How I Hold on to My Humanity in the Often Savage World of Prison

By Ryan M. Moser — FROM THE INSIDE

“Prepare for movement! All inmates report to the rec yard now!”

When I hear the order over the crackling loudspeaker I instantly stop writing the letter to my younger sister. For a second I was back home again, but now my situational awareness heightens and I get on the offensive. Mandatory recreation time. The prison instituted this edict to force a healthy habit onto a mostly unwilling population, but for me it’s my daily Zen, with a dangerous edge. The cellblock is loud and smells like urine mixed with body odor; I need to leave for a short reprieve every day. After four years, I’ve learned that if I spend too much time on an overcrowded cellblock, bad things happen.

Fights. Shakedowns. Boredom. Depression.

I quickly put on blue shorts and New Balance sneakers; we have three minutes to exit through the gates before disciplinary action. It’s odd to me that they rush us because I’m stuck in one place where all you have is time. No more work deadlines or picking up kids from day care. I don’t have to worry about being late for a family picnic or date night with my wife. That’s my old life…a faded photograph where I can’t make out the details anymore — just a silhouette of the past.