of travel at a young age. My parent's are both college educated as well as my two sisters. I always was very serious when it came to morals, values, spirituality, and religion. I even considered becoming a nun at one point. I attended a private school for high school, a popular undergraduate university, and an Ivy League university for my master's degree. I lived in a large city after graduating, worked, and then returned to the small mid western town that I had uneasily called home from the age of 10 and on. I continued to work in my professional field. Although the area held memories, it was a far cry from a city, and it was quite boring. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend who I was in a long distance relationship with. I wanted to get out, feel that freedom I felt in the city, that excitement. While in the city I had learned confidence, I had learned what it means to have an essence as a woman, I learned to be myself just a little bit more. So...I decided to go looking for that freedom and that excitement here in small town life...Who I met in that journey, changed the course of my life, everything I stood for, those who would and would not support me, and my own personal view of myself. I fell in love with a man who has a criminal record, who is a felon, who later became incarcerated again, and will be on his way to prison...again. All I knew was that I have never loved a man as much as I love this man...rational went out the window. I had "been around the block" a time or two, had seen a lot of harsh, difficult, even scary situations in my life and work, but boy did I know nothing about the realities of inmates and the effects incarceration has on their loved ones. I jumped head first into murky waters and then had to learn how to swim.