MyTimeToBlog
Recently I discovered that I'm alone in my pursuit for freedom. I honestly thought that I was imagining this, but when I had time to think things out clearly, sadly, I was right. Now this didn't mean the entire prison's population felt the same way. No, I'm talking about my social circle.
This all came to light when I completed Mental Maturity. A program centered around you learning about your mental age. Ever since I stepped from that program, all I'm seeing were kids in adult bodies.
They're horse playing, they're arguing over everything not important, they're gossiping about nonsense, and on and on and on they go. This slowed me down when I realized that the mental maturity age of these boys pretending to be men were 16-26.
When I sat alone in my cell, I'm really thinking about this. I'm in prison watching guys spend more time with their workouts than working on their freedom. Men who have dwelled inside a cell for 20 plus years. My social circle.
I'm stoic, holding my emotions at bay. Tears wanted to trickle down my cheeks. But I forced them to stay away. Why? I'm done crying.
This was a battle only few chose to fight. I spent my time pleading with my social circle to join me in getting free, but all that came from it were wasted breath conversations; where we talked, then never did anything about it. My mind was wrapping itself around that, and it ignited something inside of me.
You see, I'm desiring too figure out a way to atone for my tragic past. I'm always at a table in the day room, working on this idea. The men in my social circle would come to that table and distracted me with idle chatter. I usually allowed it, because we're friends...but that Mental Maturity program changed everything for me.
What I'm seeing now were boys wanting to play with adults. I'm that adult, and those boys were impeding me from figuring out a way to atone for my tragic past. I almost snapped at them, but I learned something else that shut my mouth: if the person you're about to get into an argument with was not mentally mature, nor aware of different perspectives, don't waste your breath. So I didn't.
I closed off my mind with the boys around me, thinking for myself. This bothered me for a time, because I'm a helper. I always have, but now, as I'm peering at the ticking clock, that's gotta change.
When you sit in a cell for decades and accept that bickering over an NFL game was more important than your freedom, then enjoy the fruits of your labor. I'm in my thoughts, quietly thinking my way to the other side of the fence.
When my cell's door opened, I walked out and was called to a table in the day room. It was surrounded by my social circle. They were all serious men. They eyed me as I joined them. "Tut, would you tell these morons that I beat Tim 9-1 playing Uno."
I'm alone in my thoughts on getting free. Help.