Running, working out, reading, eating and sleeping that was my life and on some days it was hard to accept for me, and I wouldn’t share my thoughts of confinement with anyone since they were in the same predicament as me.  It was as if I was being fed a spoon full of hate daily and on the days that it was the hardest I would take a double dose of hatred.  The madness continued affecting me less and less and I was being desensitized to any humanity that I may have had before.  Sometimes I wondered if that fucking quack prison psychiatrist had been onto to something when he diagnosed me, but fuck him and fuck all these ball breaking guards, I was twenty-six years old and nothing or nobody would deny me what I have to do to get back to my life on the streets.