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.
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