I’m no longer incarcerated, but prison life continues to haunt my freedom. It’s called “post incarceration syndrome.”
I was wiping the counter in my new apartment when my emotions hit me along with the scent of Lysol. I couldn’t quite be the person I wanted to be: My kitchen was not spotless nor had I magically dropped 100 pounds in the few months since I was released. I looked around seeing all the stuff that was now mine from donations. It had not sunk in that it was really mine to keep. I was in disbelief that…
