Well I took all of my writing-ness and wrote a 16 page letter to a friend of mine in some rather unusual circumstances. It's one of those correspondences that I am really enjoying (obviously) and in a very selfish way, I feel needed. The relationship fulfills that caretaker side of me that can be unhealthy at times but doesn't feel that way in this case. I am the only person on the outside talking with her. Which leaves a lone voice anchored in the daily reality of being able to move about freely and make choices constantly about my environment. If you haven't guessed already, she's incarcerated for a crime that many people around me have committed. Even me. Just that she sold to an undercover cop and no one else I know has. But any one of us could have.
At this point, after 14 months, with one visitor (me) and only one active writer currently, I fear my friend is listening to the voices of those around her. It's a classic psychological experiment: make half of your group guards, and half prisoners and watch the situation unravel into Lord of the Flies in mere minutes. That's how powerful of an experience this is and how much of a buy-in we all possess. The group consensus is that half are right, half are wrong and something has to be done about it. It worries me when I hear what she writes about the adaptation to this environment. It's an unfair situation, for her to endure the psychological deflation that comes from being on the wrong side of bars in a victimless crime. If there's an addiction, work on that. If there's an economic desperation, work on that. But the involuntary brainwashing that accompanies all humans participating in an incarceration situation is dehumanizing.
I want her to know she is precious and valuable and see her inherent worth, just as I want that for myself. In the most adverse of circumstances, I want that for her. To be better than I am at that.