My Life In A Prison Cell Dialectical Journal

Laura: Life in a prison cell is to say the least, demanding. It gets to you. The long, hard, repetitive actions of daily life, the internal depression and longing to leave, and the knowledge that you are going to die any moment, yes, it gets to you. Though I'd never admit it , I miss him. Emotions in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I wish I could describe the diabolical beauty that is my brother,but I will never be able to. I don't have the language or the words to express what I feel towards him and that scares me. In the case that we ever meet again, I wouldn't know what to say. My legs burn from the last attempt at an escape and I haven’t slept in days. The dirty mirror I’ve requested for my cell only seems to make …show more content…
Before I know it, I have passed out. Laura: The chill of the air consumes my body. I am so numb that I can no longer feel the jolting and jarring of my swollen muscles. Smoke filters into my mouth as I walk towards him. Flinching in terror, I march on. He's there next to the pond, alone. I am suddenly filled with an epitome of anger and the plan crumples and rips wildly in my mind. I run at him aimlessly, in hope of some narrow slither of satisfaction that can compensate for my pain. I am denied. As soon as I reach him, my mind recoils and I only feel worse. I retch at the sight of him, the water sucking at his ankles. I don’t know what I was thinking, just because he was finally rightfully convicted of the murder of our child, I thought he’d remember me. He probably doesn’t even know what his crime was, always oblivious was my …show more content…
I feel the muscles of my chin tremble like a small child and I look towards her, hoping for soothing words I don’t deserve. There is static in my head once more, the side effect of this constant fear, constant stress I live with. I hear my own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of me I didn't know I had left to give. She looks at me blankly and I realise I had forgotten just how beautiful she was. Laura isn't beautiful in the classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green. She’s shorter than average and certainly more petite than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she is stunning. Something radiated from within that rendered her irresistible to both genders. Men desired her and women courted her friendship. They always had. Somehow, for many years I had been the source of her happiness, but now when I turn and look at I her I merely see all the pain I have caused. As she sniffles in beat to my crying, I see the rawness in her tears, like her pain is an open wound. All of a sudden her body starts to shake aggressively. The sobs were stifled at first as she attempted to to hide her grief, but they were now overcome by a wave of emotion. All the defences she had built against me, wash away in those salty tears and she falls helplessly to the ground. I rest her feeble head on my lap and burst into tears at the sight of what I have