Grief & Captivity

I recently lost a friend to cancer. We weren’t best friends, but we were close enough to know each other’s likes and dislikes, give well wishes, and explore unending possibilities about the future with one another. The cancer she was diagnosed with was a rare adrenocortical carcinoma.

Losing someone while incarcerated has its challenges, especially the unnerving thought that the person’s passing would have been preventable if a better health care system were in place for our vulnerable population. The following question has been etched into my head since the day she was diagnosed: Could she have lived if the doctors had caught it sooner? It seems to be a fair question, and it has haunted my existence each day since her passing because I will never know the answer.

In addition, I am not able to truly process and express the emotions traveling through my body. Anger, sadness, confusion, and more anger are roads I continue to travel, but these are emotions I am not allowed to dwell on because my captivity captures not only my body but also my mind.

Displaying vulnerability would give people with prying eyes the opportunity to take advantage of what they may consider weakness. Employees will view it as insolence and will issue disciplinary infractions if they judge your display of emotion to be out of compliance.

The reality is that true camaraderie is not allowed or supported; so it comes as no surprise when no commemoration is held for my dear friend. The observance of her life falls to her community instead of the institution. It makes grieving harder to endure.

How can a person truly grieve when the institution prevents them from experiencing their true emotions? I cope by eventually turning to myself, taking comfort in isolation, and praying that the feelings I am restricted from displaying will not have a lasting effect on my mental health and existence.

I have come to realize that grief and captivity can be a dangerous combination.