I laid on the bathtub floor for a long time last night. I let the water go from hot to cold over the course of 45 minutes. I never take showers that are quite so long, but I needed this shower. I laid on the floor, listening to music, letting the water wash away the day of a shitty job and prison phone calls. I imagined I would step out of that shower and life would be full of hope. I lifted my feet to the stream of water and closed my eyes. I let the water tickle my soles and then I sat up and let water fill my mouth before playfully spitting it into the air like one of those fancy naked women fountains people love…or hate.
Lately I’ve thought more and more about how I want to blog about more than prison, but that this blog is essentially about my life as Jeremy’s wife, my relationship with an inmate, my trials as a woman who spends more time without her husband than with him, the fuckton amount of hope and gut wrenching belief it takes to be in this space. It has tones of prison blues and a dislike for injustice, and all this is my truth certainly, but I wonder if I’ll get to the place in my life where I can step out of the shower in all my nude glory and blog about my life without prison, my loves and dislikes about the world, how I grew up, how I came to be. I wonder if anyone would find those truths as interesting as the prison me, the wife who is metaphorically handcuffed to another beautiful soul and the state of Nevada right now.
I wonder if I’ll ever blog about how movies and music change my life by the second, what growing up multicultural has been like for me, how depression has been a second skin for me and how much of a struggle it is. I wonder if I’ll talk about how I have been in love with both men and women, how I cry more than I let on, what insomnia is like after the 5th night. Will I be able to discuss my dreams and my ridiculous dissection of them and how I reject organized religion and embrace a world where everyone is equal. About how carnations are my favorite flowers and sometimes I cut myself to feel alive. I wonder if I’ll ever get to be a voice for someone other than another prisoner’s wife or something other than the target of some bad joke for people who think I don`t deserve support.
Will I get to go in depth and share how scared I am of life and death and how I want to hike the Pacific Crest Trail from end to end and about my mother’s cancer and how I believe that healing sometimes hurts more than the original damage? Body image, singing badly in the shower, armpit hair, how holding hands is more of a connection than good wifi. So many subjects to talk about, to commiserate over, to embrace others about.
I hate prison and I feel so small and stupid and fumbling when I talk about it, but here I am. Am I seen or is it just another story?