I have made more mistakes in my life than I like to admit. I have done wrong to people who loved me and done some of the worst things to some of the people who loved me the most. I was a drug addict, an alcoholic, a thief, a liar. I did violence to others who did nothing to me at all. I did all of those things, and I served my seventeen months at Attica Correctional Facility that is overseen by the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision. I have been off of drugs for more than twenty years now, and I abandoned all of that life behind me when I left with absolutely no regrets whatsoever.

Some days I get asked things that people think I know because I was, in their words, “one of the bad guys.” I get asked how to add commissary to prisoners accounts, where you go to get booked in the city I live in, and a personal favorite, how long until you get your money back from the bail bondsman after you don’t skip bail.

There, I have bared what I was. I have said the things I have done. I will do this now as I have done a thousand times before and a thousand times after this time.

Why?

When I want to do bad things I make myself write out all of the things I have already done and make myself remember the hell of it all so I don’t go and do the things again just because a neuron fired in a direction it shouldn’t have.

I do not want to go an do drugs, I am secure in my recovery there.

What I want to do is go and make the people who made someone I love, cry I want them to do the very same thing.

I want them to suffer and and i want them to pay a price for hurting someone close to me and I want them to feel exponentially more pain than the person I love felt. I want this so bad I can taste it like copper on a penny.

I have done the legal things I can do to them, there will be a recompense of sorts, if only in a digital way that will not erase the tears that were shed.

I want to do the Darkest of the things, and yet I know the Light I love will not allow me to do these things.

I will not talk about the specifics, this is not my story to tell, it is my anger, however, my wrath, and for that, I am grateful I do not live closer to a place today.

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