I don't know why I bought this diary, it just happened. I saw it on sale in an old shop, an empty diary and pen, and something just compelled me to buy it. Its brown leather cover felt smooth to the touch, I felt as if I needed to buy it. I think it was probably because I needed something to pass the time or a way to keep my sanity. Or maybe because I want to record my legacy for future people to read. I think I'll keep my diary to do just that, record my day to day life, as a reflection for me and for others. I'll introduce myself to whoever may be reading this. My name is Ethan Marshall. I am 23 years old, and I am guilty. I am a convict, a former criminal, arrested at the ripe age of 18, and tossed out of prison 5 years later on the day I'm writing this. Prison wasn't as bad as I expected it to be, it wasn't like any of the movies. It wasn't a great experience, but not a terrible one either. I didn't join a gang, or get threatened by one. I saw fights, but did not participate. I got to know the people around me, why they did what they did, and hear stories from their lives. I got looked down upon due to my age, most people there were in their 30s and 40s. To see such a young soul tainted by sin, they were quite curious. Although I never quelled their inquiry, for I was too frightened to tell them. And if I were to be forced to say I would lie about the crime I committed. I heard tales from murderers, thieves, tax frauds, arsonists, all sorts of people no one wants to become, yet murder seems reasonable compared to what I did. I think that's what allowed me to get through prison the way I did. The prisoners' stories about how they got arrested were outrageous and terrifying. They talked calmly of their sin, saying in even a sarcastic tone as if what they did was nothing more than breaking a vase. In the beginning, I thought they were all psychos deep down, but when they began to finish their account, they had this look on their face. A look of regret, of guilt, a face you only see when a man is at his lowest. I realized that these people were like me, they knew what they were doing, and they got the consequences of their poor choices. When I wasn't getting to know my prison mates, I passed the time reading, maybe that contributed to the diary purchase. It was like a community there, people sharing their lives and laughing over the worst food I've ever eaten. We were all just raw, unfiltered humans all stuck on the same crappy boat. It was a life changing experience. I never expected to be in prison, I don't think anyone does, but it was better than I expected. At first glance, I thought that monster of a place would eat me up and spit me out a shell, but here I am now. On second thought, maybe I wasn't wrong.
My life before prison was a good one. My family was far from poor, and there were few struggles, if any, in my life. The only thing that really challenged me was school, but that was because I didn't want to study, I was too focused on sports. I wasn't just a player on the varsity football team, I was THE player, the starting quarterback to be specific. Everyone in my high school knew me, I was well known and popular with lots of great guys I called friends. We were ride or die, that's what I thought at least. All those adventures we had, from partying until we threw up, drinking alcohol when we weren't supposed to, my experiences were incredible. Now, these people, who I thought would die for me, now pretend to be strangers. I know this because I checked my social media the minute I could. I saw that most of my friends blocked me everywhere, the ones who didn't probably were too lazy to do so. If I went to my friends right now, fresh out of prison, they would probably insult me, give me stares, or pretend I'm not there. They would make me seem as if I'm some crazy bum from the streets, or a druggie. If I went to my parents, I think things would be different, blood is quite thick after all. They wouldn't stare at me with contempt or rage, but instead with a sorrowful disappointment. I don't blame either of them, my friends or my parents, I'm not surprised whatsoever, in fact I would probably do the same thing as well. Memories are just memories, the present will always outweigh the past.
There's this one memory I have of me laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I saw the vision of my life, I saw myself graduating, going to college, settling down and making a family just like my dad. I thought about what to name my future kids, and what car I would buy. There's just some moments you just can't forget. All the ingredients for a great recipe in my life were there, that's something my mom would say. She liked making cooking analogies. I miss her, I miss dad too. My dad was so kind to me, he wasn't abusive, but he wasn't a blowover either. He was strict, but fair, as a father figure should be. Anytime he yelled or punished me, it was because it was my fault. He taught me everything, from driving, to throwing a football, to balancing my life. He once told me something that I will never forget. He told me to see a positive side to everything, unoriginal I know, but the way he said it branded that concept into my head. He told me to "find the positive" even when I got into an accident and broke my arm. At first, I was so confused and lost, I think I was even insulted when he said it. I said to him, "Where's the positive in me breaking both my arm and the car?". He said that it was a "learning experience" and that my bones would "heal even stronger". I was skeptical, thinking it was just words spoken to be spoken, but then it became true. After the accident, I got better at driving, haven't been in an accident since, and after my arm got healed I had a great football season the following year. I want to see myself through his eyes, always smiling, always seeing the light in the dark.
If I had to say one positive outcome from being arrested, I guess I would say I'm free. Before, my life was held down by invisible chains. All these things I had to do, all these connections I had. My friends would ask me to come to a party or hangout after school. My parents would ask me to clean up my room, or study for an upcoming test. And every single time, even when I didn't want to, I'd say yes. That isn't to say I hated doing it, or felt like I was being forced, I saw it as an obligation I had to do. They did the same for me, after all. I would ask my family for help, or a ride from my friends and they always got me, it's a give and take situation. I also had responsibilities for school and football, I had to go to practice, I had to get to class, always tugging me to do something. Now those chains that once held me to my previous life, are now gone. Chains of responsibility, chains with my family and friends, with school. All of those connections, those links, are broken. I never have to answer their messages, or their calls, or their requests. I am free. I don't have to do homework, or tests, or chores. I am free. I think that is what I'll title this first diary entry: Freedom. I am bound no longer, I am completely free from prison, from life. I have the freedom to eat what I want, to do what I want. I am free. Freedom to walk the city, to enjoy the park. I don't have to sleep in a bedroom or eat the food mom made. I am free. I have freedom to live my life, to live however I want, yet I feel nothing. Why do I feel nothing? This should be a big step in my new life, a step in the right direction. All these possibilities and here I am, frozen. I think I need a purpose, a goal to accomplish, something to give my freedom value. If I find it, maybe I'll unthaw.
While thinking about a goal, I sat down on a bench and observed people in the park, diary in hand. I noticed the difference between the people smiling and those who were not, the smiling people were never alone. The happiest looking people I saw were the families, parents playing with children, and then people talking with friends or partners. Their conversations, their expressions, they were light and warm, the definition of happiness. Now I know what to do with this freedom, I want to start over. I don't want to walk my path in life alone, I want to make friends and find love and find a comfortable place to live. I'm probably going to be sleeping on a bench so I might make that the first priority. I want to be able to eat good food, and find a contributing job and live the life I thought I would have. I'm going to redeem myself for my mistake and show everyone that I'm not a lost cause. After all, who's gonna say no?