1) No light

My name is Michael, and in the year 1995, I was sentenced by a jury of “my peers” to ten years in a high-security federal penitentiary. After being charged with the distribution of cocaine, my life came to a screeching halt.

A decade — ten full years — is such a massive chunk of a person’s life, I literally couldn’t fathom completing the sentence.

Keeping My Sanity Inside

Upon my arrival to the pen, I made a decision that probably saved my mind: I started keeping a journal. I wrote down the events I witnessed, the stories I heard, and the emotions I fought to understand during my incarceration.

I’ve met some of the most interesting, charismatic, and intelligent individuals one could ever hope to meet in a lifetime — all behind steel bars and razor wire.

Men Who Will Never See the Light Again

Ten years is a long time. But in prison, I met men who will never see the light of day again.

• An 18-year-old with a forty-year sentence.

• A 36-year-old who had already served 15 years, with 44 more to go.

• A man arrested at the premier of the 1975 movie, “Jaws” and still remains locked up.

This is what we mean in the pen when we say, “He ain’t never gonna see no light.”

The Journal That Never Left Me

Over the course of my sentence, I wrote thousands of entries. Some entries are pages long. Others are just a few scribbles on a brown paper bag or a napkin.

Years after my release, while going through some old boxes, I came across those folders. I started reading. The memories came rushing back — the pain, the fear, the transformation.

It was too much. I threw the whole thing in the trash.

But Then My Wife Found It

My wife (my girlfriend at the time) found those journals in the trash and pulled them out. She read a few pages — and then she looked me in the eye and said:

“Baby, people need to read this.”

So here we are.

I Will Bare My Soul to You

This blog isn’t about glorifying prison life. It’s not for pity, praise, or judgment. It’s simply my truth.

Here, I will share my thoughts, my dreams, and my fears.

I will bare my soul.

And I pray that you — or anyone you know — never has to go through what I went through.

If you’re reading this and feel moved, share it with someone who needs to hear it. Or drop a comment. Let’s talk about what it really means to lose freedom—and find yourself.