Living in the lowest time of your life is how I feel my days are spent—24 hours in a box. Believe me, I am in solitary confinement and have been here for 11 years. They say I’m in a cell, but I feel enclosed in a box. My cell door has plexiglass that’s cracked and overlapped by metal cross-hatching. We are the last for everything—recreation and showers are scarce, monthly now. Necessities, which they’re supposed to bring and change out every day, are only done once a week now, and the food is not good at all. 

You’re basically stuck in a cell with yourself, your thoughts, looking at the walls, hoping, thinking there has to be something more to life than just being stuck alone in a cell with yourself, your thoughts.
So many voices go around, so close to your ears. I feel alone. I feel invisible. I feel stuck underground with no light at times. I feel suffocated by this box. I feel alone. The security officer counts to make sure you’re still in the box—they call them security checks, but it doesn’t help. It’s just making sure you’re still alive. Do they care? Do they truly care? That’s a question I often ask myself, alone, with my thoughts.

What do I do? 24 hours alone, what do I do? Unseen, invisible, lost, forgotten—stuck in a box, alone, with years ahead of you in prison, solitary, confined, with no help. Yeah, the Texas prison system would rather help people in the general population, yet solitary confinement is left for last, forgotten, with no help. They can say what they want, but I live in solitary confinement, and I know the truth—and insanity is the epicenter of solitary confinement. Nothing is done to help. Instead, we are left alone in a cell with ourselves, our thoughts, in hope of someday being set free, or anything that at least might bring some type of joy to your lonely life in a box.

This is how I feel. What of the others? What of the people losing their minds? I am in a box, typing this up so that you may feel at least my pain of being alone in a box, hoping at least to be seen or heard. If you scream out, other people may hear, but yet you still remain in a box, unheard, unseen, invisible, and left alone. This is solitary confinement. This is how you feel. This is solitude. This is isolation at its best, and nothing is done. So you just have to be strong and keep on pushing, day after day, when you’re at your lowest and at the loss of your own thoughts and voices. Be strong. Hope and pray to God that He gives you enough strength to maintain sanity and find a way out.

So when you feel you can’t anymore, just grasp what little bit of strength you have left and keep on pushing. Get up. Don’t give up, even when you’re alone in a box, 24 hours a day, with not much left but those walls and your thoughts. You may think you’re alone, but you’re not alone. It may seem hard, but you’re even tougher than that. I have lived in solitary confinement for 11 years, and it truly hurts. But I am still here, typing this up, still sane, full of life and freedom, even though my circumstances are not so. I still remain strong. Through the grace of God, I am and will remain sane, strong, free.

Alone? Am I alone in a box? Alone… damn, I’m starting to hate this word… I hope someone hears my words from this box in solitary confinement, staring at these walls alone. Ha! Is that the question? Alone…