Still Dreaming

 

When I was young, I had a dream — to become famous. Not for anything wild or reckless, but for something good. I wanted to be known as a law-abiding citizen, someone who helped people through the hardest moments of their lives.

Now I’m 52 years old, and that dream is still alive — even though I’m behind bars.

I’ve been locked up a long time now. It’s diabolical, really, the length of time I’ve spent in here. Yet somehow, my family has never turned their backs on me. I’ve been with my fiancée for over twenty years — the longest relationship I’ve ever had. That kind of loyalty is rare, and I’ll never take it for granted.

You know, people think the hardest part about prison is coming here. It’s not. The hardest part is losing the ones you love while you’re still in here. Doing time itself isn’t the worst part — you fall into a routine. The food’s awful, the pay’s worse, and the place itself... well, it’s shit. But you get through it.

Prison does one of two things: it either makes you, or it breaks you.
For me, it nearly broke me.

I tried to end my life a few times. I won’t sugarcoat that. The walls close in, the days blur together, and sometimes the silence gets too loud. But somehow, I came out stronger — mentally and physically — than I’ve ever been before.

This story isn’t about prison. It’s about moving forward. It’s about refusing to let your past define your future.

To everyone reading my blog right now — thank you. You’ve kept me going. Your messages, your encouragement, your faith in me when I had none in myself... you saved my life, even if you didn’t know it.

When I lost my dad, my nan, and even my great-niece, I turned to people like you. You gave me strength when I couldn’t find my own. You reminded me that there’s still good out there, still people who care.

So, thank you — from the bottom of my heart.

My dream is still ongoing. It hasn’t ended just because I’m behind bars. Maybe I’m not famous in the way I imagined as a kid, but if sharing my story helps even one person — if it gives someone hope — then maybe I’ve achieved that dream after all.